Table of Contents

"The Two Shipmates"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

"The Two Supercargoes"

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.

"The Two Whalers"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

"Villegagnon"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

"The Voyage of the Steadfast"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

"A Voyage round the World"

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.

"Waihoura, the Maori Girl"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

"The Wanderers"

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.

"Washed Ashore"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

William H G Kingston

"The Two Shipmates"

Chapter One.

The stout trading brig Amity, Samuel Mudge master and part owner, was gliding up Plymouth Sound on a summer’s evening towards her accustomed berth in Catwater, a few years before the termination of the last war between England and France. She had no pilot on board; indeed, her crew averred that the old craft could find the way in and out of the harbour by herself; at all events, her master knew it better than most men trading from the port, as did his young mate, Ralph Michelmore.

The last rays of the setting sun were glancing on the topgallant mast-heads of the brig when her anchor was dropped, and by the time her sails were furled and all was made snug the gloom of night had settled down on the Pool, and twinkling lights began to appear from the houses on shore.

“You’ll be wishing to go on shore, my boy,” said the old master, as Ralph, the duties for the day over, came into the cabin to join him at tea, which the boy had just placed on the table. “There’ll be some one who’ll be right glad to see thee, lad;” and the speaker looked up at the mate, whose handsome countenance beamed with pleasure, a slight blush rising on it as he answered—

“Thank you, sir; thank you heartily. I should very much like to pay Mistress Treviss—and—and her granddaughter a visit. I had few opportunities of seeing them when we were last in port, and as we have been long on this trip they may be anxious about us. But would not you prefer going on shore yourself, captain? It’s my duty to remain on board.”

“No, do you go, as I tell ye,” replied the kind old master. “I’ll stay on board and look after the ship. But I say, lad, take your protection with you. The press-gangs are sure to be out, and you may chance to fall in with one of them.”

“Thank you, sir, I have it here,” said Ralph, producing a tin case from his pocket; and hurriedly swallowing his tea without sitting down, he went into his cabin to rig himself in his shore-going suit.

Ralph’s father, the commander of a merchant vessel, and an old friend and shipmate of Captain Mudge, had been lost at sea, washed from the deck in a heavy gale, leaving his wife and young child but ill provided for. The widow, a truly Christian woman, exerted herself to the utmost of her strength to support and educate her boy, but when he was about fourteen years of age her health gave way, and she died, committing him to the charge of good Captain Mudge.

Ralph, who had set his heart on going to sea, was taken as an apprentice on board the Amity the next voyage she made. By his steadiness, intelligence, and activity, he soon became a prime seaman. When on shore he studied navigation, and as soon as his time was out, Captain Mudge, the berth being vacant, made him his mate. Most of the crew heartily congratulated Ralph on his promotion, for they acknowledged him, young as he was, to be the best seaman among them. The only one who grumbled was Dick Bracewell, who had also been an apprentice on board the Amity, and being a year older than Ralph, and a very fair sailor, considered that he had superior claims to promotion.

“I’m not going to quarrel with you about the matter, Ralph,” he said, though he looked very much inclined to do so. “If the skipper chooses to favour you that’s not your fault; but you can’t expect me, as good a man as yourself you’ll allow, to be jumping here and there at your orders; and so as soon as we get back to Plymouth I shall take my chest and clear out of the old ship for good. I shall easily get a berth as mate on board another craft, and if we meet again we shall be as good friends as ever, I hope.”

“No doubt about that, Dick,” answered Ralph; “I am sorry, however, that you have made up your mind to leave us; still it’s but natural, I own.”

“Ay, I should think so,” said Dick, walking forward.

Dick might have been as active and bold a seaman as Ralph, but the captain had, notwithstanding, ample reason for refusing to make him his mate, for he was known to be wild on shore, and was often far from attentive to his duty on board; while, though he professed to have learned navigation, his calculations were not to be depended on. Still, being good-natured and brave as need be, he was liked by the rest of the crew, in spite of being thoughtless and inclined to give way to temper. Ralph had a sincere regard for him. He saw his shipmate’s errors, but believed him possessed of redeeming good qualities, and hoped that he would in time amend his bad ways.

Dick kept to his intention, and on reaching Plymouth bade his old captain and shipmates good-bye. This occurred about a couple of years before the time we are speaking of, and since then Ralph had heard nothing of Dick Bracewell.

No sailor takes long to dress. Ralph was quickly ready, and a fine young fellow he looked as he stepped back into the cabin habited in what the old captain called his “shore-going toggery.” Promising to be on board again before midnight, he jumped into a boat which had just come alongside, and told the waterman to pull for the landing-place.

“You must keep a sharp look-out not to fall in with the press-gangs, master,” observed the latter. “They are out every night, and are in no ways particular on whom they lay hands.”

“Thank you,” answered Ralph; “I’ve no cause to fear them, and am not going where they are likely to be looking for their prey.”

Ralph had proceeded a few paces after landing, when he heard steps behind him and felt a hand placed on his shoulder. Turning round he saw a sailor-like man, who exclaimed, “What, Ralph Michelmore, old chum! Don’t you know me? I am Dick Bracewell. I’m sure I can’t be mistaken in you, for I saw the Amity come in at sunset, and hoped to fall in with you, though I’d no fancy to go on board, do you see.”

“And I’m right glad to meet you, Dick,” said Ralph, grasping the other’s proffered hand. “Where have you been all these years?”

“Knocking about in one craft or another, and seeing something more of the world than you have in your jog-trot old tub, I fancy,” answered Bracewell, with a laugh. “I’ve just come back from a voyage to the West Indies, with my pockets full of shiners, which I’m going to try and get rid of in enjoying myself. Come along, Ralph, and help me. I only stepped on shore for the first time just as you did, so I’ve not begun yet.”

“Thank you, Dick; you mean it kindly, but I’m on my way to see some friends, and have promised to be on board again to-night,” said Ralph, as they walked on together.

“What, not take a glass or two of grog with an old shipmate!” cried Dick in an aggrieved tone. “Come, come, man, just for once be social.”

“Even if I ever took liquor, which I don’t, I haven’t time to stay with you,” said Ralph, firmly; adding, after a moment’s reflection, in the hope of preventing his companion from committing the folly he meditated, “Instead of doing as you propose, come along with me to see an old lady and her granddaughter. They are great friends of mine, and will welcome you for my sake; indeed, I’ll confess that I hope some day to marry the little girl.”

“No, no, my boy; I should be left to do the polite to the old dame, while you make love to the young one,” answered Dick, with a hoarse laugh, which Ralph did not like. “That sort of thing is not to my taste; still, to please you, if you’ll come in here and do as I want you, I’ll think about it.” The door of a public-house stood temptingly open. Dick endeavoured to drag in Ralph, who however resisted manfully, and tore his arm away from his companion’s grasp.

“Once more hear me, Dick,” he said, unwilling to abandon his old friend without another effort to save him. “If you take one glass you’ll take another and another, till you won’t know what you are about, and then ten to one you’ll fall into the hands of crimps who’ll fleece you of every shilling in your pocket, or you’ll get picked up by a press-gang and be carried on board a man-of-war, not to regain your liberty for years to come.”

“Don’t preach to me, Ralph; I know how to take care of myself; so if you go on I’ll follow you, and you shall see that I’m as sober as a judge,” answered Dick, and with a laugh he darted into the public-house.

Ralph, though eager to be with his friends, waited a minute or more in the hope that he might come out, and then, as he did not appear, reluctantly walked on. At length, having passed through the town, he reached a small cottage in the outskirts, with a few yards of garden in front. Passing through the wicket-gate he stopped for a moment at the door. The window was partly open, and he could hear a sweet voice reading. He caught the words; they were from the Book of Books, which he had learned to know and value. He was unwilling to interrupt the reader. She stopped, however, having come to the end of the chapter. He knocked. “May I come in?” he asked. “Oh, granny, it is Ralph!” The words were uttered by the same person who had just ceased reading, but in a very different tone. He well knew the sweet voice. His heart beat quick. He heard the speaker come flying to the door. In a moment it was opened. “Jessie, my own dear Jessie!” he exclaimed, as he pressed the hand of a fair blooming girl, who welcomed him with a bright smile.

“I hoped that you might come to-day, and yet as the hours drew on I began to fear that I might again be disappointed,” she said, as she looked up affectionately into his face. “How slow the Amity must have sailed!”

“She is like other craft, not able to make way without wind, and we had scarcely a cup-full all the voyage round from the Thames; besides which, we were detained there much longer than usual; but she has safely reached port at last,” he answered; adding, as he advanced into the room towards a neatly-dressed old lady in a high mob-cap, seated in an arm-chair, with knitting-needles in her hands and spectacles on her nose,—“And how is Mrs Treviss?”

“Ever glad to see thee, dear Ralph,” answered the old lady, trying, not without difficulty, to rise, till the young man springing forward quietly made her sit down again. “In spiritual health I am well—the Lord be praised for all His mercies; but bodily infirmities creep on apace with old age, and remind me that my earthly course is well-nigh run.”

“I hope that you will live many years to be a blessing to us, granny,” said the young sailor, affectionately, taking her hand.

“I am ready to remain if it is the Lord’s will,” she answered. “And now tell me, Ralph, how is good Captain Mudge? I hope that he will pay me a visit before he sails again, as I want much to talk to him on a matter of importance.”

“He is tough and hearty as ever; he will, I am sure, come and see you,” said Ralph.

Mrs Treviss, however, did not entirely occupy the young sailor’s attention. He and Jessie had a good deal to say to each other of especial interest to themselves as they sat side by side, Jessie’s hands having found their way into those of Ralph. At last Mrs Treviss reminded her that their guest might possibly be hungry, and that it was full time for supper, which she, in obedience to her grandmother, got up to place on the table. “How neat-handed and graceful in all her movements she is!” thought Ralph, as his eyes followed her about the room; and they were seldom off the door watching for her return when she went into the kitchen to warm up the old dame’s posset and prepare some other viands. Mrs Treviss took the opportunity of her absence to speak to Ralph on a subject which he found especially interesting. “If I was younger and stronger I would not give you this advice I am about to do,” she said. “I would say, wait for a few years till you have the command of a ship, and Jessie is older and better able than now to keep house and have the cares of a family, but as I fear my poor son-in-law, her father, Captain Flamank, will never more be heard of, and I may ere long be called to my rest, she will have no one in this world to protect her but you; and so it’s my wish that you should marry as soon as you can manage to spend a few weeks on shore.”

“Then that may be at once,” exclaimed the young lover, delighted. “The Amity requires some repairs, and the captain is much in a mind, unless a good freight offers, to go into dock, and his wish to serve me may settle the matter. I little thought when I came up this evening what good news you had in store for me; I can never thank you enough.”

“Nay, Ralph, though I love you, it’s my grandchild’s welfare I have at heart, for I can with perfect confidence confide her to you,” said the old lady, taking Ralph’s hand and looking him earnestly in the face. “You will cherish her and watch over her, and guard her from all evil.”

“Indeed I will, if health and strength is given me,” he answered solemnly.

“For that we must trust to God,” said Mrs Treviss. “All we can do is to exercise the sense He has given us, and guard against the dangers we know may occur. I have therefore made my will, and left the very small property I possess to Jessie; but most of my income, as the widow of a warrant-officer killed in action, ceases at my death, so that as a single woman she would be but poorly off, though she will have something to help keep house.”

“I would as willingly marry her if she had not a sixpence,” exclaimed Ralph, warmly. “More willingly I could not, but it would be a satisfaction to know that I was saving her from poverty or from having to toil for her living.”

“I know you will, Ralph, and I believe you, so say no more about that,” observed Mrs Treviss. “If your good captain settles to put the Amity into dock, you may perhaps marry some day next week. You can ask Jessie, and I don’t think she will say you nay.”

Ralph was pouring out his thanks from the bottom of his heart, with all the ardour of a young sailor, when Jessie returned. He would at once have broached the subject had not Mrs Treviss given him timely warning that by so doing he would considerably interfere with the supper arrangements. Jessie therefore went back to the kitchen and returned several times, unaware of the interesting conversation which had taken place, though she might have observed the animated expression of her lover’s countenance. When all was ready and they sat down to table Ralph ate so little that Jessie began to fear he was unwell, and she at last could not help looking up affectionately in his face and asking him if such was the case.

“Oh no, I never felt better in my life, Jessie; and so happy!” he answered.

Perhaps she herself might just then have had some suspicion of the truth, for she forgot to eat any more; and shortly afterwards her granny, getting up, hobbled out of the room. The young people were alone, and, as may be supposed, Ralph did not lose much time in telling Jessie what Mrs Treviss had said, and asking her if she would consent to the arrangement. Jessie was as ready to obey her granny’s wishes as Ralph could desire, and as he told her there would be no difficulty in obtaining a licence she consented to fix the following Monday for their wedding-day, if he could, as he hoped, remain in Plymouth. He was naturally very sanguine in the expectation of being able to obtain a holiday. He even thought that, should the Amity be offered a freight which could not be refused, Captain Mudge would propose getting another mate for the voyage, as it was summer time; not that he should like him to do that. Jessie thought that Captain Mudge would not hesitate about having the Amity repaired. How could he, when so important an event depended on his decision! At length granny came back into the room, with a smile on her countenance, and, sitting down in her arm-chair, looked up at the tall clock in the corner, which had gone “tick! tick! tick!” unheeded for an hour or more since supper.

“Well, my dears, is it all settled?” she asked.

“Yes,” answered Ralph. “Jessie has promised to make me the happiest young fellow alive next Monday—though I am wonderfully happy for that matter at present,”—and jumping up he kissed granny’s hand and thanked her again and again for the gift she had bestowed on him, and then he ran back to Jessie’s side.

At that instant there came several thundering blows on the door from a heavy cudgel, and a gruff voice cried out, “Open in the King’s name;” while another was heard to say, in a lower tone, “Go round to the back and look out that he does not escape by that way.”

Chapter Two.

When Dick Bracewell entered the tavern, he intended merely to take a glass of liquor, just to show his independence, and then to follow his friend. He, however, found a shipmate, Tom Joyce, in the bar, who easily persuaded him to take a second, followed, naturally, by a third; and then, his spirits raised, he was induced to accompany his companion to a dancing hall attached to a public-house in one of the back streets not far off. Upwards of fifty seamen were collected, many of them half-seas-over, when a press-gang, to whose commanding officer notice had been given of what was going forward (very likely by the landlord himself), rushed in, and, after a severe struggle, captured whole of them, including Dick and Tom, who, having only just fallen into the trap, were the most sober of the party.

While the more unruly were carried down at once to the boats, Dick and Tom with a few others were marched along by the larger part of the press-gang, who were evidently intent on making further captures.

The two captives had their wits wide awake, and were not without hopes of effecting their escape.

The press-gang went on till they reached the outskirts of the town, when they brought up before a neat little cottage. Three men were sent round to the back-door, while five others advanced to the front entrance and knocked loudly.

“That’s where Widow Treviss lives; she’s not one to harbour seamen,” Dick heard one of the party observe.

“Nol Hedger says he marked a prime seaman go in there not two hours ago,” answered another. It at once occurred to Dick that they were speaking of Ralph Michelmore.

“Poor fellow! It’s where the young girl lives he’s going to marry. If they get hold of him they’ll not mind her tears and prayers, but will carry him off, like the rest of us, to serve the king. However he has a protection, and has a chance of getting off, I hope.”

The blow on the door was, repeated.

“Open in the King’s name,” shouted the officer.

“I always obey that authority,” answered Dame Treviss, from within, “Ralph, unlock the door.”

The door was thrown open, and the seamen, led by their officer, rushed in. The old dame sat calmly in her chair, while Ralph, with Jessie clinging to his arm, stood in the centre of the room.

“Why have you come here at this time of the evening, my friends?” asked Mrs Treviss, with all the composure she could command.

“Because, old lady, we have information that you are harbouring seamen wanted for his Majesty’s service, and, if I mistake not, here stands one of them, and a likely lad too,” answered the officer, a rough old master’s mate, well accustomed to such work, as he laid his hand on Ralph’s arm and made a sign to his men to seize him.

“Oh, no, no! You cannot take him! You will not be so cruel—you shall not have him,” cried Jessie, clinging tightly to her intended husband.

“Don’t be frightened, dear Jessie, they cannot take me, I have my protection,” said Ralph, trying to free himself from the officer’s grasp.

“Let go my arm, and I will show you the paper which proves that I am mate of the Amity, and a protected man,” he added, turning to the officer.

“Never took a fellow yet who didn’t try to make out that he was protected. However, if the young woman here won’t make such a fuss we’ll let you overhaul your pockets for your protection.”

Ralph was released, and began to search in his pockets. Poor Jessie stood by, still trembling with alarm, and anxiously watching him.

“Oh! You must have it, Ralph,” she exclaimed in a plaintive tone, as she saw that he did not produce the important document. “Oh! Let me try,” and she plunged her hands eagerly into his pockets. She uttered a cry of dismay when it was not to be found.

“I must have forgotten to take it out of my other jacket when I dressed to come on shore,” said Ralph; “I had it just before I left the brig, I know. Don’t be alarmed, Jessie dear, all will come right; Captain Mudge will send it to me, or, if the officer will permit me to go on board, I’ll get it—I will, indeed, sir,” he added, addressing the old mate, “and will, on my honour, return with it to any place you may name; I will, on my honour.”

“That sort of note, I tell you, don’t pass current with us, my lad,” answered the old mate, more moved perhaps by Jessie’s agony of grief and terror than from his gruff manner and language might have been supposed. “It’s hard lines for you, I’ll allow, as matters stand, I see; out cheer up, my good girl, many another man has had to serve his Majesty for a year or two and come home with his pockets full of rhino to set up house. As to the protection, I knew from the first that was all fudge; so as we’ve lost too much time already palavering about it, come along, my brave fellow, without more ado.” As he spoke he again seized Ralph by the arm, and three of the men stepped forward to assist him.

Poor Jessie clung to Ralph frantically, entreating that he might be allowed to remain. “He will bring you the paper to-morrow; I can answer for him, and so can my grandmother. He never told a falsehood in his life; he would not deceive even you,” she exclaimed. “Oh, let him go! Cruel, cruel men!”

“The young man speaks only the truth,” said Dame Treviss, trembling with agitation as she rose from her chair and tottered to her grand child’s assistance.

While two of the men had seized Ralph, another was about to tear Jessie from him, when the dame took the poor girl in her arms.

“Take off your hands, lads, and I will accompany you without attempting to escape,” he said, and the men releasing him he bore Jessie to the little horse-hair sofa, where he placed her by the dame’s side, bestowing on her a loving kiss as he did so.

Having released himself gently from her arms, “Now I am ready to accompany you, sir,” he said, and walked steadily towards the door. Perhaps even then the king’s officer might have felt that the merchant seaman was, morally, his superior.

The dame, fearing that Jessie might be exposed to some rough treatment should she attempt to stop Ralph, held her in her arms till he had reached the door. She cast a fond look at him as his captors hurried him away.

The door was closed—he was gone! She listened with aching heart to the retreating steps of the cruel press-gang as they bore off their prisoners, till the sound died away in the distance. In vain her grandmother tried to console her; a fearful foreboding filled her gentle bosom that she might never see him more, and she refused to be comforted.

Chapter Three.

As soon as Ralph Michelmore was in the road, though he had offered no resistance, he was roughly thrust into the midst of the press-gang, who again closed round their prisoners. The officer called off the men on the watch at the other side of the house, and gave the order to proceed back to the boats. They had not gone far when Ralph felt one of his fellow captives stumble up against him, evidently to attract his attention.

“Hist, old ship! I’d have given a year’s wages rather than have seen you in the hands of the gang,” whispered the man, whom he knew at once to be Dick Bracewell.

“Thank you, Dick,” answered Ralph. “I am vexed with myself for not having brought my protection with me. I shall, however, get it to-morrow, without doubt, so I shall be all right. I am sorry though to find that you have been pressed.”

“It’s little odds to me where I am, but much to you whether you keep your liberty, according to what you told me about that young girl,” answered Dick, in the same low tone. “Now, depend on’t, they’ll take good care you don’t receive your protection, for I’ve found out that we are to be shipped this very night aboard the Falcon, now lying in the Sound, and that she sails for a foreign station—the East Indies, they say—to-morrow morning. Bless ye, old ship! Before Captain Mudge can bring you your protection we shall have run the Eddystone out of sight.”

This information made Ralph very anxious, for he had too much reason to fear that it was correct. Dick fancied that some of the press-gang were observing him, and was silent for some time, though not idle with his fingers, walking on as if resigned to his fate. Once more he stumbled, apparently without intending to do so, against Ralph.

“Hist, mate! You’d like to get your liberty, and come what may I’ve made up my mind to help you,” he whispered. “My hands are free. In half a minute we shall be close to some dark lanes, and more than one hiding-place I know of. I’ll knock the fellow down nearest to you, and then do you run for it.”

“I cannot do it, Dick; I promised not to run, and I must not break my promise,” answered Ralph.

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Dick; “if those fellows made you give a promise it’s their look out.”

“A promise is a promise in God’s sight, however made,” said Ralph.

“Then you don’t care for the young girl you talked of marrying,” said Dick, again lowering his voice.

“I’d give my life for her sake,” answered Ralph.

“That’s not the question. Come, here’s the place; say the word and you’ll be free,” whispered Dick, not attending to his last remark.

“No, I cannot,” answered Ralph firmly.

“An obstinate man will have his own way, and be sorry for it afterwards,” exclaimed Dick, in a tone of vexation. “But I’ll see what I can do in spite of you; there’ll be another chance further on.”

Dick staggered on as if he were still half-seas-over, gradually increasing his distance from Ralph till he got alongside his friend Tom. The latter was in no mood for talking, but he listened eagerly to what Dick had to say.

“Ay, give the word, and I’m ready,” answered Tom, after listening for some time; “only just help me to get my hands out of limbo.”

Dick had managed to liberate his own hands, and it was the work of a moment to free his companion’s, the darkness preventing their guards from observing them.

They had by this time reached a street close to the water, though at some distance from where the boats were waiting. Suddenly the press-gang were assailed by the wildest shrieks and cries and showers of abuse, uttered by a number of women and boys, who rushed out from some narrow courts or other places where they had been concealed. They did not confide their attack to words, but, supported by some men, who, however, kept at a safe distance behind them, they opened a volley of brickbats and stones at the heads of the sailors. The latter turned to defend themselves and drive off their assailants, who nimbly retreated, when pursued, in all directions, redoubling their shrieks and cries. The officer, well knowing the object of the attack, shouted to his men to stand fast; but some amid the din did not understand what he said, and few were willing to obey his orders.

Tom, whose hands had been freed, tripped up the man nearest him, and dashed down the street towards the water, followed by two of the press-gang.

“Now’s your time, mate,” cried Dick, seizing Ralph by the arm; “come along.”

“I cannot,” answered Ralph, firmly; “I promised to remain. Save yourself if you can.”

“You’re a fool then,” exclaimed Dick, and, springing past some of the press-gang attacked by those in front, he dashed through the crowd. He was, however, pursued, and quickly brought back.

“Luck’s against me, hearties, but I’m not the lad to pipe my eye,” he exclaimed, in a tone of bravado. “Just give me another chance, and I’ll show you who has the fastest pair of heels.”

The sailors laughed at Dick’s sally, and thought him a hearty good fellow, though they did not neglect, for all that, to lash his hands more securely than at first.

In the meantime Tom had reached the wharf, but finding one side blocked up, had doubled, in the hope of escaping in another direction, when he saw two of the press-gang close to him. Numerous vessels of all sizes lay in the harbour. Dread of having to serve on board of a man-of-war made him desperate. Without hesitation he plunged into the water, and swam off, hoping to reach one of the vessels, on board which he might be received and concealed. His pursuers, expecting a flogging should he escape, dashed in after him. The heads of the three men could scarcely be discerned when the officer, with the main body, reached the quay. In vain he shouted to Tom to return and not to risk his life, while he ordered some of his men to push off in a boat and overtake the swimmers. No boat was, however, to be found afloat in the neighbourhood. Some were hauled up on a slip, but they were under repair, and no oars were in them. The people who had been mobbing the press-gang had collected on the quay, keeping at a safe distance, and they now uttered cries of encouragement to Tom to persevere, while they hurled execrations on the heads of his pursuers; their voices, joined with those of the shouting seamen, creating the wildest possible uproar. In a short time the splash of oars was heard, and a boat was dimly seen at some distance from the shore. The officer shouted to the people in her to take his men on board, but his orders were unheeded.

Almost within hail lay the Amity. Could Ralph once get on board her he was safe. At that moment he caught sight of a lad running by.

“Here, boy,” he cried out, in spite of the growls of some of the press-gang near him, “there’s a golden guinea for you if you’ll get aboard the Amity, tell Captain Mudge that his mate, Ralph Michelmore, has been pressed, and ask him to bring my protection, which he will find in my jacket pocket, on board the Falcon. She sails to-morrow early, so there is no time to be lost; or, if you can get off at once—and you shall have thirty shillings if you do—he may overtake us before we reach the boats.”

“Trust me, mate,” answered the lad, a sharp young mud-larker. “I should just like the feel of a little earnest-money, though, to show that I am not being sent on a fool’s errand.”

The seamen laughed, and told the boy that such was very likely to be the case. Ralph, however, found a crown piece in his pocket.

“Here, my lad,” he said, giving it to the boy; “notwithstanding what they say, I will trust you. What’s your name, that I may know you again?”

“I’m sometimes called Peter Puddle, and sometimes Muddy Legs, and all sorts of names, for that matter; but I’m no ways particular.”

“Well then, Peter Puddle, be smart about it, and gain the rest of your reward,” said Ralph.

The lad, with a shout of delight, taking the money, ran off, and Ralph was left in doubt whether or not he would fulfil his commission.

The sailors laughed even more than before. “It’s easy to see who’s the fool now,” observed one of them.

The attention of the party was, however, quickly recalled to what was going forward in the harbour. The boat before seen could be discerned dimly in the distance through the gloom, and from the same direction there came the sound of oars splashing, or people struggling in the water, and loud cries and shouts mingled with fierce oaths, while now a piercing cry rang through the night air. Some of the press-gang were eager to jump in and swim to their shipmates’ assistance, but the officer forbade them, ordering three or four to make another search for a boat. At length the sounds of struggling ceased, but which party had been defeated it was impossible to ascertain.

The sound of oars in the water was now heard, and a boat was observed slowly approaching the shore. She reached at length the jetty near which the man-of-war’s men were standing. Some of them went down to meet her, and a shout proclaimed that their shipmates had returned, though without a prisoner. The two men were lifted out of the boat, not having strength to walk. Their arms and shoulders were fearfully battered and bruised, and the head of one of them was cut open. They had reached the boat, when they were attacked by the men in her with oars and stretchers, and they would have been drowned had they not got hold of the gunwale, and, in spite of opposition, clambered on board, and, after a desperate struggle, turned the occupants out, just at the moment that another boat came up. The men, they believed, had been taken on board her, as had, they supposed, the escaped prisoner; and, at all events, she had made off and got out of sight.

Followed by a collection of men, women, and boys, still shouting and hurling abuse at them, the press-gang, moving on, at length reached the boats. Ralph and Dick were among the first not over gently hauled on board; the rest of the captives were as quickly as possible shoved in after them; a strong party of the press-gang remaining on shore to keep back the mob, which seemed inclined to make a rush at the last, for the purpose of rescuing some of their friends. Their courage, however, failed them. The last of the man-of-war’s men leaped on board, the order to shove off was given, and the boats proceeded down the Sound, followed by the yells and execrations of the people on shore.

“They’ll hurt their own throats more than they do us,” observed an old seaman who was pulling at the thwart on which Ralph and Dick sat. “It’s hard lines, though, you think, for yourselves, mates, I dare say; but before long you’ll be used to a life aboard a man-of-war, and be as ready to press others as we were to press you.”

“Justice is justice; and I shall never think it right to press men against their will,” answered Ralph. “I, however, hope to be free to-morrow, as I have a protection which will be brought on board to me.”

“Don’t count too much on that, mate,” said the old sailor; “when they’ve got a man, they’re not in a mind to let him go. It’s wisest to make the best of a bad job, and that’s what I advise you to do, my hearty.”

“If I had only myself to think of, I would,” said Ralph, liking the tone of the old sailor’s voice; “but I was to be married next week, and it’s bitter hard to be parted from the girl one loves, and harder for her.” Ralph’s voice trembled as he spoke.

“Ay, mate, hard, very hard!” answered the old sailor, in a sympathising tone; “I know what it is. I was pressed the very day I had married as sweet a young girl, and as good too, as an honest man would wish to have for his wife. I had five years of it out round the Cape without ever hearing a word of her, but I knew she would be true to me, and that kept my heart up. I got home at last, with plenty of prize-money to set up house, but she was gone. They showed me her grave. It might have been worse—I know that—still it seemed as if the life had been crushed out of me. I left my money with her childless mother, and volunteered aboard the first ship I heard of fitting out for a foreign station. From that day to this I’ve been at sea, turned over from one ship to another, and never saved a sixpence. I wish I had. I’d have got your discharge, that I would, if money could have done it.”

“Thank ye, from the bottom of my heart, old friend,” said Ralph, warmly. “Maybe I shall get my protection paper in time, and be set free.”

“Wish I could say I thought so. But you’ll know at least that there’s one aboard the Falcon who can feel for you, and that’s something; ay, and will stand your friend if there’s a chance. Cheer up! Cheer up! Here we are, close alongside the frigate.”

The pressed men, with Ralph and Dick among them, were sent down to the lower deck, and placed under charge of a sentry. They were allowed to stretch themselves on (as Dick, while bemoaning his fate, remarked) “the softest planks they could find,” for the remainder of the night.

It seemed but a moment after Ralph had at length fallen asleep, that he heard the boatswain’s shrill whistle and the deep rough voices of his mates rousing up all hands, while the pale light of early morning streamed down through the hatchways. The next cry which reached him was, “Hands aloft; loose sails.” Other orders were issued; he knew too well their meaning; preparations were being made for immediately putting to sea.

Chapter Four.

Poor Jessie had wished at once to hasten on board the Amity, to obtain the assistance of Captain Mudge, and to get Ralph’s protection, but her grandmother persuaded her to remain till the morning, as, not knowing where Ralph had been carried, she was sure nothing could be done till then.

Daylight came at length, and Jessie, receiving a loving embrace from her grandmother, set out. With a prayer for her safety, Mrs Treviss watched the young girl, who, like a bird released from its cage, flew rather than walked, as she made her way in the grey light of the early morn in the direction of the port.

At last she reached the landing-place, some way off which Ralph had told her the Amity lay. There were several boats made fast to the shore, or moored off it; but no watermen were about. In vain she looked along the quays on either hand; no one was stirring. Here and there, on board some of the vessels, men were seen just coming up the fore hatchways on deck, but they were too far off to hear her voice had she called to them. She felt ready to give way to tears at the delay, when every moment might be so precious. At length she saw, through the veil of morning mist which still hung over the mirror-like surface of the harbour, a small boat approaching the landing-place. A boy was paddling her at his ease, singing as he slowly dipped his oars in the water. She hurried down to meet him, as, standing up, he gave a few more strokes and brought the boat to shore.

“Well, Miss, what’s it you want?” he asked.

“Oh, boy, will you take me off to the Amity?” said Jessie. “She lies not far away from the shore, and I will pay you well.”

“Now that is curious,” exclaimed the lad, the same Peter Puddle by name to whom Ralph had entrusted his important commission. “I was to have gone aboard her for a young chap who was pressed last night and had left his protection behind him, but I got another job and couldn’t, though I am agoing when I’ve had breakfast.”

“Pray take me off at once, for every moment may be of consequence,” cried Jessie. “I want to see the captain about the same young man, and he will, I am sure, give you some breakfast.”

“Well, step in, Miss, then,” said Peter, offering his hand to help her, while he kept the boat close to the shore with his boat-hook. “I thought might be that the skipper would just hear what I’d got to say, and then kick me down the side again, as the chances are many I’ve met with would do.”

“Oh no! no! Captain Mudge will treat you kindly and reward you for the trouble you have taken,” said Jessie, as Peter began to pull away from the shore.

“As to trouble, Miss, I can’t boast much of that, seeing I didn’t go when I said I would,” answered Peter, in a greatly changed tone. “I like you, for you speak kindly to me; and I’m sorry I didn’t go when I promised; for, as you say, Miss, there’s no time to be lost. He was taken aboard the Falcon, and she is to sail this morning for the Indies, so that if he goes in her he won’t be back again for many a long year.”

This information increased poor Jessie’s agitation and anxiety. Fortunately, the boat was soon alongside the Amity: Peter hailed the deck. One of the crew looked over the side, and seeing Jessie, called the captain, who quickly made his appearance, while in the meantime the accommodation ladder had been lowered.

“What brings you here at this hour, my dear girl?” he exclaimed, with a look of anxiety in his countenance as he descended the ladder to help Jessie up the side. “Has anything happened to my mate?”

“Oh, yes, Captain Mudge; he has been pressed, and will be carried off to sea if we do not take him his protection,” answered Jessie as she reached the deck, no longer able to restrain her tears. “That boy knows all about it.”

Peter Puddle was called up, and gave the message he had received from Ralph with sufficient clearness.

“No time to be lost indeed,” exclaimed the captain. “Dear me! dear me! poor Ralph! We’ll make our way down the harbour as fast as sails and oars will send us along, and save him if we can. Lower the boat, lads, and take your breakfasts with you.”

Jessie, in spite of her anxiety, did not forget her promise to Peter; and the captain told him to go forward and get some food, which Toby Trott, the cabin boy, would give him. Peter pulled one of his shaggy locks and hastened to the caboose, where the cook was busy blowing up the fire, the grey smoke from which had just begun to curl in light wreaths towards the blue sky. In the meantime, Jessie accompanied the captain into the cabin.

“I reminded him to take his protection just as he was going ashore. He must have lost it, I fear, on his way,” observed the latter.

But Jessie was not so easily convinced of that. She hurried down to Ralph’s berth, and eagerly put her hand into one of the pockets of his jacket hanging up inside the door; her countenance fell. She tried the other pocket; “Yes, here it is!” she exclaimed in a joyful tone, drawing out a tin case and examining it. “Oh, Captain Mudge, let us go with it at once.”

“As soon as you have had a cup of coffee, my dear girl; I cannot let you start without that,” answered the kind old captain. “Careless fellow! I am angry with him for giving you so much anxiety; but the fright he has had will be punishment enough you think, I daresay. Come, come, Jessie, don’t cry; any man might have done the same. He just forgot in his eagerness to see you that he had changed his jacket.—Here comes the coffee.” The captain poured out a cup for her, but she could only take a few sips, while he hurriedly swallowed his breakfast. The boat was soon ready. Jessie was handed into her, and the old captain taking his seat, with four stout hands to row, they shoved off from the vessel’s side. They had got to a short distance off, when Peter Puddle looked over the bulwarks. “’Mind the mate of the sovereign he promised,” he shouted. “I’ll stay aboard till you come back.”

“Never fear, lad; you’ll get it if he is set free,” answered the captain.

“Oh! he must, he will be freed,” cried poor Jessie, who did not like the captain’s “if.”

“I hope so, my dear girl, but we must be prepared for disappointment,” he said, in a soothing tone. “I have had a good deal in my time, though I know that God orders all for the best, and He has given me strength to bear it.” He spoke for some time in the same strain. “It’s still a dead calm, and the ship cannot sail without a breeze, though all the Lords of the Admiralty were to order her to get under weigh, that’s one comfort,” he continued. “So cheer up, Jessie, cheer up.” The boat had got out of the Catwater, and was making good progress down the smooth waters of the Sound, with its high, richly-wooded shores on either side. Far ahead, at the entrance of the harbour, lay several ships-of-war and a fleet of merchantmen. The topsails of the largest, as well as those of the merchant vessels, were loosed and hung in the brails, and Blue-peter was flying from their mast-heads. It was evident that they were prepared for sea. Poor Jessie’s anxiety increased. Now and anon a catspaw had passed across the mirror-like surface of the water, just rippling it for an instant, and then leaving it again placid as before. Others now followed in quick succession. The sails and flags of the ships, hitherto hanging listlessly against the masts, began to blow out, and a vessel close-hauled was seen in the offing, gliding quickly across the mouth of the harbour.

“Step the mast, lads,” said the captain; “we shall feel the breeze presently, and the canvas will help us along. Keep the oars going though.” The sail was quickly hoisted and rigged out with a boat-hook, while the sheet was passed aft to the captain. The crew pulled more lustily than ever, for they saw that the frigate was preparing to sail, and were eager to rescue their mate, who was beloved by all of them. The breeze every moment increased. Poor Jessie, unable to speak from anxiety, her heart sinking within her, kept her eyes fixed on the ships, while the captain every now and then bent down to look at them under the foot of the sail. “In oars, lads,” he said at length, for the boat was skimming so fast over the water that they were of no further use. Still the wind blew stronger and stronger. They were within half a mile of the frigate. The loud sound of a gun fired from her side boomed over the water; it was followed by another—the signal for weighing. The head-sails of the merchantmen were sheeted home, and in quick succession their bows turned seaward and they glided away from their anchorage. The Falcon had not yet moved. They were now so near the frigate that the men in the tops and on the yards and swarming up the rigging could clearly be distinguished, while the boatswain’s shrill whistle and the voices of the officers were distinctly heard. A groan escaped from the old captain’s breast as the head-sails were let fall and sheeted home. The yards, hitherto backed against the mast, were swung round, and the huge anchor appeared rising above the water. Poor Jessie uttered a cry of grief, for she understood too well that there was now no hope of ever getting alongside. At that instant a person was seen to spring into the main rigging: Jessie held out her hands to him—it was Ralph. He must have recognised the boat as she approached. He waved a farewell to Jessie. No words reached her ear; but she saw, or fancied that she saw, his lips moving. Standing up, she seemed as if about to spring towards her intended husband, but the old captain holding her back, she uttered a piercing cry and sank down senseless in his arms. He could not tell whether Ralph had seen what had happened; he had indeed enough to do in attending to Jessie and steering the boat. Recollecting the protection, he held up the case containing it; but it was unnoticed, or at all events unheeded. He heard one of his seamen remark, “Now’s his time! If he was to slip overboard and swim to us, we’d pick him up fast enough, and they’d not heave-to to send after him.” The sailors in the boat beckoned eagerly to Ralph, who could not have misunderstood their signals. The temptation to him must have been very great; but whether or not he intended to make the attempt they could not tell, for at that moment three men sprang into the rigging and he was dragged down on deck out of sight.

Happily for Jessie, she did not see what had occurred. The ship had paid off before the wind and was rapidly gathering way: her after-sails were let fall, her topgallant sails hoisted, and under a crowd of canvas she majestically glided out of the Sound.

The boat had got a considerable way up the harbour before Jessie gave signs of returning consciousness. The old captain sat watching her with the affectionate care of a father. With a deep sigh she at length recovered, and a flood of tears relieved her aching heart. She turned her eyes seaward and gazed long and steadfastly at the proud ship which bore Ralph away, till the man-of-war could no longer be distinguished from the crowd of other vessels which surrounded her. The good old captain could fully sympathise with her in her grief, for he himself felt very sad at having his mate, whom he loved as a son, taken so unjustly away from him.

As the boat passed the Amity, Peter Puddle looked over the side and hailed, “Haven’t you got the mate in?”

The captain shook his head.

“Then I’ve lost my guinea,” cried Peter; “but I mind more about the mate, that I do.”

“Never mind your guinea, lad. I’ll see after you. Stay on board till I come back,” answered the captain.

They soon reached the shore. Captain Mudge insisted on escorting Jessie home, for he could not bring himself to leave her till he had seen her safe with her grandmother, who would, he fancied, comfort her better than he could. On reaching home, Jessie, throwing herself into her granny’s arms, gave way to her tears.

“It will do her good, and Ralph won’t find fault with her when he hears of it,” observed the old captain. “Fine young man, that mate of mine, Mrs Treviss. He’s a great loss to me, no doubt about that; but it may turn out for his good after all. Shouldn’t be surprised, as I said to Jessie just now, if he was to come back an officer in his Majesty’s Service. He’d not be the first pressed man who has risen to be an admiral. We can all pray for him too, you know, Mrs Treviss; and that’s a great comfort, isn’t it?”

Jessie in a short time became calm again, and even looked up and smiled at her kind old friend. Captain Mudge had a good deal of business to attend to, so after a short chat, promising to return soon to see how they were getting on, he took his departure.

Chapter Five.

The Falcon sailed down Channel with her convoy of merchantmen. She was to see them safe across the Atlantic to different ports in the West Indies, and then to proceed on her voyage to the East.

Early in the morning, Ralph, with the other pressed men, had been sent up on deck and their names duly entered in the ship’s books. Still he had a lingering hope that Captain Mudge would come off in time with the protection. How cruelly that hope was disappointed has been seen. With intense anxiety he had watched for the boat: he had seen her at length approaching. Already the capstan had been manned, and the men were tramping round against the pawls, the fifes playing merrily, to run the anchor up to the bows. While stationed at the fore-topsail braces, as he looked through a port he had recognised Jessie in the Amity’s boat. The temptation to bid her farewell was greater than he could resist. The brace was belayed: he sprang into the rigging that Jessie might see him. A midshipman observing the boat, and thinking that he was about to spring overboard to her, ordered him to be seized, and suddenly he found himself dragged down on deck and placed under charge of the master-at-arms for attempting to desert.

Ralph had now more reason than ever to be cast down. The offence with which he was charged was a serious one, yet the consciousness that he had no intention of committing it supported him. For long he was kept in suspense, while the ship with her attendant merchantmen was making an offing from the land before shaping a course down Channel. At length he was conducted between two marines to the quarter-deck, where Captain Shortland and his officers were standing and a large portion of the crew were assembled.

“I must have you understand, my lads, that I intend to maintain strict discipline on board this ship. I shall have an eye on those who do their duty, and on those who neglect it. I never forgive an offence, and shall severely punish drunkenness, insubordination, and desertion, or attempt at desertion: and I intend to make an example of the man who was, I am informed, about to try to desert from the ship.” And the captain looked at Ralph, who stood between his guards. All eyes were turned towards him. “What is his name?” asked the captain of the first lieutenant. On being told, he continued, “Ralph Michelmore, after having entered as one of this ship’s company, you were about to desert to a boat which had come off to receive you, and I shall give you two dozen lashes as a warning to yourself and others for the future.”

“I had no intention of deserting, sir,” answered Ralph, firmly. “The boat brought off the master of the brig to which I belong, with my protection, and I could easily have slipped through a port had I wished it.”

“And I can say, sir, that Ralph Michelmore speaks the truth. He’s an old shipmate of mine, and I never heard him tell the shadow of a lie,” said Dick Bracewell, stepping aft and doffing his hat. “He could have made his escape before he was brought aboard if he’d had a mind to do it, but he wouldn’t because he’d passed his word that he’d stay quiet, and the officer who pressed us knows it and can say so if he likes.”

The old mate who had commanded the press-gang, and was now attending to his duties on the lower deck, was sent for, and at once corroborated what Dick had said, explaining at the same time the circumstances of Ralph’s capture.

“I believe you, and you may return to your duty,” said the captain, looking at Ralph. “For your sake I am sorry that you were pressed, though I am glad to have got so smart a seaman as you appear to be; and if you turn out as I expect, you may have no reason to regret that you were compelled to join this ship. Pipe down.”

The men went below or forward to their respective duties.

“Well, my lad,” said the old sailor who had spoken to Ralph in the boat, coming up to him, “I’m right glad you’ve got out of that scrape, and, as I said afore, if ever you want a friend you’ll find Jacob Crane a staunch one. I can feel for you, lad; I can feel for you.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” answered Ralph, putting out his hand to grasp that of the speaker, who wrung his heartily.

“Have you ever before served in a King’s ship?” asked Jacob.

“No, I have never so much as been on board one before,” said Ralph.

“Then I can be of use to you in putting you up to a thing or two,” said old Jacob, and forthwith he began to explain the way in which the duty was carried on.

Ralph listened attentively, and made such good use of the knowledge he had gained that he was able from the first to do his duty as well as any one. He was fortunately stationed at the gun of which Jacob was captain, and the old sailor took pains to instruct him in handling it. Naval gunnery not being in those days the art it has since become he was soon a proficient.

“How, my lad, came you to say that you have never before served on board a man-of-war?” asked the first lieutenant one day, observing his activity.

“Nor have I, sir,” answered Ralph, touching his hat. “I never handled a gun before I joined this ship.”

“You do very well, then, and may look out for a higher rating before long,” observed Mr Handsel, passing on.

This remark somewhat raised Ralph’s spirits. The captain himself had observed his activity and neat appearance, and the thorough way in which he did everything to which he put his hand. One day the signalman was on the sick-list. The post is a responsible one when a number of ships are sailing in company, as a watch has to be kept on the whole fleet and signals constantly made and answered. The captain sent for Ralph, and after a few questions directed him to attend to the duty. He performed it with his usual attention and intelligence. It kept him also on the quarter-deck and under the eyes of the officers. As is customary, the midshipmen assembled under the master each day at noon and at other periods with their sextants or quadrants to take observations. Some of the younger ones Ralph remarked handled their instruments rather clumsily, and evidently did not understand their use.

“I say, Dickenson, for the life of me I cannot manage to shoot the old sun with this thing, it only puts my eyes out; and yesterday again my day’s work was all wrong somehow or other,” said Mr Paul Chandos, a youngster who had just come to sea, to another midshipman who had also not been many months in the Navy.

“I’m sure I can’t help you,” answered Dickenson, a gawky lad, with a hopeless glance at his quadrant. “It seems a very useless expenditure of our valuable eyesight when it’s the proper business of the master, and those fellows the master’s assistants, to find out whereabouts the ship is.”

“Still, I should like to know how to use this thing properly, for the captain is sure to find out if I don’t; and besides, some day I may have command of a vessel, and I should look very foolish if I didn’t know how to find my way in her,” said young Chandos, putting the quadrant to his eye and imitating the master, who with the rest of the midshipmen stood at some distance off.

“It will be so long before either of us have that chance that I don’t intend to trouble myself about the matter,” answered the other midshipman, swinging his quadrant backwards and forwards as if he felt inclined to throw it overboard. Still Chandos persevered.

“If you like, I shall be happy to show you how to take an observation, and the way to work it out,” said Ralph, touching his hat, though he felt more compassion than respect for the youngster.

“I wish you would, Michelmore,” answered young Chandos, in a grateful tone; “I have been bothering away day after day and haven’t liked to ask any one.”

Ralph took the quadrant, and having first placed it to his own eye, made Chandos hold it while he showed him how to use it, and to watch for the moment when the lower edge of the sun seemed to touch the horizon before it rose again.

“There—there—I never saw it do that before,” exclaimed the young midshipman. “Thank you, Michelmore, you are a good fellow: and now just work it out for me in this pocket-book, will you?”

Ralph, having in the meantime taken a glance round at the different ships of the fleet, very rapidly in a few figures did as requested.

It happened that the captain had just before come on deck, and, unnoticed, was an observer of the scene. He had remarked, too, the way in which Ralph had assisted the youngster without neglecting his proper duty. The master and his assistants, with the rest of the midshipmen, had taken their instruments below when he went aft to where Ralph was standing. “I see, Michelmore, you know how to take a meridional observation,” he observed. “Do you understand much of navigation?”

“I take an interest in the study, sir, and am considered a fair navigator,” answered Ralph, modestly.

“Have you made many voyages?” asked the captain.

“Several, sir, up the Mediterranean, to Lisbon, Madeira, and the Baltic, as mate,” said Ralph.

“You consider yourself competent, then, to navigate a vessel in any part of the world,” observed the captain, after a short pause.

“Yes, sir; I should have no fears as to the correctness of my observations,” answered Ralph, modestly, though he spoke with confidence.

“I will consider what can be done, and will not lose sight of you,” observed the captain, walking away.

There were grumblers and discontented men, as there are on board most ships. Dick Bracewell was among them. He soon got tired of the strict discipline, grumbled at being compelled to turn out neatly-dressed and clean, and at being only allowed to smoke his pipe at certain times and in one part of the ship, and more than all at having his grog stopped, or being compelled to drink it mixed with nine parts of water when he had neglected his duties or broken through any regulations, as was not unfrequently the case. Having had a good deal of money in his pocket when pressed, he was able to buy from others their allowance of grog.

At length, one evening when Ralph went below, to his sorrow he found his old shipmate unusually uproarious, now singing and shouting, now ready to quarrel and fight with any one who interfered with him. Ralph was doing his best to get him to sit down quietly by himself, when the hammocks were piped below and the men sprang up on deck to bring them down from the hammock-nettings. “I’m off for mine,” cried Dick, getting on his legs and staggering along the deck. “I look as sober as a judge, whatever I may be, though I feel very jolly.” Ralph tried to stop him, but Dick, breaking from his friend, scrambled up the ladder, shouting out, “I’m a free man, and no one shall stop me from doing what I choose.” His shouts drew the attention of one of the officers towards him. He was ordered aft with his hammock, carrying which, he went staggering along till he rolled over with it on the deck. In vain he tried to get on his feet, so he lay still, with just enough consciousness left to know that he was in a sad scrape, without a chance of getting out of it till his back and the cat had become acquainted. The officer of the watch, knowing that it would be useless to speak to him, sent for two marines, between whom he was taken below and forthwith placed in irons, thus to remain till he had recovered his senses. The inevitable consequence followed. The next morning Dick received two dozen lashes as a punishment for drunkenness.

Dick, who had been one of the merriest fellows on board, now became morose and surly, even to his best friends; and as the men were afraid of selling him their liquor, he could not drown his care, as he would have tried to do had he been able. “Don’t talk to me, Ralph,” he said one day when his old shipmate was trying to arouse him to a better state of mind. “I’m determined to take French leave, and you’re not the man I think you, if you try to stop me.”

“I have always been your friend, Dick, and I should prove that I am so still if I prevented you from doing a mad thing, which would be sure to bring you into a worse condition than you are now. You would, most probably, be retaken, or should you escape, you would to a certainty get drunk, spend all your money, and be left a beggar in a strange land.”

“I’ve a notion that I can take as good care of myself as you, or any other man, though you have been mate of the Amity, and expect some day to walk the quarter-deck of this ship,” answered Dick, with a scornful laugh, his old feeling of envy of Ralph reviving in his mind. “I shall have to touch my hat and ‘sir’ you, while you top the officer over me. Ha! ha! ha!”

Ralph had some time before, while in friendly converse, somewhat incautiously, perhaps, expressed his hopes to Dick, who then seemed cordially to sympathise with him. He felt hurt at Dick’s remark, though not the less anxious to serve him. Before he could reply the boatswain’s whistle was heard, and the crew were piped on deck to muster at divisions.

No one was allowed to be idle on board. The men were constantly exercised at the guns, or in the use of the small arms, or in shortening and making sail, the frigate sometimes dropping astern to whip up the laggards, then crowding on again to recover her former position in the van of the fleet. Ralph was now regularly employed as a signalman. While he was thus constantly on the quarter-deck, not only young Chandos, but several of the other midshipmen, were glad to get his assistance in taking observations and in working out their day’s work. The master was glad to be relieved of the trouble of instructing them, and the captain was pleased to encourage the young man and to give him an opportunity of keeping up his knowledge.

Old Jacob Crane also congratulated him on his good prospects. “I’m glad to think on’t, lad,” he said, in a hearty tone. “You’ve the right stuff in you, and you’ve what’s better than all, a firm trust in God, and a wish to do your duty in His sight. You’ll do well wherever you are. I’ve never seen men like you fail.”

“In saying that you unjustly condemn yourself, I suspect,” observed Ralph.

“No, not unjustly,” answered Jacob. “I did not understand that truth in my younger days, and only learned it of late years, when too late to do much towards altering my condition among my fellow-men. Mind, I don’t say that I’m not much the better for it even now, for I’m happy and contented and fear no evil; but I remember what the Bible says, ‘Honour thy Creator in the days of thy youth.’ Those who do not, have bitterly to regret it when they grow old, even though they then learn to know and serve Him. The sins of our youth find us out, there is no doubt about that; and I envy you, Michelmore, who will not have to look back to the many misspent years that I do.”

It was now Ralph’s part to direct his friend to the only sure source of comfort—God’s loving message to man, as found in His Word, “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,” when by loving obedient faith the sinner takes hold of the promises. Thus the one assisted the other. Ralph indeed required support. Jessie was never out of his mind. Her granny was old and infirm, and might soon be taken from her; and then, should Captain Mudge be away, what would she do? “She has not, that I know of, dear girl, a friend on whom she can depend,” thought Ralph. “Yes, she and I have one in heaven on Whom we both rely. To Him I will pray for her, as she will, I know, for me.” Earnestly and faithfully Ralph did pray, and he did not fail to obtain that answer which true prayer always receives. He was supported, and his heart comforted.

The fleet was now approaching Jamaica, and Ralph was more actively than ever engaged in making and answering signals. Port-Royal, to which most of the ships were bound, was reached at length, when another man-of-war took charge of the rest to escort them to their destinations.

Dick had not concealed from those he could trust his intention of deserting. Ralph had done his utmost to dissuade him from his foolish intentions, and though he would not inform the officers, he determined to keep a watch over his friend and stop him if he could. A boat, which came alongside directly the frigate dropped anchor, brought the news that the yellow fever was raging on shore, with orders that no one should leave the ship.

“You have lost your chance, Dick, and I am glad of it,” said Ralph.

“Not so sure of that,” answered Dick; “I’m a pretty good swimmer, and can make my way on shore if I’ve a mind for it.”

“Don’t be so mad, Dick, as even to think of such a thing,” said Ralph. “Haven’t you heard of Port-Royal Jack, the big shark? He will be sure to catch you if you make the attempt.”

Dick looked incredulous, but the accounts he heard from his other shipmates of the number of people Port-Royal Jack had swallowed made him hesitate about putting his resolve into execution.

The next day the frigate, having taken in fresh provisions and water, put to sea, and Ralph hoped that Dick would be in a better mind before they again entered a port.

Chapter Six.

The Falcon had got some way to the south of the Line. Ralph was now a quartermaster, a position in which only seamen of merit and experience are placed.

It was night, and unusually dark for that latitude. A gentle breeze filled the frigate’s canvas as she glided over the calm ocean with the wind on the larboard quarter. Ralph was in the watch on deck, stationed near the man at the helm. Now he glanced his eyes aloft to ascertain that the sails drew properly, now at the binnacle to see that the proper course was kept; then he took a look on either side round the horizon.

Ralph had turned his eyes to the south-east, when he observed a vivid flash. It looked like lightning. Another and another flash followed in quick succession. He made his report to the officer of the watch. The flashes continued. There could be no doubt about the matter, an action was taking place. A midshipman was sent to inform the captain. As soon as he came on deck all hands were called and the yards braced up, a course was steered which would carry the frigate to windward of the combatants. There could be no doubt one of them was English and if the smaller of the two, the appearance of the Falcon would probably turn the tables. In the meantime the drums beat to quarters and the usual preparations were rapidly made for battle. Till near enough for the night-signals to be distinguished it was important that their approach should not be discovered, as it was as likely to discourage a friend as to overawe a foe, or what was of more consequence, might induce a foe to try and escape. All lights on board were therefore carefully shaded as the frigate stood on towards the combatants. Suddenly the flashes ceased: still, as the bearing of the strangers had been taken, there would be no difficulty in discovering them. The crew of the Falcon waited in vain for a renewal of the flashes. The fight was over. Which was the victor was the question. Ralph heard the subject discussed by the officers on the quarter-deck. They expressed their fears that there would be no fighting.

“An English ship would not have given in so soon,” observed the first lieutenant.

“Not unless she is the smallest,” answered the purser, who was addicted to croaking.

“Then we shall have the satisfaction of retaking her and thrashing her captor into the bargain,” said Mr Handsel.

“But what if her captor is bigger than we are?” asked the purser.

“Thrash him notwithstanding,” said the first lieutenant, laughing.

“It is possible that more than two vessels were engaged,” remarked the captain. “We shall know, however, before long. Have the night-signals ready, Mr Handsel. We must take care not to fire into a friend.”

The excitement on board increased as the frigate, moving at the rate of two or three knots an hour, drew near the spot where it was expected that the strangers would be discovered. The men stood at their guns prepared to open the ports and run them out when the order should be given. The magazines were open and powder and shot passed up. The surgeon and his assistants were below in the cockpit, making their arrangements for the duties they might have to perform; looking to their instruments, their bandages and styptics, and rigging their amputation-table.

“How do you feel, Paul?” asked Dickenson of young Chandos. “If we could see the enemy I shouldn’t mind; but, for my part, I don’t like this sort of work in the dark, I confess.”

“I was thinking of home and my mother and sisters,” answered Chandos. “I used to long to be in a battle, and I should be sorry to miss it, but I wish it was over. I would rather have to look back at it than forward.”

“So would I, provided I hadn’t lost an arm or a leg or been killed outright,” said Dickenson, in a dolorous tone.

“I haven’t thought about being killed, and I hope that neither you nor I will be,” answered Chandos; adding, “I shouldn’t mind, perhaps, a bullet through my arm or leg for the honour and glory of the thing, and to talk about when we get home.”

“I’m sure I don’t want any such honour and glory, and I wish you wouldn’t speak about such things,” groaned out Dickenson. “Perhaps we shan’t have a fight after all.”

“I hope we shall, though,” exclaimed his more plucky messmate; “that is to say if it does not last too long. I could hold out for an hour or so, but then I think I should begin to wish it was over.”

“Beg pardon, young gentlemen; you’d hold out better after the first hour than for the first five minutes,” observed old Jacob Crane, who had overheard the conversation. “Just let us exchange a couple of broadsides and you’d think no more about the matter than if you were snowballing each other. I know the stuff you’re made of too well to doubt that.”

“Thank you, Crane, for the compliment,” said Chandos; “but do you think we shall have a fight?”

“Sure on’t,” answered the old man; “just look out over the larboard bow and you’ll see three ships hove to, and some bright lights in the stern of the biggest of them. She’s a lumping frigate if she isn’t something larger, and though our signal has been hoisted some time she hasn’t answered it.”

The midshipmen, whose eyes were not so well accustomed to pierce the gloom of night as were old Jacob’s, had at first some difficulty in distinguishing the three ships, though they saw the bright lights he pointed out. Gradually the frigate drew near, and the tall masts and widespread canvas of the strangers appeared clearly enough against the sky, like large phantoms stalking across the waters. Still the private signal remained unanswered. There could be no longer any doubt that the largest ship was an enemy, and that she had captured one or both of the others. Notwithstanding her apparent superiority, Captain Shortland did not hesitate about attacking her. Sail was shortened, and the frigate stood on with topsails, jib, and spanker set, so as to be thoroughly under command. It was no longer necessary to keep the ports closed. The order to open them and to run out the guns was given, and at the same time the crews of the guns were cautioned not to fire a shot till they heard the word of command. The hearts of the coolest beat quicker than usual when about midnight the Falcon drew within a mile of the enemy. The lights from the fighting lanterns of the latter, which exhibited two rows of ports, with only a small space between them, gave her a most formidable appearance. She evidently carried many more guns than the English frigate.

“What’s the odds, lads,” cried old Jacob, when some of the men near him remarked this. “It isn’t the number of guns a ship carries will give her the victory, it’s the way they are fought, and we’ll soon show the mounseers how we can handle ours.”

In a short time the enemy filled his sails, the two ships thus nearing each other more rapidly; then suddenly he hove in stays when on the lee bow of the Falcon, and his guns thundering forth, sent their shot flying through her rigging, the only serious effect, however, of which was to bring down her jib. The Falcon crew stood ready, the captains of the guns with lanyards in hand eager to fire in return, but no order came. Captain Shortland knew that he could depend on the steadiness of his crew, and was reserving their fire for a shorter and more effective distance. Several more shots hurtled through the air around them.

“The weathermost of the smaller ships Is firing at us, sir,” observed the first lieutenant to the captain.

“Never mind that, we can settle with her by-and-by,” was the answer.

Thus the Falcon stood majestically on as if not a foe were near.

Though Ralph had never before seen a shot fired in anger, he stood at his post close to the wheel as calm and collected as the oldest seaman.

The eager crew had not much time to wait, before, by a clever manoeuvre, the frigate had been brought with her starboard broadside to bear directly on the stern of the French ship at less than pistol-shot distance. At the same moment the order to fire was passed along the decks and rapidly obeyed. Every shot went crashing into the French ship, raking her fore and aft, and probably killing the men at the wheel; for before she had time to alter her position the Falcon luffed into the wind, just scraping clear of her spanker-boom, and shooting up to leeward, let fly the whole of her other broadside with terrible effect into her opponent. So rapidly had this manoeuvre of the English frigate been performed, that several of the Frenchman’s weather guns went off after she had passed to leeward. The action was now carried on broadside to broadside, the position in which British seamen most delight.

“Aim low, my lads! aim low!” was the oft repeated order of the officers in charge of the guns, as they moved along the decks; not that there was much necessity for it, as the men had got a good mark before them, and were pounding away at it as fast as they could load and run out their guns. The Frenchmen were at the same time vigorously returning their fire, but as if intent on crippling their foe and then taking her at a disadvantage, they sent most of their shot flying through her rigging, bringing blocks and spars and ropes in thick showers down on deck. Though most of the enemy’s shot flew high, others came whizzing between the men’s heads, crashing into the sides of the frigate, or knocking away her bulwarks. Several of the crew had been wounded and carried below, but as yet two only had been killed, their bodies being drawn aside, when it was found that they were really dead, out of the way of their shipmates at the guns. Hitherto Ralph had escaped unhurt, though the head of one of the men at the wheel close to him had been taken off by a round shot, and an officer near him had been struck to the deck. By the lurid glare from the quick succeeding flashes and the light of the lanterns, he caught a glimpse of Dick working away manfully at one of the upper deck guns, he, like most of the crew, stripped to the waist, with a handkerchief tied round his head. Now he was visible, now he was concealed by the clouds of smoke which, circling round and then rising in the air, formed a dark canopy over the combatants. Young Chandos was not far off. Whatever might have been his sensations at first, he was collected enough now to attend steadily to his duty, and the work going on was a pretty severe trial to young nerves. The midnight battle raged fiercer and fiercer. A shot came flying by. Ralph felt that he was hit severely in the arm, and was compelled to summon another man to the wheel; but binding up his wounded limb, he stood as before at his post. Not many minutes afterwards a round shot struck the bulwarks, sending splinters flying in every direction. At the same moment Ralph, who had his eye on the captain, saw him stagger, and springing forward, caught him with his unwounded arm just as he was falling to the deck. Others gathered round. It was evident that he had been most seriously wounded. In vain he endeavoured to speak, but becoming senseless was carried below. Lieutenant Handsel at once took the command, making his clear voice, as he issued his orders, heard amid the wild din of battle. For an hour and a half the engagement had raged on and yet was as furious as ever. The lieutenant of marines, a tall, handsome young man, was cut almost in two by a round shot soon after the captain had fallen, and several more men were hit. Aloft, however, the damage was far more severe than on deck; the running rigging hung in festoons, the standing rigging was cut to pieces, every sail was riddled through and through, and the masts and yards were badly wounded in many places. Judging by the crashing sound which came back from the French ship after each broadside fired by the Falcon, and the white splinters which flew from every part of her upper works, she was in a still worse plight. Still her crew kept up a hot fire. The young midshipmen, and even others, might possibly have begun to wish that the battle was over.

“Keep at it, my lads!” was the cry passed along the decks; “she’ll soon give in.”

Broadsides had been exchanged: another proceeded from the Falcon; but none came in return.

“Cease firing!” cried Lieutenant Handsel; and as soon as all was silent he hailed the enemy and asked if she had struck. No reply was made. Again the Falcon opened fire; but as the Frenchmen did not return it, she at once ceased, and a second time the lieutenant hailed, but no answer was made.

“We must give them more of it!” he shouted.

At that instant, the smoke clearing away, it was seen that the rigging of the French ship was swarming with men, who were endeavouring to loose their topgallant sails, apparently with the intention of escaping. Some of the crew of the Falcon were ordered aloft to set theirs while the rest let fly another thundering broadside. Before the Frenchmen had time to descend, the mizenmast of their ship fell over the side, and several must have been plunged into the water; not a minute afterwards the main-mast, fore-mast, and bowsprit followed, and she lay a helpless wreck on the ocean.

Loud cheers burst from the throats of the British crew, and hearty shakes of the hand were exchanged among them. Before the question was asked, a voice came from the French ship, crying out that she had struck, and entreating that the English frigate would not again fire.

“No fear of that,” was the answer; “what ship is she?”

“The French frigate Concorde,” replied the officer who spoke. “Send a boat, I pray, for we have none left.”

Three boats which had escaped injury were instantly lowered, and Mr Handsel, not aware that Ralph was wounded, ordered him to go in one of them. When he reached the deck of the prize, such a scene of horror as he had scarcely imagined met his sight. The boats, booms, the wheel, capstern, binnacle, and indeed all the upper portions of the ship, were cut to pieces; the bulwarks were destroyed and the starboard side almost beaten in, while the decks, slippery with gore, were literally strewn with the dead and badly wounded. The French captain, two lieutenants, several junior officers, and fully sixty men were killed, and two other lieutenants and eighty men were wounded. A young officer with his arm in a sling, who by the death of his superior had succeeded to the command, presented his sword in token of submission to the third lieutenant of the Falcon. It was at once returned to him with a compliment to his bravery and an expression of sympathy, and an assistant-surgeon was sent for from the Falcon to attend to the sufferers. Ralph was the first person the young man spoke to on coming on board.

“You are hurt, Michelmore,” he said, in a friendly tone; “I must look to you at once;” and by the light of a lantern he dressed Ralph’s arm, which greatly needed care. “I fear that our good captain is mortally wounded; but he has not forgotten you, for as soon as he came to himself he ordered his clerk to make out your appointment as a midshipman and signed it, though he could scarcely hold a pen. You’ll come in for your share of prize-money as such, and be placed on the quarter-deck; so I’ll congratulate you, my lad. There, now you’ll do; but I must get you sent on board again, you’re not fit for work here.”

Ralph very unwillingly obeyed the order he received to return to the Falcon. When he had reached her he would not even then go below; but though he was unable to handle a rope, having reported himself to Mr Handsel, he received directions to superintend a party of men in refitting the rigging. There was work indeed for every one; for though the Falcon had suffered less than her antagonist, her masts and spars, wounded in various places, required to be fished and the standing rigging to be spliced, to enable her to make sail and go in chase of the two other ships just before captured by the Concorde. Happily it fell perfectly calm; and thus, while the prizes could not escape, time was obtained for repairing damages. There was not a moment to be lost, for every one knew that should a breeze spring up before the rigging had been set to rights, the tottering masts would to a certainty go over the side.

Chapter Seven.

Daylight found the Falcon’s crew still hard at work, the prisoners on board the Concorde being assisted by the English seamen taken out of the two merchant vessels. The latter were South Sea whalers, furnished, as was not unusual in those days, with letters of marque, and returning home from round Cape Horn with full cargoes and a considerable amount of booty. They lay, their sails all set, about two miles off, waiting for a breeze to make their escape. Their masters, who had been found as prisoners on board the Concorde, were eager to attempt their recovery, and offered to man the Falcons boats with their crews, and to lead an expedition against them. Mr Handsel, however, at first considered that it would be extremely hazardous, and he could not spare the necessary number of men for the enterprise. So busy were all hands that no inquiries had been made about the killed and wounded. Few perhaps even thought of their shipmates writhing in agony below. The voices of several officers wont to be heard were silent, and not a few of their messmates were missed from among them. At length there was a rumour that their brave captain was even worse hurt than was at first supposed—it was soon whispered that he was dying—and then came the news that he was dead. Many a tear was dropped from the eyes of his hardy crew, which the loss of their own messmates had failed to draw forth. But there was no time to express their sorrow. All hands had to work on as hard as ever. The carpenters, having secured the masts and spars, were busy with the boats. Mr Handsel at length determined to send an expedition to recapture the whalers, which, fortunately lying rather more than a mile apart, could not assist each other. Ralph offered to go in one of the boats; as it was his left arm which was wounded, he could steer or handle a cutlass with his right.

“Yes, you will go in charge of the gig as an officer; Mr Symonds will take command of the expedition in the pinnace; the masters of the whalers will go in the other boats: should Mr Symonds fall, the command will devolve on you,” said Mr Handsel. Mr Symonds was a master’s mate; one of the lieutenants being wounded and the other on board the Concorde, he was the next in rank able to go. Four boats were quickly in the water, the last nail being driven in by the carpenter as they were being lowered. Their crews were armed with pistols and cutlasses. It was resolved to attack the nearest vessel first; and as she was said to be the fastest sailer, should she be captured, it was hoped that the other would be quickly overtaken. Old Jacob and Dick were with Ralph. The boats shoved off from the ship’s side and pulled for the nearest whaler. As they approached she opened a hot fire, on which Mr Symonds ordered them to keep apart and to steer for her stern. One of the masters in charge of the pinnace did not hear the order. Ralph saw that she was struck several times. Mr Symonds’s boat also suffered. He with the second cutter dashed on, the others following: one boarded on each quarter. The Frenchmen had to quit their guns and to defend themselves with pikes and pistols, but their assailants quickly swarmed on board, Ralph, in spite of his wounded arm, getting up the side with Jacob’s assistance. The fight on deck was short. The prize-crew gave way, and in three minutes the English were in possession of the ship. Ralph looked round for Mr Symonds. He lay dead in the stern of his boat, and Ralph found himself in command of the prize. The master of the whaler just captured was also killed. The other was badly wounded, and several of their men had fallen. Having secured the prisoners and released the crew below, he ordered the boats to tow ahead towards the other whaler. As they approached she opened her fire, but by steering to the eastward he kept directly ahead of her, out of range of her guns. Getting still nearer, he brought his broadside to bear on her, when the Frenchmen, to avoid the consequences, hauled down their colours. She was quickly taken possession of, when the prize-crew were secured and the Englishmen remaining on board were released. As each vessel had six boats they in a short time were towed near to the Falcon. As they approached they were received with a loud cheer, and Mr Handsel ordered Ralph to take command of the first re-captured, the Eagle, and to send all the hands he could spare to assist in refitting the Concorde and setting up jury-masts. Of the other vessel, the Penguin, her only surviving mate took charge; for both had fought bravely, and had not struck till after a long chase, and when several officers and men had fallen. Both vessels had also so severely suffered in hull and rigging, that it would have been dangerous without undergoing repairs to proceed on their voyage.

Lieutenant Handsel therefore determined to proceed with all the ships to Rio de Janeiro, the nearest port in the Brazils. Ralph could scarcely believe that he was not in a dream when he thus found himself in command of a fine ship, with the probability of having to navigate her home. Should, however, a fitting man be obtained at Rio to take charge of her, he would be superseded and have to return to the Falcon. He naturally hoped that no one would be forthcoming. He should then realise his fondest hopes—be united to Jessie—with a good sum from his prize-money and pay as captain of the Eagle with which to set up house. He might then rejoin the navy as an officer, or obtain his discharge, or go back to the Amity, should Captain Mudge wish him to do so. “I will not be ungrateful to my kind old friend, though I suspect that Jessie would wish me to remain in the service; and though I entered unwillingly, I should now be sorry to leave it,” he thought. “Perhaps I may rise still higher—others have done so—why should not I, if I do my duty, and my life is preserved?”

Ralph quickly got accustomed to his new position. His scanty crew acknowledged that they had never had a better captain. They were kept of necessity at work, but he made that work as light as possible by setting them to do it in the best way it could be done, and only ordering them to do what was absolutely required. Sailors, as indeed is the case with most classes of men, are very quick in discovering when they have an efficient officer placed over them who knows his duty. Insubordination and mutiny are generally the consequences rather of the ignorance and sloth of the captain than of tyranny.

Fortunately, the calm continued. The decks were washed clean of their bloody stains; the dead were committed to their ocean graves, and their shipmates, if they did not forget, soon ceased to talk about them. Jury-masts were rigged on board the Concorde, and a breeze at length springing up, the four ships, thus partially repaired, made sail for Rio.

Old Jacob and Dick had accompanied Ralph on board the Eagle. It was an unfortunate circumstance for the latter. Spirits were more easily obtained than on board the frigate, and he very soon became quarrelsome and mutinous. Ralph, not observing his state, had directed him to perform some duty.

“Not for you, or any man like you. You, who were before the mast only yesterday—you think you can top the officer over me, do you? I told you I wouldn’t stand it, and I won’t,” exclaimed Dick, reeling about and flourishing his arms as his excitement increased.

The whaler’s crew laughed, and some of the rougher characters even encouraged Dick with their applause.

Ralph knew that discipline must be maintained, though ready himself to bear any insult, and most unwilling to punish his former messmate. A boat from the Falcon was alongside. He ordered the boatswain and some other men on whom he could depend to seize Dick and lower him into her. It was done before the unhappy man knew what was happening. Ralph then wrote a note to Lieutenant Handsel, saying that the proceeding was necessary to prevent worse consequences, but begging that, as Bracewell had behaved bravely in the action, his offence might be overlooked. Dick stormed and raged when he found himself being carried back to the frigate, and vowed that he would be revenged. Ralph regretted what had happened, the more as he had hoped that, by keeping Dick on board the Eagle, he might have prevented him from attempting to desert. He resolved, however, as soon as they arrived at Rio, to go on board the Falcon and to try and bring him to reason. Though the distance to be run was not great, they were very long about it. Light winds and calms prevailed, and when there was a breeze, the other ships had to wait for the Concorde, which, under jury-masts, made but slow progress. At length land was sighted, and all hoped to get in the next day. As, however, evening drew on the weather looked very threatening. Dark clouds gathered rapidly in the sky. Squalls in quick succession swept over the ocean, and a heavy sea got up, in which the ships plunged and rolled as they made their way towards the harbour’s mouth. Night coming down on the world of waters, the rest were ordered by a signal from the Falcon to stand off the land till daylight. Ralph trembled for the masts of the Eagle, and was still more anxious about those of the Falcon, The night became very dark, and the gale increased. The lights from the other ships could be distinguished at some distance apart. The Falcon and Penguin appeared to be making fair way, and the Eagle behaved very well, but the Concorde was evidently dropping astern. Ralph had kept his eye on her lights. They grew dimmer and dimmer. It was doubtful whether she was even holding her own. The Eagle was under close-reefed topsails, and could with difficulty carry them. A perfect hurricane was blowing dead on shore. “Lord help those on board the prize! I can nowhere see her lights,” exclaimed old Jacob, who had been looking out to leeward. “She must have carried away her jury-masts, or her canvas has blown to ribbons, I fear. If not, we shouldn’t have lost sight of her.”

Ralph looked in vain in the direction in which he had last seen the lights of the Concorde, while those of the frigate and the whaler were clearly visible, the former about a mile ahead of the Eagle, and the latter rather further off, astern.

“If the wind doesn’t change soon there’ll go a good lump of prize-money and the lives of a good many poor fellows,” observed old Jacob.

“But won’t she be able to steer for the harbour, Crane?” asked young Chandos, who was, however, thinking more of his two messmates and others on board than of prize-money.

“It will be a hard matter to find it, even if they can steer the ship at all: and considering the way we knocked her about, it will be a wonder to my mind if she doesn’t go to the bottom before morning,” answered old Jacob with a sigh.

The anxious night passed away. When day dawned, it was found that the ships were nearer the land, notwithstanding all their endeavours to beat off it, than they had been on the previous evening. Many a glass was turned westward in search of the Concorde, though the hope of discovering her was slight. Not a trace of her was to be seen. She, with her prize-crew, had probably foundered or gone on shore at the moment her lights had disappeared. Still it was thought possible that she might have been driven into some bay, or between high rocks, and be concealed by them from sight. Soon after dawn the Falcon made the signal to bear up for the harbour. She leading, and the two re-captured whalers following, they stood towards it. Though the sea broke impetuously on the rocks on either side, they safely entered the magnificent harbour of Rio de Janeiro, and dropped their anchors off the town.

Lieutenant Handsel at once applied to the authorities for guides, and a party was sent off, under the master and purser, to search the coast to the northward for the wreck of the Concorde, and to assist any of the crew who might have escaped. The sea was still too rough to allow of an expedition by water. Ralph in the meantime was ordered to return to the Falcon with Mr Chandos and the men-of-war’s men who had accompanied him on board the Eagle. Mr Handsel then told him that as there was no probability of an English master being found at Rio to take the Eagle home, he should direct him to do so, and would furnish him with a document which would enable him to obtain a passage to rejoin the Falcon in India, should he desire to remain in the navy. “I would strongly advise you to do so,” he added; “and it will not be my fault it you do not gain promotion.”

Ralph heartily thanked his commander, and begged that he might be allowed to defer his decision till his arrival in England. Before going on shore, which he had to visit to obtain workmen for the repairs of the Eagle, he went below to speak to Dick Bracewell. He hoped to soothe his anger and to persuade him to give up his intention of deserting. He did not see him as he went along the decks. He ascertained that he had not formed one of the exploring party. He sent others to search for him, but he was nowhere to be found. A number of shore-boats had been going backwards and forwards all day between the ship and the shore, and Ralph had too much reason to fear that Dick had smuggled himself into one of them and made his escape. He felt it his duty to inform the commander, that watch might be kept to prevent others from following so bad an example; and he received orders to take a couple of men and to bring back the deserter if he could be found. He first returned to the Eagle to warn the boatswain, who was in charge, to look sharply after their own men.

“Half are drunk already, and as they have somehow or other managed to get liquor on board there is no fear of them,” was the unsatisfactory answer.

Ralph could only hope that the boatswain himself would keep sober, and as he could not remedy matters by remaining, he pulled on shore. Having obtained an interpreter and guide from the British consul, he commenced his search for Dick. After looking for him for some time, he heard that an English seaman, answering to his description, had been seen to enter a house in the neighbourhood of the town. Though it was now nearly dark he set off at once in the hopes of finding him before he could make his escape. He knew that he was acting really a kind part towards Dick, who would, if left on shore, soon fall a victim to intemperance and the unhealthy climate. The house was reached. The inhabitants appeared to be very much surprised at the visit, and though they allowed a search to be made for the runaway, they protested that they had never seen or heard of him. With much regret Ralph returned to the quay to go on board his ship. As he and his party approached the shore they observed a bright glare in the sky over the harbour.

“As I’m alive, there’s a ship on fire,” exclaimed one of the seamen. “Hope it isn’t our frigate.”

“It is one of the ships which came in this morning, at all events,” observed the guide.

Ralph with an anxious heart hurried down to the quay, where a number of people were already collected. A ruddy glare extended far and wide over the harbour from a fiery mass which floated on its surface, lighting up the buildings and the figures of the people on the shore, and the ships at anchor off it. Among them lay the Falcon, her sides and lofty masts and rigging brought prominently into view. At some distance from her was the Penguin; and what was Ralph’s dismay when he discovered that the burning ship was the Eagle. His impulse was to go off at once to her—but what aid could he render? Already the flames were bursting through her hatchways and ports and encircling her masts and spars. The oil and casks in her hold once having ignited, no human means could extinguish the conflagration. He looked for his boat. A boy alone was in her; the men, as was to be expected, had gone off to a wine-house, and only just having heard that a ship was on fire, came reeling down to the quay, uttering exclamations of surprise when they discovered that she was their own. Having tumbled into the boat they were sufficiently sober to row, and Ralph ordering them to shove off, steered for the unfortunate Eagle. Numerous boats were moving about, and some around her, and he hoped, therefore, that the people on board had been rescued. It made him fear, however, that all hope of saving the ship had been abandoned. Still it was his duty to get on board if he could, to ascertain that every possible effort had been made. He had passed through an outer circle of native boats, and was dashing on, when he was hailed by a man-of-war’s boat, but not hearing what was said, he was still continuing his course, and would soon have been close to the ship, when there came a thundering report as if a whole broadside had been fired. Her mizen mast shot up into the air, followed by a large portion of the afterpart of her deck and bulwarks and interior fittings; some parts in large pieces, others rent into numberless burning fragments, which hung suspended in the air, and then in a thick fiery shower came hissing down into the water, the lighter bits reaching considerably beyond where the boats lay. Ralph had scarcely time even to get his boat round before the shattered pieces of burning wood began to fall thickly round his boat, threatening in an instant to sink her, and to kill any one who might be struck. Happily no one was hurt. The downfall of the wreck ceased; still the fire in the forepart of the ship was raging on, when the bows and bowsprit rose in the air surrounded by flames which, tapering up into a vast cone of fire, suddenly disappeared as, the stern sinking first, the water swept over the remainder of this hapless ship, and all was instantly dark, except here and there where the smouldering ends of spars and planks floated above the calm surface of the harbour. Ralph with a sad heart pulled on board the Falcon, feeling himself reduced from the position of captain of a fine ship to that of a master’s assistant; and what weighed still more on his spirits, that he had no longer the prospect of returning to England and to his dear Jessie. He was thankful to find that the boatswain and most of the crew of the Eagle had been rescued, with the exception of three unhappy men who, overcome by liquor, had been suffocated below. The whole of the survivors entered on board the Falcon—indeed, they were not offered a choice. A dozen of her best hands were also taken out of the Penguin—such being the custom of the times, when a King’s ship wanted men. Their places were filled by Portuguese and other foreigners, thirty of whom were shipped by the Falcon to make up her complement, in addition to a few runaway English seamen reduced to beggary, and sent on board by the consul. The exploring party returned without a survivor from the Concorde, a few pieces of wreck alone having been found as evidence of her fate. Such is the sad result of warfare. Three hundred human beings had lost their lives on board the four ships, two only of which now remained afloat. Ralph did his utmost to discover Dick, but without success, and at length he began to fear that he had been drowned in trying to make his escape, or had—not an unlikely occurrence—been murdered on shore. The Falcon, her repairs being completed, and Mr Handsel having written his despatches to send home by the Penguin, and having given himself an acting order as commander, sailed for the East Indies.

Ralph, as may be supposed, did not fail to write to Jessie and Captain Mudge by the Penguin, and to leave duplicates of two letters with the consul, to be forwarded by another opportunity.

Chapter Eight.

Poor Jessie Flamank had good cause to be sad. For long she hoped against hope. Whenever the door opened her heart beat quick, and she looked up half ready to spring from her seat in expectation that her Ralph would appear. Her kind granny was unwilling to say anything which might quench the hope which kept up her spirits, yet the dame knew full well that Ralph was too good a seaman to be allowed his liberty. Captain Mudge looked in every evening when his work on board the Amity was over for the day, and did his utmost to comfort Jessie. He would not say, however, whether he thought that Ralph would come back soon, but he told her that he was sure to get on well, and be better off in many respects than on board the brig. “As to danger,” he continued, “to my mind a man is as safe in one place as in another. God, remember, looks after those who trust in Him; they would be in a bad case if they had no other protection than such as they can find for themselves; so I don’t see, Jessie, that any of us can do more for him than we are doing, that is, praying heartily for him. As I always say, it’s a blessed thing that we can do that for ourselves and others, though we can do nothing else for our own or their help.”

Jessie did trust to God, but her trial was hard to bear notwithstanding. Still it made her throw herself more than she might otherwise have done on His fatherly care, and she felt her heart lightened in a way she had not supposed possible. She had abundance of occupation; for Mrs Treviss was accustomed to take in needlework, to assist her limited means, and as her eyesight had of late become dim, Jessie endeavoured to relieve her by labouring with redoubled diligence.

Kind-hearted Captain Mudge seldom came to the cottage without some welcome present, which he said he had received as a gift from a brother skipper just returned from a foreign voyage. One day it was a Dutch cheese, another a few pounds of choice tea, or a box of dried fruit or some bottles of wine, and so on. One day, when the package was larger than would have been becoming for him, master of the good brig Amity, to carry through the streets, he was followed by a boy wheeling it along in a barrow. The lad, who was dressed in a neat sailor-like costume, set it down in the passage and was going away, when Jessie recognised, in spite of his changed appearance, her young tatterdemalion boatman, Peter Puddle. “What, Peter, I scarcely knew you again,” she said. “You must stop and have something to eat.”

“Thank ye, miss, I’m not hungry, as I used to be,” he answered, in a tone of satisfaction. “Captain Mudge has taken me aboard the Amity, and I get as much grub as I want, though I shouldn’t mind a bit of bread and cheese, thank you.”

Jessie invited Peter into the kitchen and placed before him a loaf of bread and some cheese, to which, notwithstanding his assertion, he did ample justice. She observed that he had improved in his manners as well as in his appearance. Before beginning to eat, he said grace exactly in the words the captain used and in the same tone. He told her that Captain Mudge had given him an outfit, and was teaching him to read and say his prayers, and was ever so kind in all sorts of ways. “Oh, miss, there isn’t no one like him,” he added. “And only to think if I’d gone off at once that night and hadn’t picked those fellows up, I might have saved your young man from going to sea in the frigate. I be main sorry, you may depend on’t; but I’ll do all the captain tells me, that I will.”

Jessie sighed. “The men might have lost their lives had you not picked them up, though it was, indeed, careless of you to forget your commission,” she said. “But what I have to forgive I heartily do forgive, and I hope that you will obey Captain Mudge, and follow his advice.”

“That I will, miss, and thank you, too, for speaking so kindly to me,” answered Peter warmly. “I hope I may have a chance of showing that I am grateful, some day, though it isn’t likely, I’ll allow.”

The Amity was at length ready for sea. She was bound out to Riga for staves, a somewhat dangerous voyage in the autumn. Captain Mudge came to wish the widow and her granddaughter farewell. “I’ve got a fresh mate,” he said, “a decent lad; but he isn’t like Ralph, and I doubt if he’s much of a navigator.”

“Good-bye, Jessie, good-bye; heaven bless and protect you; keep a good heart, my girl, you’ll see Ralph back some day,” were his last words, as he wrung her hand at the porch and hurried down the road.

When he had gone, Jessie felt that she had lost the truest friend she possessed in the world next to her granny, and she could not help fearing that the days of her only relative were numbered. Every week Jessie saw a marked change in her. She could no longer get up and downstairs without the greatest difficulty, her eyesight grew worse, and her trembling fingers refused to hold a needle, while she could scarcely convey her food to her mouth. In one respect she had not changed: her mind remained clear and her trust in God as firm as ever. She knew that she was dying, though she was loth to say so to her grandchild, who would thus be left alone in the world. “God will look after the dear one,” she said often to herself; “He is ever the father of the fatherless, and will not forsake her.” She longed, however, for the return of Captain Mudge, but though it was the time for him to be back, no news had come from him. A letter at last arrived from Ralph, written from the West Indies, which gave her an account of his prospects of promotion, and cheered her up. He was well and as contented as could be, and she was thankful for that; still it compelled her to abandon all hopes of his speedy return. When his next letter arrived, giving an account of the battle and of the loss of the Eagle and of his own bitter disappointment, she was sitting by the death-bed of Mrs Treviss. Had it not been for the burning of the Eagle, Ralph might even now have been with her, but instead, he had certainly gone to that far, far off Indian Ocean, where he might be kept for years. Jessie restrained her tears that she might not disturb her grandmother’s last hours.

Mrs Treviss, who was thinking of Captain Mudge, asked faintly if he was coming.

“No hope of it, dear granny,” she answered, in a faltering voice.

“God’s will be done! Trust to Him! Trust to Him!” whispered, the old woman, closing her eyes as if she were weary and wanted sleep.

Jessie sat long watching her anxiously. There was no movement. She took her hand. It was icy cold. Her granny was dead, and she was alone in the world. The doctor some time after looked in and found the young girl still seated by the bedside. He sent a woman, Dame Judson by name, to assist her, and promised to make arrangements for the funeral, but he had a large family of his own, and could do little more except in the way of sympathy and advice. Mrs Treviss was carried to her grave, Jessie being the only mourner, while Dame Judson walked by her side to afford her support.

When she came back to her solitary home she could not for some time arouse herself from her grief, though Dame Judson, a motherly sort of woman, tried her best to console her. Jessie, however, felt that it was necessary to consider what she should do for her support. The cottage was hers, and she had about ten pounds a year left her, the interest of a sum in the hands of Messrs Grayson and Company, shipowners, of Plymouth. She could make something by her needle, but scarcely sufficient, though she was resolved to try her best. She would have let her cottage and looked for a situation as a lady’s-maid or a nursery-governess, but then should Ralph come back he would be disappointed at not finding her there, and she might not even hear of his return, so she would not entertain the idea for a moment. She might find an old lady to lodge with her, and her last idea was to open a school for little girls. She had no one to consult with. Worthy Dame Judson hadn’t an idea above charing; with her neighbours she was but slightly acquainted. Messrs Grayson and Company had paid her grandmother’s interest regularly, but were not pleasant people to speak to. They had been part owners with her father in the Dolphin, the ship in which he had been wrecked. Having neglected to insure her they had lost a good deal of money by the circumstance, and being especially narrow-minded entertained an ill feeling even for poor Jessie herself, which they exhibited whenever she went to their office. She had been to a good school in Exeter, but the lady who kept it, and who would have been of great assistance, was dead, and the school broken up.

The clergyman of the church Jessie attended, on hearing of her unprotected condition, immediately called on her to offer such consolation and assistance as he had the power to bestow. He was, however, the vicar of an extensive parish, which, in addition to its usual large number of poor, contained at the time very many widows and orphans of the soldiers and sailors killed during the long protracted war, who demanded all his sympathy and attention. Having also but a limited income, insufficient for the extensive demands on his purse, he was unable to afford her any pecuniary assistance. His visits, few and far between, like those of angels, as they of necessity were, afforded her much comfort and support, as he never failed to urge her to seek for that strength from on high which will always be granted when asked for with a believing heart; and to place her reliance on Him who orders all for the best, though man, with his finite powers of mind, often fails to perceive it.

The only other person she could consult was Mr Barry, the apothecary, and he had but little time to give his thoughts to the subject.

The Amity had in the meantime gone back to London, and had made several other distant voyages without returning to Plymouth. The captain had written to her, but on each occasion had again sailed without receiving her replies, and was thus not aware of her grandmother’s death. At length a letter reached him while he lay in the Thames, and in his answer he promised to come and see her without fail at the end of the next voyage. A long time passed after this, and no tidings came of him. She lived on in hopes, however, of his promised visit, till at length she heard from Mrs Judson of a rumour that the Amity was lost with all hands.

“But don’t ye take on so now, my dear,” exclaimed the good woman when she saw the effect her announcement had produced. “We often hear of vessels going to the bottom which are all the time snug in some port or other, and perhaps the Amity, which has to be sure been a terrible long time missing, will come back some day with her old captain all right.”

These remarks slightly revived poor Jessie’s hopes, but weeks and weeks went by and the old captain did not appear. Still she thought that the Amity might have been captured by the enemy and be in some foreign port; but the brokers had not heard from Captain Mudge, and even though a prisoner he would have managed to send a letter. She had long been expecting also to hear from Ralph. She was certain that he would have written if he had had the opportunity, but no news came of him. India was a long way off, and letters were often six months or even a year in coming, she knew. She was, therefore, though anxious, not alarmed, but she could not help watching with a beating heart each day at the hour the postman was wont to pass her door, in the expectation that he would stop with a letter in his hand.

Months and months passed, none came. Her heart sickened, her cheeks grew pale. Again Dame Judson was the bearer of bad tidings. “She didn’t wish to alarm Miss Flamank, not she, but she had heard a report that one of his Majesty’s ships had been lost in the Indian seas with all hands, and she was greatly afraid that it might be the Falcon. There were many other ships, though, on the station, and it might just as likely be one of them.”

Jessie had never before fainted in her life, but she would have fallen to the ground had not Mrs Judson caught her and carried her to the sofa. The good woman was dreadfully frightened, for she thought that Jessie was dead, and that she had killed her by her incautious announcement. She tried all the usual expedients to restore animation, and at length the poor girl opened her eyes, but there was a pained yet vacant expression in them which the dame could not fail to remark.

Mr Barry happened soon afterwards to look in to say that he had the promise of four or five pupils, but he at once saw that poor Jessie would be unable to receive them for a long time to come. For weeks she remained in a sadly prostrated state, attended by Dame Judson, who looked after her, as she said truly, without hope of fee or reward. Youth and a good constitution prevailed at length, and Jessie recovered her health, though her heart seemed crushed, and she was unable to exert herself as she knew was necessary to obtain a livelihood. Poor girl! she felt utterly alone in the world. Still, though the news of the Falcon’s loss was confirmed beyond all doubt, and the widows and children of her officers and crew entitled to pensions had received them she heard, she herself would not abandon all hope of seeing Ralph. Had she not prayed to God that he might be preserved from all dangers with the truest faith? and oh, how earnestly! though, as in duty bound, she had added, “Thy will be done.” She even now tried from her heart to repeat those words and to bow meekly to the will of her Heavenly Father. “He knows what is best, and does all for the best, as granny used to tell me, and as the kind vicar often says,” she repeated to herself; “I am sure of that, though I cannot see it in this case, but that arises from my blindness and little faith.”

Chapter Nine.

Kind Mrs Judson had gone to her own house. Jessie was seated at her work near the window for the sake of the light on an evening in the spring of the year, when she saw a man in a sailor’s dress pass the garden gate, then stop and make inquiries of a passer by. Presently he came back, and opening the gate, knocked at the door. Her heart beat violently. He was a stranger, not at all like Ralph; but could he have brought news of him? She flew to open the door.

“Beg pardon, ma’am; are you Jessie Flamank?” asked the stranger, pulling off his hat with a sailor’s courtesy.

“Oh, who are you? Oh, tell me why you have come!” exclaimed Jessie, scarcely able in her agitation to utter the words.

“Why, do you see, I’m an old shipmate of one you knew once upon a time, and I thought as now I was at Plymouth I’d come and look you up and see how you were getting on, and have a talk about him,” answered the man, stepping in as Jessie made way for him.

“Then do you bring me no news of him—of Ralph Michelmore?” she asked, in a trembling voice.

“Not what you may call news; seeing as how it’s better than two years since I last set eyes on my old messmate,” answered the stranger, taking a chair, while Jessie, unable to support herself, sank into the one she had left. “He told me all about you,” he continued, “how you were to be married when he was pressed along with me and others, and so I came to know you: and, said I to myself, now that he’s gone, poor fellow, and she’s all forlorn-like, maybe, I’ll try and comfort her a bit.”

Poor Jessie! This strange address from the rough sailor, though apparently kindly meant, had anything but the effect intended, for she burst into tears.

“Now don’t take on so,” said the sailor, “I didn’t think as how I’d have made you cry, or I wouldn’t have talked about Ralph. Maybe he wasn’t lost with the old Falcon. I’ve known men turn up after ever so many years, whom I thought fathoms deep below the waves long afore. Not but what he’d have been sure to come back to you if he could, that’s certain.”

“You have not told me who you are. How did you escape from the shipwreck?” said Jessie, at length becoming calm enough to speak.

“I’ve had a purser’s name (see note 1) for some time past, but I don’t mind telling you I’m Dick Bracewell, who sailed along with Captain Mudge in the Amity once upon a time,” answered her visitor. “And as to how I escaped, why I’d left the ship after we took the Frenchman and put into Rio, and I didn’t know but what Ralph was still aboard her, and a lieutenant by that time, till I heard when I came ashore last that she was lost with all hands.”

Jessie did not quite like Dick’s way of speaking, still it was a melancholy satisfaction to her to talk of Ralph; and as her visitor appeared to mean kindly, she did not express any wish that he would take his departure. He sat and sat on telling her many particulars about Ralph while on board the Falcon; how well he had behaved in the action, and how he had been made an officer, and been placed in command of the Eagle, Dick did not, however, tell her everything that had occurred regarding himself; but though he was not aware of it his tone betrayed the feeling of jealousy which he had entertained, and which her quick perception detecting, did not raise him in her estimation. At last she had to tell him that it was getting late, and to beg that he would go away.

“Well, I hope that I may call again and spin another yarn about old times,” he answered, as he took up his hat.

She did not like to say no, and yet his conversation had not left a pleasant impression on her mind. When she had closed the door behind him, she sat down and cried bitterly. It seemed to her more certain than ever that Ralph was lost. Her evening reading of the Bible and her prayers, that solace of the afflicted, restored calmness to her mind.

Day after day Dick Bracewell came to pay her a visit, and, believing him to have been Ralph’s particular friend, she did not like to decline seeing him. He told her that after he had left the Falcon he had joined a privateer, which had been wonderfully successful; that they had taken a rich Spanish galleon and many other valuable vessels, and that he, having become one of the mates of the ship, had had a large share of prize-money; enough, he declared, to set him up as an independent gentleman for life. To wind up his good luck he had come home in charge of the last prize they had made, which was fully as rich as any of the rest.

“My old shipmate, he that’s gone, told me that I should be ruined if I left the frigate, but he was wrong, you see,” added Dick. “He thought, too, that I hadn’t the sense to take care of my money, if I got any; but I had had a sharp lesson or two, and I made up my mind not to touch liquor, whether afloat or ashore, and I’ve kept to it for better than two years.”

Jessie had heard Ralph mention Dick Bracewell once or twice, but knowing nothing about his character, did not doubt the truth of his statements. Still Dick had not, as he supposed, gained her confidence. His frequent visits were, as might have been expected, noticed by Jessie’s neighbours, and Dame Judson looked in one morning on purpose to tell her of the remarks she had heard, and to give her advice on the subject. She concluded by saying, “If you think that he is worthy of you, my dear, which I don’t, why, there is nothing to say. You are your own mistress, and can marry him when—”

“I marry him!” interrupted Jessie. “Oh, Mrs Judson, how can you think of such a thing? I did not suppose that he or any one else dreamed for a moment that I fancied he was making up to me, or I would not have received him after his first visit. Do, Mrs Judson, stay with me to-day, and if he comes tell him that I cannot see him, and beg that he will not come again.”

Mrs Judson very readily consented to do as Jessie wished. She had made inquiries about Dick Bracewell, and did not altogether believe in the capture of the Spanish galleon, though she heard that he had come ashore from a prize brought into Plymouth to be sold. The dame had brought her work, and took Jessie’s usual place by the window to watch for Dick. She had not been there long before she saw a young sailor approach the house, and, without stopping, walk straight up to the door. “That isn’t Dick Bracewell. I wonder who he can be,” she exclaimed, as a knock was heard.

“Can it be Ralph?” gasped out Jessie, rising from her seat.

“Oh, no, my dear, he’s much too young-looking. You mustn’t have such a fancy. I’ll see what he wants,” said the dame, going to the door.

“Please, ma’am, does Miss Flamank still live here?” asked the young sailor.

“What do you want to say to her?” said the dame.

“I’ve a great deal to say to her, and I think shell know me when I tell her who I am,” replied the sailor.

“Do let him come in, Mrs Judson,” exclaimed Jessie, eagerly, her heart beating with the belief that she should hear news of Ralph.

The stranger, doffing his hat, advanced into the room and stood before Jessie with a smile on his countenance as if expecting instantly to be recognised. “I thought, Miss Flamank, that you’d have known me,” he said at length; “I’ve never forgotten you and your kindness to me. Don’t you remember Peter Puddle?”

“Oh! yes, yes; indeed I do,” exclaimed Jessie, putting out her hand. “And is the Amity not lost? Is Captain Mudge still alive?”

Peter shook his head. “I wish I could say there was any chance of that,” he answered. “When the old brig went down in the dead of night, I was left afloat on a hen-coop, which the old captain had just before cast loose and told me to cling to, for all our boats were stove in. And I never saw him, nor any one belonging to the Amity alive again. Next morning I was picked up by a ship bound out to the West Indies, and I’ve been knocking about in those seas ever since. The captain had taught me navigation, and, what was better still, to read the Bible; and as I just did what that tells me to do, I got a good character aboard. I was made third mate, and the other two dying, I became first mate for want of a better man; though I was very young for such a charge. But I did my best, and the captain was satisfied, and says that, as he didn’t want a better, I should sail with him again next voyage. We sailed for home at last, bound for London; but having sprung a leak, and carried away our fore-mast, we put into Plymouth for repairs—and that’s how I’ve been able to come up to see you. But I’ve not yet spun all my yarn. Tell me, Miss, have you never got any letters from me?”

“No,” answered Jessie, “I have not received a single letter from abroad for three long years or more,” and she sighed sadly.

“I thought ’twas so when I got no answers to three I wrote,” said Peter. “What I had to tell you was this,—that just before the brig went down the captain made fast to the hen-coop a bag with fifty golden guineas in it, and charged me, if I escaped, to take it to you. I unlashed it and managed to get it into my pocket just before I was hoisted on board. There would have been small chance of my keeping it, however, if I had not fallen among honest people; but when I came to know the captain, I was sure that it would be safe in his hands, so I gave it into his charge, and he stowed it away for me, and showed me where it was kept. If he hadn’t done this I should have lost it, for a few months ago, when we were down in the Bay of Honduras, we were chased and overtaken by a schooner under Spanish colours. Her crew, a set of fellows of all nations, calling themselves privateer’s-men, though they were more like pirates, robbed us of everything they could lay hands on, and all the specie they could find belonging to the captain and owners, and had begun to scuttle the ship, and would, no doubt, have set fire to her besides and carried off our boats, when an English man-of-war hove in sight, bringing up a strong breeze. The pirates, some of whom I was sure were Englishmen, in spite of their dress, for I heard them speaking, and should know two or three of them again, made off, and allowed us to stop the auger holes and pump out the water. Their schooner, being a fast craft, escaped; but the man-of-war, having seen us safe on our way to Barbadoes, went back to look for her. If she didn’t find her, she would at all events have made those seas too hot for the pirate. I was better pleased than anything else that your money was saved, and here it is all right, just as the captain did it up for you.”

As Peter spoke he placed on the table before Jessie a small weather-stained canvas bag, and, undoing the string, counted out fifty guineas.

“They are all right,” he continued, “and my heart is lightened of the thought I’ve always had that I might lose them, though I would have made it up to you somehow or other—that I would.”

Tears choked Jessie’s utterance as she thought of the kind captain who had remembered her in his last moments, and of the sturdy honesty and faithfulness of Peter.

“I am, indeed, grateful to you as I am to Captain Mudge,” she said at length; “but surely you are entitled to some of this.”

“Not a dollar would I touch, not if all the judges in the land were to order me to take it,” answered Peter, replacing the money in the bag, which he tied up and pressed into her hands. “There, it’s all for you, and I wish you knew how happy I am to give it to you safe at last.”

Before Jessie could reply there was a knock at the door. Mrs Judson went to open it. “Miss Flamank cannot see you,” Jessie heard her say.

“She never sent that message,” exclaimed Dick Bracewell, brushing by her and entering the room. He cast an angry glance at Peter, as if he considered him an intruder, and advanced to shake hands with Jessie. She drew back, greatly annoyed at his conduct.

“Mrs Judson told you I was engaged,” she said.

“She told me you couldn’t see me; but when a man loves a girl, and knows pretty well that she likes him, he isn’t to be stopped by trifles,” he answered, throwing himself into a chair, as if he felt perfectly at home.

A feeling of indignation prevented Jessie from saying anything. Meantime Peter had been narrowly eyeing her unwelcome visitor, and, stepping up to him, said—

“You’ve just come from the West Indies, mate, I’ve a notion?”

“Yes, I’ve been in those seas,” answered Dick, for, having told Jessie so, he could not deny the fact.

“I thought as much; and we met there not long ago in a way I’m not likely to forget,” said Peter, quietly. “Maybe you don’t remember me, but I do you, I can tell you; and there are not a few of the crew of the Kate who will remember you, too, if they set eyes on you.”

Dick; taken by surprise, turned pale, and declared he did not know what the young man meant; but Peter again minutely described how his ship had been boarded by pirates on the Spanish main, and positively asserting that Dick was one of them, advised him, if he valued his life and liberty, to clear out of Plymouth without delay.

Dick, as might have been expected, swore that the young man, as he called Peter, was mistaken; but shortly after, observing that it was clear he was not wanted, took up his hat, and, without much leave-taking, hurried out of the house.

Jessie, who feared that Peter was right in his suspicions, thanked him for giving Dick the warning.

“He was once, at all events, Ralph Michelmore’s friend, and I should have grieved if you had been the means of bringing him to punishment,” she said.

“I’d not hurt him, Miss Jessie, on any account,” answered Peter; “but as I judged by the way you spoke to him that he was not welcome, I thought I would just say what would make him keep away for the future.”

Peter remained to dinner and amused Jessie and Mrs Judson with an account of his adventures, in all of which his honesty and courage were remarkable, though he was not aware that what he said exhibited it.

“That’s what the right training of good Captain Mudge has done for him,” observed Mrs Judson, when he had gone. “I remember him a regular pickle; and, if he had been left to himself, he would have been a vagabond all his life, like many others who have had no kind friends to look after them.”

Peter’s warning had not, it appeared, been lost upon Dick Bracewell; for from that day Jessie saw him no more.

Peter came constantly, while he remained in Plymouth, to see her. At his last visit he put the sum of thirty pounds into her hands. “I want you to take this, Miss Flamank, and to spend any of it you like,” he said, while a blush spread over his sunburnt countenance. “It’s my savings since I was picked up by the Kate, and I always intended it for you.—Well, if you won’t accept it as a gift, remember, if what happens to many a sailor happens to me, it will be yours. Now, don’t say no, and you’ll make me more happy than I can tell you.”

Peter would take no refusal, so at last Jessie consented to receive the money, though she resolved not to spend it on any account. After Peter had sailed, Jessie lived on much as before, except that with the money she had received she was able to obtain many of the necessaries she had before denied herself. Still her pale cheek told of a sad heart, and though more than one young man well to do in the world asked her to become his wife, she remained faithful to the memory of her lost Ralph.

Note 1: A fictitious name sailors who have deserted generally assume to escape recognition.

Chapter Ten.

The Falcon proceeded on her voyage to India. Though she was refitted as thoroughly as was possible in a foreign port, her commander had no wish to encounter another enemy with so large a proportion of his crew untried and inexperienced. He did his utmost, however, to get them into efficient order, and every day that the weather permitted they were exercised at the guns, as well as at making and shortening sail, and taught the use of the small arms.

Ralph Michelmore was fully occupied, and had but little time to think of his bitter disappointment at not returning home in the Eagle. By the time the Falcon reached the Hoogly, the crew had been brought into excellent order, and were highly complimented by the admiral on the station. There being no post-captain to supersede him, Mr Handsel received an acting order to continue in the command. The Falcon was allowed just time to take on board a fresh supply of powder, shot, and other stores and provisions, when she was ordered to proceed in search of an enemy’s cruiser, said to have captured several English merchantmen in the southern part of the Indian Ocean. She was supposed to be a heavy frigate, equal, if not superior, in force to the Falcon, but neither Captain Handsel nor any of his ship’s company had the slightest doubt as to what would be the result of an action should they be fortunate enough to fall in with her.

A sharp look-out was kept, and the ocean traversed in all directions for several weeks, but no traces of her could be discovered, till at length a prize she had taken only two days before was re-captured. Her probable whereabouts having been ascertained from the prisoners, the prize being sent on to Calcutta, the Falcon under all sail steered in the direction where it was hoped the enemy would be found. The stormy season was approaching. The weather, indeed, had already changed for the worse; but still Captain Handsel was unwilling to return to port, when on the point, as he hoped, of meeting the long looked-for foe.

A strong breeze was blowing from the northeast, and the frigate was steering south, under all the canvas she could bear. The crew had just been piped to breakfast.

“A sail on the lee bow,” shouted the look-out at the mast-head.

Ralph was sent aloft to examine the stranger. She was standing close-hauled to the northward. From the squareness of her yards, he had little doubt, seen even at that distance, that she was a man-of-war, but as the two ships were rapidly nearing each other, the matter would soon be decided. The course of the Falcon was altered so as to intercept the stranger. Suddenly, however, the latter was seen to wear ship, and, setting more sail, to stand away before the wind. The Falcon was already carrying as much as she could well stagger under; still, eager to overtake the fugitive the captain ordered the topgallant sails to be loosed, and on flew the Falcon, like the bird from which she took her name, in chase of her expected prey. A stern chase is proverbially a long chase. It seemed doubtful, after the lapse of several hours, whether she was gaining ground on the stranger. The evening was drawing on: the gale was increasing.

“Hand the topgallant sails!” shouted the captain. The crew were going aloft when there came a loud crash. The fore and main topgallant masts were carried away. Two poor fellows were struck—one fell dead on the deck, the other was knocked overboard. To heave-to was impossible. The wreck of the masts was cleared away, and two reefs taken in the topsails, and the courses brailed up. The frigate flew on at her utmost speed. It was now almost night, and it was feared that the chase would escape in the darkness. Still it was possible, with the heavy gale blowing, that she might continue on the course she was steering.

When darkness came down over the ocean the chase could still be seen through the night-glasses, standing as before. As night, however, drew on, clouds gathered thickly in the sky, the obscurity became greater, the gale heavier, and after a tremendous squall, which struck the frigate, had passed over, those on the look-out could nowhere discern the chase.

The captain, however, did not believe that she had hauled her wind, and hoped to come up with her perhaps with her masts gone. The master, after speaking with the captain, had gone below to examine the chart, but even that could not be relied on, as the part of the ocean they were then in, was, in those days, but imperfectly known, and prudence dictated that they should heave-to till daylight.

The captain, in the meantime, expecting every instant again to sight the chase, kept the ship on her course. Ralph was standing aft with his two young messmates, Chandos and Dickenson, who had become much attached to him.

“What do you think of it, Michelmore? I don’t like running into the darkness as we are doing,” observed the former.

“The darkness will not hurt us, and provided there are no rocks or shoals in our course we may run on as safely as in the daytime,” answered Ralph. “I examined the chart, and the nearest islands marked on it are, if they are correctly laid down, full fifty leagues to the south of us, though there are some shoals rather nearer.”

The master, who had been below, returned hurriedly on deck, and spoke to the captain.

“If so, we’ll heave the ship to,” was the answer.

Scarcely had the order been given to “Put the helm a-lee,” than the look-out forward shouted “Breakers ahead!” and the next instant a fearful crashing sound was heard. The ship quivered from stem to stern, the tall masts rocked, and those on deck, unable to hold on to the bulwarks, were thrown off their feet. It was a moment of intense suspense. The head-sheets had been let fly. Would the ship answer her helm? No. A tremendous sea met her bows, sweeping over her deck, and carrying several men in its relentless grasp into the raging surf to leeward. Again she struck, with greater violence than before; the next sea hove her on her beam ends. The carpenter reported twelve feet of water in the hold, and rapidly increasing—a rock had gone through her. The captain ordered the masts to be cut away. He had abandoned all hopes of saving the ship, and his only thought now was how to preserve the lives of his people. A party of the crew, led by Ralph and other officers, with gleaming axes quickly severed the weather rigging, and a few strokes were sufficient to send the tall masts, with their spars, crashing over to leeward. The furious seas in quick succession struck the devoted ship, carrying away her bulwarks, and destroying several of her boats. The officers and crew were collected on the quarter-deck, for the stern of the ship having swung round it was least exposed to the assaults of the waves. Ralph had sought out his two young friends, Chandos and Dickenson, wishing to help them if he could. Looking over the larboard quarter, he observed that the water in that direction was less broken than elsewhere, and he felt sure that he saw the land rising to a considerable height at no great distance. He told the captain that he thought he might reach the shore, and, if it was inhabited, bring assistance to the ship. A small boat hung at the after-davits capable of carrying four or five people.

“You can try it,” said the captain; “choose any two of the men on whom you can rely to accompany you, and take these two youngsters,” touching Chandos and Dickenson on the shoulders, “there will be less risk for them than by their remaining on board, I fear. Remember, Michelmore, if you escape, that I was in chase of an enemy when the ship was lost, and that there was an error in the chart. Heaven bless and preserve you!” he wrung Ralph’s hand as he spoke.

The two young midshipmen were placed in the boat, which was carefully lowered, with Jacob Crane, and another man, Ned Hawkins, whom Ralph selected, he himself following. He put Jacob at the helm, confident of the old man’s judgment, and got out an oar, the rest doing the same. Sheltered by the wreck, the boat at first floated in comparatively smooth water, but scarcely had her head been got round than she was in the foaming waves, which rolled in towards the shore. They, however, did not break as they did at the fore part of the ship, and Ralph knew from this that she had struck on the extreme point of a reef, and he hoped that, could the remaining boats or rafts be launched, his shipmates might yet be saved. Anxious to communicate this information, he directed Jacob to steer back to the ship, but after pulling for some time they found that they had made no progress, and it became evident that a strong current was sweeping round the point, and that their utmost efforts would be in vain. The boat’s head was therefore once more turned towards the shore. The current, however, swept them at a rapid rate to the westward, so that they soon lost sight of the ship. Not a glimpse either of the land could be obtained, and they began to fear that they should be carried out to sea.

“Never say die if we are,” observed Jacob; “it may be better for us than having to run through the surf with the chance of being rolled over and over in it.”

The storm raged with greater fury than before. Jacob advised, as the only hope of preserving their lives, that they should keep the boat’s head to the sea, and allow her to drift on till daylight, when they might discover some spot where they could attempt to land with a prospect of success. In spite of all their efforts the seas continually washed into the boat, and compelled the two midshipmen to work hard at baling out the water, while Ralph and Ned Hawkins, with their two oars, kept the boat in a right position. Their anxiety about the fate of their shipmates prevented them from contemplating as much as they would otherwise have done the perils of their own situation. To return to the wreck was impossible; to land in safety seemed equally so. At any moment a raging sea might overwhelm them, and it required their utmost strength and skill to avert the catastrophe. Now and then, as the boat rose to the summit of a billow, Ralph fancied that he could distinguish through the darkness the dim outline of the coast, and as its form had changed since first seen, he was convinced that they were still drifting along it. He feared that, unless the direction of the current changed, they might be carried far away out to sea, when death from hunger and thirst must be their lot; still, trusting in God’s mercy, he did his utmost to keep up the courage of his companions. The midshipmen behaved as became them, not a word of complaint escaping their lips, while every time a sea broke on board, Chandos cried out, “Hurrah, here’s more work for us; bale away, Dickenson; we must clear her before the next comes.” It seemed, indeed, wonderful that so small a boat could live in such a sea. Thus the night wore on.

At dawn of day Ralph discovered, less than half a mile to the south-west, a rocky point, the extreme eastern end, he supposed, of a somewhat elevated island, along the northern coast of which they had been drifting during the night. The light rapidly increased, while the clouds cleared away, and the wind abated. As far as the eye could reach to the westward appeared an unbroken line of raging surf, into which, had the boat been carried, her destruction would have been certain. He pointed out to his companions how mercifully they had hitherto been preserved; “and if we can get round yonder point we shall be in smooth water, under the lee of the island, and shall probably without difficulty get on shore,” he added.

Once more he cast an anxious look westward, but not a trace of the wreck could be seen. Had the Falcon and her gallant crew been totally engulfed by the waves?

“I fear that it’s all over with them,” said Jacob; “I don’t think we could have come so far as to lose sight of the wreck altogether if she still hung together.”

The boat’s head was now cautiously got round, and the midshipmen resuming their oars, they pulled away in a direction which would enable them to round the point clear of the surf. They were round it at last, but a fringe of black rocks, over which the sea leaped and foamed, warned them to keep at a distance. On and on they rowed. The coast was uninviting. No trees were to be seen; no signs of human habitation. At length a small sandy bay appeared, with high rocks on either side of it, while beyond was a valley, its sides clothed with trees and green herbage. No spot could be more desirable. Pulling in, they landed, and hauled up their boat on the beach.

“We are not ashamed, I hope, of thanking Him who preserved us through the dangers of the last dark night, and asking Him to take care of us for the future,” said Jacob.

“No, indeed,” answered Ralph and the midshipmen, and at once they knelt down on the sand, and, led by the old man, together offered up their prayers to the All Merciful One, to Whom they acknowledged their safety was alone due; for vain would have been all their efforts and skill without His aid. Rising from their knees, they set off in search of water, and their eyes were soon gladdened by the sight of a clear stream running down the valley. Having quenched their thirst, they looked about for food.

They had not gone far when, to their surprise, they saw close under the hill, shaded by trees, a well-built hut, evidently not the habitation of a savage. They hurried towards it, expecting to find the occupant within. No one appeared. The door was open. They entered. There was a bedstead with the clothes still on it, a fireplace built of rough stone, the ashes of a recently burning fire within it. Hung against the wall were several cooking utensils, and on some shelves were arranged some plates and dishes and cups and knives and forks. In the centre of the hut was a cabin table, and placed round it were three chests, which had apparently served as seats. They contained only a few old shoes and worn-out clothes. No books or writing materials were found, or anything to show who had been the occupants of the hut. If it had contained any articles of value, they had been carried away. Both Ralph and Jacob were of the opinion, from the workmanship of the chests and table, that they were French. As no food was found in the hut, they were eager to continue their search for some. At a short distance off was a small garden, but it had lately been dug up, and all the vegetables and roots it had contained had been carried off.

“It’s my opinion that there were three people who messed together in the hut. One lived in it—either the captain or another officer—and the other two slept elsewhere,” observed Jacob. “We shall find their roosting place not far off. One thing seems certain, that they are not here now, and there’s little doubt that a vessel visited the place lately, and that they and everything of value were carried away by her, as well as the produce of the garden.”

Ralph and the rest thought that Jacob was probably right in his conjectures.

“Well, I can’t make it out at all,” exclaimed Jacob, who had gone ahead of his companions. He pointed, as they came up, to three long, narrow, grass-covered mounds on a level spot at some distance from the hut. They were evidently graves.

“If the poor fellows lie there they can’t have got away; but, then, how could the last have managed to bury himself?”

Chandos remarked that perhaps there were four people, and that a survivor had performed that office for the rest; but the old man was positive that there were only three, as he had counted that number of plates and knives and forks, and had, moreover, found three worn-out pairs of shoes. Their hunger put a speedy end to the discussion, and made them continue their search for food. Birds flitted by them, but they had no fowling-pieces, and in vain they tried to knock some down. Berries and some larger fruits hung temptingly on the trees out of reach above their heads.

“Those birds do not live upon nothing,” observed Chandos. “If we cannot catch them, we may at all events eat the fruit they live on.”

“A bright idea,” exclaimed Dickenson. “I see a big fellow pecking away at a yellow, juicy-looking fruit up there. Depend on it, he finds it ripe. Now, if you and Ned will give me a hoist, I can manage to reach the lowest branch, and though the boughs might break with the weight of a heavier man, they will bear me—if not, look out and catch me.”

Dickenson, with the aid of Chandos and Ned—the first of whom mounted on the others’ shoulders—soon clambered up the tree, and though the branches bent with his weight, he managed to throw down several ripe fruit. Having put two or three in his pocket, he retired to the inner end of a branch to stop the cravings of hunger, while Chandos and Ned were employed in the same way below. The fruit had stones in the centre, and was more mealy and much richer than a pear.

Ralph and Jacob had in the meantime gone down to the beach to collect mussels or other shell-fish. Chandos shouted to them, but as they did not hear him, he set off with a supply of the fruit in his pockets. They had found shell-fish in abundance, and had collected as many as they could require. Having no means of lighting a fire, they were obliged to eat them uncooked; but notwithstanding this, with the aid of the fruit, they contrived to make a hearty meal. Having thus somewhat recruited their strength, although they would gladly have thrown themselves on the ground and gone to sleep, they determined at once to set out in search of any of their shipmates who might have escaped from the wreck. The distance, Ralph feared, would, however, prove considerable, and tax their strength to the utmost. He proposed, therefore, that the midshipmen should remain behind, and, after taking the rest they required, employ themselves in searching for food.

“No! no! we’ll hold out as well as any of you,” exclaimed Chandos. “If our friends require help, the more there are to give it the better.”

As Ralph could not object to this he agreed that they should come.

The bay in which they had landed looked towards the rising sun, and was thus near one end of the island, while the wreck had occurred, Ralph calculated, close to the other. They would have probably ravines to cross, hills to ascend, and other impediments to encounter. Having collected as many shell-fish and fruit as they could carry, they—notwithstanding their expected difficulties—set out with sturdy hearts, determined to overcome them.

The country was generally rocky and barren. Bleak hills destitute of vegetation, narrow ravines, and savage gorges appeared on every side. Often it seemed impossible that they could make any further progress; but after several hours spent in climbing and scrambling they at length reached the point for which they had been directing their course, on the north-western shore. As they approached it they observed a few spots of a more fertile character, and below them on level ground, forming the shores of a small bay, waved several cocoa-nut and other tropical trees. As no other huts were seen, or any plantations, they were convinced that the island was uninhabited. Their chief attention was, however, directed seaward in search of the wreck. Though the wind had gone down, the surf still beat furiously along the whole line of coast, so that no boats or rafts could have reached the shore in safety. About half a mile off rose, from amid a mass of foam, the black rugged points of a reef, now for a minute in sight, now concealed by the heavy rollers which dashed over them and came rushing on with an angry roar towards the cliffs which formed that end of the island.

“That must be the reef on which the frigate struck,” said Ralph, with a deep sigh, and tears of manly sorrow sprang to his eyes. “Poor fellows! Not one can have escaped.”

“It’s too likely,” said Jacob, gazing at the spot; “the ship must have fallen off the reef, and the current would have swept her and all on board away.”

The rest of the party shared Ralph’s grief, but they had no time to indulge in it. He was anxious to examine the coast on the bare possibility of any one having been washed on shore alive, and they then would have to search for water and some sheltered spot where they might pass the night. With some difficulty they descended the cliffs to the first line of beach they could discover, which extended for some distance towards the east. Here and there lighter pieces of the wreck strewed the shore, but the heavier fragments had been carried away by the current. The wreck would serve for fire-wood, but then they had no means of lighting a fire, and none of the pieces were large enough to be of use towards building a hut. They did not therefore stop to collect them, but pushed on, still not without some faint hopes that one or more of their shipmates might have reached the shore alive on planks or spars. The midshipmen, though their spirits kept them up, were, however, much fatigued, and were longing to find a sheltered spot where they might stop and rest.

An object in the surf now caught their sight, some way ahead, at a spot free from rocks. Hastening forward they found that it was a cask, and after several efforts, at the risk of being carried off by the sea, they succeeded in rolling it upon the beach. It was full of beef, which, though they were compelled to eat it raw, greatly restored their strength. Further on a tangled mass of rigging had already been thrown on the shore. Perhaps a human being might be found among it. They ran on, eager to examine it. It consisted of spars and ropes and torn canvas. The latter might assist to form a roof for a hut, if not large enough for a tent. They were cutting it clear, when Chandos discovered the stock of a musket, with part of the barrel broken off, rolled up in its folds.

“That will not be of much use as we have no powder or shot,” observed Dickenson.

“No, but see, the lock and flint are still on it,” answered Chandos. “Hurrah! We shall now have the means of lighting a fire.”

This success encouraged them to make further search. Several casks of pork, and flour, and other provisions, an invaluable iron saucepan with the lid tightly jammed on, as well as two sea-chests, with clothing and numerous useful articles, rewarded their labours. The wide bay they had before seen was reached at last. The extent of fertile ground was smaller than they had supposed, and but few cocoa-nut trees grew on it. Still, as the evening was advancing, and a sheltered nook near a rill of water was discovered, they settled to go no further. While Ralph with Jacob and Ned were putting up a rough hut the midshipmen collected some dry grass and broken branches. As they were hunting about they discovered several fungi growing near the roots of the trees.

“This stuff looks very like tinder,” said Chandos. “Let us try if it will take a spark.”

He produced the flint from the lock of the musket. In a few minutes, by dint of blowing and puffing, they had a blazing fire, and the iron pot with a piece of beef in it was put on to boil. The flour, though damaged by the salt water, supplied them with cakes cooked under the ashes. They had now no longer the fear of suffering from starvation. After an ample meal they lay down to rest, and it was broad daylight before any of the party awoke. The next day they resumed their search along the shore. More casks of beef and pork were secured, and numerous other articles. Among the things in one of the chests was a Bible, which being enclosed in a leathern case had escaped injury. The owner had apparently but seldom opened it. To Ralph and his companions it was of unspeakable value. Though he had been accustomed to read the Scriptures on a Sunday on board ship he had seldom gone to them for guidance and strength on other days in the week. Now morning and evening he read aloud from the precious volume, which from henceforth became the source of comfort and support to the castaways. Several days were spent in collecting whatever the sea had thrown on the shore from the wreck, but not a human body was found. Probably the ship had broken suddenly up, and all on board had been engulfed together. Having dried the contents of the chests, and stored them and their provisions in the hut, they returned to the bay in which they had landed. Its attractions being far greater than those of any other part of the coast, in addition to its possessing a well-built abode, they resolved to settle there.

The direct distance across the island was less than three miles, and by a bird’s-eye survey from the highest point in the centre, they calculated that the most practicable path would be about five miles. By this they at once set about removing their goods; carrying them in some parts on their shoulders, and in others dragging them on a truck, built out of wreck timber. The whole north shore presented no safe landing-place, or could they have taken them round by sea much labour would have been saved. One of the most welcome prizes was a bundle of fish-hooks, found in the boatswain’s chest. Lines were easily manufactured, and less than an hour’s fishing gave them food for the day. Birds were frequently caught in snares; and roots and fruits were not wanting. Thus, sterile as the island at first appeared, they had reason to be thankful that it supplied them with everything absolutely necessary for sustaining life.

The end of three months found them settled in the hut, following an almost regular routine of labour. Men-of-war’s men, from their training, dislike idleness; and the three young officers and the two men cut out ample employment for themselves during every hour of the day. They did not fail, however, to discuss every possible means of escaping.

The midshipmen and Ned proposed to raise the sides of their small boat and to put to sea in her in the hopes of reaching India, or of finding some inhabited island at which ships were likely to touch, so that they might ultimately find their way home.

To this proposal Jacob Crane strongly objected, though Ralph was at first rather inclined to favour it, desperate as it appeared.

“Nothing we can do to the boat can make her fit for a long voyage, even if the weather should prove fine,” observed Jacob. “To my mind, we ought to be thankful at being as well off as we are. God has mercifully saved our lives and placed us here, and here we should be content to remain and make the best use of our time till He thinks fit to send us relief. If we were likely to be starved, or if there were savages threatening to kill us, the case would be different. It then would be perfectly right for us to put off in our boat, and we might trust to Him for protection. If we had been supplied with tools, it might then have been our duty to try and build a vessel large enough for the voyage to India or the Cape of Good Hope; but we haven’t got them, and there isn’t a shipwright among us. Perhaps some vessel may be wrecked on the coast, and we may be the means of saving the lives of the people aboard her. Depend on it God has always got a purpose in all that He does or allows, though we don’t see it—that’s my firm belief—therefore I say again, let us be content with the blessings God has sent us, and be resigned to His will.”

Jacob’s argument decided Ralph, and won over the rest of the party.

Though their boat was not large enough for a voyage, they made frequent trips in her along the coast, and were by her means able to catch many more fish than they could have caught from the rocks.

A few seeds were found in the hut, and several plants which had been left in the ground sprang up, so that they were able to restore the garden, which had been destroyed, and also greatly to increase its size.

The discovery of some strong fibre enabled them to manufacture twine, which served not only for fishing-lines, but as they improved in the art of making it, they produced a fishing-net of fair size. With this they caught at times far more fish than they could consume, so they pickled the remainder with salt collected from the hollows of the rocks, and had consequently a supply during stormy weather.

Happily in one of the chests were a couple of books on navigation, and three or four others of an interesting character. By means of the first Ralph was able to give instruction to the midshipmen in the science so necessary to them in their professional career. He also made the model of a ship’s deck and rigging, which, while it afforded a source of amusement, gave them a more thorough knowledge than they possessed of seamanship, while the other books were read till nearly got by heart. Thus the youngsters’ time, which might otherwise have been utterly lost, was usefully employed.

Flagstaffs were erected on high points at the northern and southern sides of the island: and a board was nailed to the former, with a direction carved on it to their cove. They were constantly on the look-out; but months and months went by and not even a distant sail was seen, to give them hopes that deliverance was near. At length, even Ralph began to fear that they were doomed to a life-long imprisonment on that unknown islet.

Chapter Eleven.

Bells were ringing; bonfires blazing throughout England. The battle of Waterloo had been fought. Peace, broken by the return of Napoleon from Elba, was restored; and the great agitator of Europe was a captive on board a British man-of-war, about to sail for Saint Helena. Though the nation was rejoicing, the hearts of many of all ranks, who had lost loved ones on the field of battle, were mourning.

Jessie Flamank was not alone in her sorrow. She was resigned; but time had not assuaged it, nor lessened her tender love for Ralph’s memory. She had, of late, ample work, as several ladies in the neighbourhood who had heard her history were in the habit of sending for her to assist in making dresses for their families. Among them was a Mrs Chandos, whose husband, Colonel Chandos, had just returned home wounded from Waterloo, in which battle their only son had fallen.

The bereaved mother, while arranging the mourning for her little girls, spoke of him to Jessie, adding, with tears in her eyes, “His younger brother perished on board the Falcon, five years ago, in the Indian Ocean.”

Jessie naturally became deeply interested in the poor lady, and could not help telling her that her intended husband was an officer in the same ship.

“We long hoped against hope that some might have escaped, and that our son might be among the number,” said Mrs Chandos; “but now we know that we have lost both our brave boys.”

“All things are possible with God, ma’am; He orders all for the best; we should trust Him,” answered Jessie, gently.

Scarcely had she reached home, when a young sailor, whom she at once recognised as Peter Puddle, hurried up to the door.

“Oh, Miss Flamank, I am so glad to find you!” he exclaimed eagerly; “I have been twice to the house, and was afraid that you had left it. May I come in?”

Jessie assured him that he was welcome.

“I have news for you. Wonderful news, which you little expected to hear,” he continued.

“Oh, tell me! What is it?” cried Jessie, gasping for breath, and her heart beating violently.

“I had always heard say, what you thought also, that your father, Captain Flamank, perished at sea; now I’ve got to tell you that he didn’t, for I’ve seen him, and he is alive and well, and he sent me on to tell you that he would be with you soon.”

“My father alive!” ejaculated Jessie. Is she to be blamed if she felt disappointed at hearing his name instead of Ralph’s as she had expected? Her affection for her father, long supposed dead, however, quickly revived, and she became eager to welcome him home.

Peter told her that the captain of the ship to which he himself belonged having died at the Cape of Good Hope, it became necessary for the consignees to find another. That one had been selected who, with other officers, had just arrived after having been prisoners to the French for several years in a remote island in the Indian Ocean. The crews of the captured vessels had been sent away and exchanged; but the officers had been detained till the termination of the war, for fear that they might give information to the English of the position of the island, the favourite rendezvous of French privateers.

“You may suppose how surprised I was to hear that our new captain’s name was Flamank,” continued Peter. “I at once told him that I knew you, and how kind you had been to me, and soon found that he was your father. He seemed never tired of asking me questions about you, and so of course I gave him a full account of all that I thought would interest him. He, in return, told me a great deal about himself. His ship had not been wrecked, as was supposed, but had been captured by a French privateer, on board which he had been taken. She was shortly afterwards wrecked on an island in the Indian Ocean, when the Frenchmen attempted to reach the shore in their boats, leaving the prisoners on board. The boats were swamped, and all in them perished. Notwithstanding this, most of the prisoners having built a raft, pushed off on it and shared their fate. Captain Flamank and two others, seeing signs of the gale abating, refused to join them, and the next day landed safely in a sheltered cove, in the neighbourhood of which they took up their abode, having brought on shore a large store of provisions and everything they required from the wreck before she went to pieces. His two companions, one of whom was wounded, died, and he was left alone for several years till taken off by another French privateer. From what the captain said I have an idea that he thinks of going back there if he has an opportunity, as he had hidden away no small amount of treasure, taken out of the wreck, which he didn’t tell the French privateer’s-men of, for more reasons than one. First, he couldn’t speak their lingo; secondly, as bad weather was coming on, they were in a hurry to be off; and as it was property which their countrymen had taken from English vessels, he had no fancy to let them get it. But I’ve still another strange thing to tell you. Soon after the captain was taken aboard the privateer, she was chased by an English frigate during a heavy gale. The privateer narrowly escaped shipwreck on the island they had left; and it was the opinion of the Frenchmen, and the captain thinks they were right, that the frigate was cast away. There can be no doubt that she was the Falcon, and he thinks that some, if not all the crew, may have escaped, and be still living on the island.”

Jessie was making many eager inquiries on the subject, when Peter, looking at his watch, jumped up, and telling her that she would soon see the captain, hurried away. Before an hour was over she was clasped in her father’s arms. He had much to hear from her of her numerous trials and difficulties, and she in return longed to learn more about his adventures and the supposed wreck of the Falcon than Peter had told her. He confirmed in all points the account she had heard.

“It has always been supposed, I find, that my ship, the Dolphin, was driven on shore during a hurricane in the Indian Ocean, and that all on board had perished,” continued Captain Flamank. “The report was brought home as you know by another English ship, the Chieftain, which had been in company with us. She herself narrowly escaped the outer end of a reef, and was driven far away to the southward, and her master having observed our perilous position, and not again falling in with us, naturally concluded that we had been lost. This I have only lately learned. We were truly in great danger, but happily, being carried through an opening in the reef, were able to anchor in safety under the lee of the land.

“We congratulated ourselves on our escape. Scarcely, however, had we made sail after the gale was over, than we saw standing out of a bay, a short distance off, which a lofty headland had concealed from us, a large ship which we soon knew to be a French privateer. In vain we did our utmost to escape, while we fired our stern guns in the hopes of crippling her. She soon ranged up alongside, when, finding that further resistance would be useless, with a sad heart I hauled down my flag. I was at once transferred to the privateer with several of my men, and a prize-crew was put on board the Dolphin, which sailed to the northward. As I never heard of her again, I suspect that she went down in a hurricane before she reached her destination. The privateer cruised for some time in the southern part of the Indian Ocean, and after taking another prize with a large amount of specie, which was of course removed on board her, she one night was wrecked on a small rocky island, of the existence of which no one appeared to be aware. I will not describe the horrors which ensued. All discipline was lost, each man, regardless of the rest, thinking only how he could secure his own safety.”

Captain Flamank then gave Jessie a full account of the occurrences of which Peter had already told her.

“The years spent on that lone island, especially after the death of my two companions, were indeed sad ones,” he continued. “Often I believed that I should never again see the face of a fellow-creature. I thought of you, too, my child, left as I feared you would be when your grandmother was taken away, alone in the hard, cruel world, with no one to protect you from its snares, or to help you in your distress.”

“But God protects those who trust in Him, and He never forsook me, but sent me kind friends who gave me all the help I needed,” exclaimed Jessie, looking up in her father’s face.

“I know that now, Jessie, but I did not then. I should have borne my misfortunes much better had I done so,” he answered. “That good young fellow Peter, my mate, first put the truth before me on the voyage home. Many men would not dare to speak as faithfully to their captain as he did to me. He got me to read the Bible, and showed me throughout the Psalms God’s numberless gracious promises to those who trust to Him, and His boundless love to sinful men in the Gospels, and what ample rules under all circumstances in life He has afforded us in the Epistles.”

“Peter did not tell me of this,” said Jessie.

“No, I should have supposed that he would not,” answered her father; “he is too modest and humble to boast of anything he has done. I need not tell you, after the years I had spent in solitude, with what joy I welcomed the sight of a ship approaching the island. It was greatly damped, however, when I discovered that she was French. Still I resolved if I could to go on board her, hoping ultimately to make my escape. The very day before the wreck I had discovered the latitude and longitude we were in, and had noted it in my pocket-book, so that I could calculate the exact position of the island. I had also buried all the treasure which my companions and I had landed, and had raised over it a mound exactly resembling those I had placed over their graves. I thus should be able at any time to find the spot, I thought, while no one else was likely to disturb it. On ascertaining from the Frenchmen who landed that their ship was a privateer, and that they were still at war with the English, I said nothing about the treasure, determined rather to let it remain concealed for ever than allow them to possess it, for I knew that though I might claim it they would without scruple take it from me. Of this I was convinced from the way in which they pulled up all the vegetables in my garden and carried off everything of value which they found in the hut. Among other articles were my sextant, chronometer, and nautical almanacks, which I had brought in my chest from the Dolphin, though unable to use them on board the privateer till the day I spoke of. The chronometer I had carefully wound up every day, and it was still going when I returned to the wreck. I was thus able when on the island to verify my previous calculations and to ascertain its exact position.

“Having claimed the sextant and chronometer when I was carried on board, I was told that they were no longer mine, and care was taken that I should not ascertain the ship’s position. In short, for several days I was kept below, so that I could not even discover the course we were steering. From what I overheard, however, I found that three days after leaving the island we were chased during a heavy gale by an English frigate, when we narrowly escaped destruction on a reef at its western end, on which it was supposed the frigate had been cast away. She, I have no doubt from what I have since heard, was the Falcon, to which Ralph Michelmore belonged. From my own experience, I have hopes if such was the case that some of the people may have reached the shore, and are still living there.”

“Oh, father! I cannot doubt it; and that Ralph is among them,” exclaimed Jessie, clasping her hands.

“I pray for your sake, my child, that he may be,” said Captain Flamank. “Such scenes as took place when I was wrecked in the privateer are not likely to have occurred on board a well-disciplined man-of-war. After again, as I have described, narrowly escaping shipwreck, I began to hope that the time when I should be free and able to return to England was approaching. Notwithstanding the vigilance of the Frenchmen, I managed on several occasions to creep on deck at night, when a glance at the stars in the clear sky overhead assured me that the ship was steering to the northward, and as I supposed to one of the French settlements in India. What was my surprise, therefore, to find one morning that we were standing towards a small hilly island, with the appearance of which I was totally unacquainted. On being seen by the captain I was sent below, and when I was allowed to return on deck I discovered that we were in a completely land-locked harbour, with several other ships at anchor, most of which I knew from their build to be English. Lofty cliffs circled nearly round the harbour, concealing the masts even of the largest ships from being seen by any passing stranger. In one place the land sloped more gradually from the water, and on it were a number of huts, mostly well-built and of considerable size, forming a regular village. Some way above the village were several more huts surrounded by a high palisade with a gateway, before which paced a couple of sentries. I had not had much time to make my observations when I was ordered into a boat, and on landing was at once conducted up to the last-mentioned group of huts. Entering the gate I was led into a hut close to it, in which sat an officer who told me that I must consider myself a prisoner of war, and that as the English shut up the French who fell into their hands in Porchester Castle, I had no reason to complain. I urged that I had not been taken prisoner, and that after years of absence from my home I was anxious to return there. He shrugged his shoulders, smiling grimly, and made no reply. I found between thirty and forty persons living within the palisade, most of them masters and mates of captured ships. Several had been there from nearly the commencement of the war. They told me that they were strictly watched, and that they found it impossible to send letters home to inform their friends of their fate. Civilians and common seamen had of late not been allowed to land, but had been sent away immediately; the object of the French being, it was evident, to conceal this convenient rendezvous of their privateers from the enemy. I found this account too true, and though I made many attempts to send letters to you I was unable to succeed. We were not otherwise harshly treated, but we all pined for freedom, and great was our joy when peace was concluded, and we were sent off to the Cape. Care was even then taken to prevent us from learning the exact position of the island of our captivity; but we ascertained it pretty correctly, and should another war break out it is not likely to be again used for the same purpose. On reaching the Cape I at once obtained, as you know, the command of a ship, and thus had no means of informing you of my existence before my arrival.”

Much more interesting conversation, as may be supposed, passed between the father and daughter.

Jessie was very anxious to repeat what she had heard to her friend Mrs Chandos, and Captain Flamank consented to accompany her to the house of that lady. What mother could listen to such a narrative without the hope arising that her son might be among those who had escaped? Colonel Chandos, though less sanguine than his wife, was willing to make every effort necessary to ascertain the truth.

With the aid of the friends of other officers of the Falcon, a fine brig, the Hope, was chartered and quickly fitted out, Captain Flamank taking the command of her, with Peter as one of his mates. A picked crew having been easily obtained, she sailed on her long voyage.

Jessie knew that she must pass many anxious months before the brig could return; but would not He Who had restored her father to her have preserved also her still fondly loved Ralph? She had many kind friends to comfort and encourage her; and the warm sympathy of Mrs Chandos assisted greatly to keep up her spirits.

We might follow the Hope on her course. We can picture the delight of the exiles as they saw a brig, with English colours flying, heave-to off the bay, and her boat approach the shore. We can imagine their surprise, as they warmly grasped his hand on landing, when Captain Flamank announced himself as the former occupant of the hut, and, after the first greetings were over, led them to the spot which they had supposed was a grave, and with their assistance unearthed the long-hidden treasure.

We need scarcely speak of the eager questions Ralph put to the captain about Jessie, or say that before night the exiles with the treasure were on board the brig, and that she was on her homeward voyage.

Seven months had passed since the Hope had sailed, and Jessie had begun anxiously to count the days and hours as they went slowly by. That her Ralph would return she felt sure. Often she went to a spot whence she could gaze down the Sound, in expectation of seeing the brig with her white canvas spread gliding up it; but as often was she disappointed. Many a vessel left the harbour with a favouring breeze which kept the homeward bound at a distance. She had one day been asked to visit Mrs Chandos, with whom she was seated, when voices were heard in the hall, and soon afterwards the colonel entered the room.

“Prepare yourselves for a joyful event,” he said, looking at his wife and Jessie. “Some young naval officers have just arrived, and if you will accompany me, Miss Flamank, I will lead you to the dining-room, where you will find one of them whom you know.”

As they left the room a stranger sprang by them, and Jessie heard Mrs Chandos exclaim, “My son! My own dear boy!” In another instant Jessie was weeping tears of joy, supported in the arms of Ralph.

They were soon joined by her father and Dickenson, who, after spending a few hours with his friends, set off to afford a happy surprise to his own family in Hampshire.

Their voyage home had been prosperous, excepting the loss of a man overboard who had joined the brig at the Cape.

“He was in a wretched condition, produced by drunkenness; but the captain could not refuse him a passage,” observed Ralph. “I knew him directly he came on board, though he entered under a feigned name, as my old shipmate Dick Bracewell; but I don’t think he recognised me. He no longer appeared the smart seaman he once was; indeed, he could with difficulty perform his duty. I intended, however, to make myself known, and to speak to him with earnestness and kindness, when during the only gale we encountered, directly after leaving the Cape, he fell from the fore-topsail yard, and before an effort could be made to save him he had sunk for ever.”

Jessie did not till long afterwards tell Ralph of the way his old shipmate had behaved to her.

“I forgive him,” said Ralph. “When a man once leaves the right course and takes to drinking as unhappy Dick did, it is impossible to say of what vile actions he may be guilty.”

Ralph and Jessie were married shortly after the return of the Hope. And Chandos, who acted as best-man to his old messmate, declared that it was the happiest day of his life.

They neither of them again went to sea, Ralph having been appointed to the coastguard, in which service he obtained a situation for Jacob Crane; while Captain Flamank enjoyed an ample competency from the treasure he had brought home in the Hope. Of that vessel, which the captain purchased, honest Peter, in the course of a few years, obtained the command. She proved a more fortunate craft than the Amity, and being well formed, and well manned, and well commanded, never failed to bring in to him and her liberal owner a good return.

Ralph and Jessie enjoyed many years of happiness, ever acknowledging that all the trials and anxieties through which they had gone had been ordered for the best, and ever grateful for the present blessings bestowed on them.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Two Supercargoes"

Chapter One.

The office of Frank, Trunnion & Swab—Harry Bracewell reports the arrival of the “Arrow”—History of Nicholas Swab—The slave trade—Our firm gives up all connection with it—Captain Roderick Trunnion—Something about myself and friends—Interview between Mr Trunnion and Godfrey Magor, mate of the “Arrow”—An unexpected arrival—A strange accusation—Suspicions of Captain Trunnion—Mrs Bracewell and her daughter Mary.

“The ‘Arrow’ has come in, sir, from the Coast of Africa, under charge of Mr Godfrey Magor, the second mate,” I heard Harry Bracewell, one of our shipping clerks, say, as I was seated on a high stool, pen in hand, leaning over my desk in the office of Messrs Crank, Trunnion & Swab, general merchants, of Liverpool Harry addressed the senior partner, Mr Peter Crank, who had just then stepped out of his private room with a bundle of papers in his hand into the counting-house, where I, with a dozen other clerks, senior and junior, were driving our quills as fast as we could move them over the paper, or adding up columns of figures, or making calculations, as the case might be.

As I turned my head slightly, I could see both Mr Crank and Harry. They afforded a strange contrast. Harry was tall, well-built, had a handsome countenance, with a pleasant expression which betokened his real character, for he was as kind, honest, and generous a young fellow as ever lived—the only son of his mother, the widow of a naval officer killed in action. She had come to Liverpool for the sake of giving a home to Harry, who had been for some time in the employment of the firm. The difference between Mr Crank and Harry was indeed most conspicuous in their personal appearance. Whereas Harry was tall, Mr Crank was short and stout; he had a bald head, shining as if it had been carefully polished, a round face, with a florid complexion, and a nose which was allowed by his warmest friends to be a snub; but he had a good mouth, bright blue eyes, often twinkling with humour, which seemed to look through and through those he addressed, while his brow exhibited a considerable amount of intellect. Had not he possessed that, he would not have been at the head of the firm of Crank, Trunnion & Swab.

“Brought home, did you say, by Godfrey Magor? What has happened to Captain Rig and the first mate?”

“Both died from fever while up the Nunn, as did all hands except himself and three others. So Mr Magor told me; and the survivors were all so weak, that he could not have brought the vessel home had he not shipped six Kroomen. He had also a narrow escape from pirates, who actually boarded his vessel, when a man-of-war heaving in sight, they made off without plundering her or killing any one.”

“Bless my heart! I’m sorry to hear about Captain Rig’s death. The poor man remained longer up the river than he should have done, no doubt about that I have over and over again charged the masters of our vessels to be careful in that respect, but they won’t attend to what I say. Let me see! that makes the fifth who has lost his life during the last two years. I’m thankful he got clear of the pirates. Those rascals have long been the greatest pests on that coast. It is time the British Government should take effectual steps to put a stop to their depredations by sending a squadron into those seas. Have you brought the manifest and the other papers with you?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Harry, producing them. “Mr Magor will be on shore himself in an hour or two, when he has seen the vessel made snug, for he has no one to leave in charge; he himself is still suffering from the fever, and two of her white crew are in their bunks.”

Mr Crank, taking the documents, retired with them into his room, to run his eye over the list of articles brought by the “Arrow,” and to calculate their present market value. The result I know was satisfactory. I had afterwards to note down the prices which they fetched. Merchants who could make so large a percentage on all their cargoes were certain to grow rich. It was at the cost, however, of the lives of a great number of human beings; but that was not my employers’ look out, nor did they allow the matter to trouble their consciences. They could always obtain fresh masters to take charge of their vessels, and fresh crews to man them.

In a short time Mr Trunnion, who had heard on ’Change of the arrival of the “Arrow,” came in to learn what news she had brought, expecting to find her master, who was wont, immediately he came on shore, to put in an appearance at the office. Mr Trunnion expressed himself much shocked at Captain Rig’s death.

“Poor fellow! he used to boast that he was acclimatised, but it is a proof of the old adage, ‘that the pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last.’ We might have lost a worse man;” and with this remark Mr Trunnion passed into his room, in which he sat to receive visitors on private business.

Mr Trunnion, although the second partner, was the youngest in the firm. He was a good-looking, urbane, well-mannered man, who, if not always loved by those under him, was much liked and respected in the social circle in which he moved, he being also one of the magnates of Liverpool. For my own part, I had reason to like and be grateful to Mr Swab, the junior member of the firm. He had formerly been a clerk in the house, but by diligent attention to and a thorough knowledge of business and strict honesty, he had some years before been made a partner. To him I felt that I owed all the knowledge I possessed of commercial affairs, as from my first entrance into the office he took notice of me, and gave me the instruction I so much required. My chief friend was Harry Bracewell, who was also a favourite with Mr Swab, and had received the same instruction from him that I had obtained. Mr Swab was not at all ashamed of his origin. He used to tell us that he had risen, not from the gutter, but from the mud, like other strange animals, having obtained his livelihood in his early days by hunting at low tide for whatever he could pick up along the shore, thrown overboard from the lighters or similar vessels unloading at the quays. At length it was his good fortune to pick a purse out of the mud containing ten golden guineas, and, as he used to tell us, being convinced that he should never have a find like it, he resolved to quit his occupation, for which he had no particular fancy, and endeavour to obtain a situation where he might have a prospect of rising in the world. Though he could neither read nor write, he was well aware that those acquirements were necessary for his advancement, as also that a decent suit of clothes would greatly contribute to his obtaining a respectable place. These objects were now within his reach. The most easily attained was the suit of clothes, and these he bought, with a cap and a good pair of shoes, at a slopseller’s, including three shirts, a necktie, and other articles of clothing, for the moderate sum of 2 pounds, 13 shillings and 6 pence. He had taken good care not to let the slopseller know of his wealth; indeed, that fact he kept locked in his own bosom, as he did his purse in a place in which no one was likely to discover it. The balance of the ten pounds into which he had broken he expended in supporting himself while he acquired the first rudiments of knowledge, with the aid of a friend, the keeper of a second-hand bookstall, a broken-down schoolmaster, who, strange to say, still retained a pleasure in imparting instruction to the young. Nicholas Swab first bought a spelling-book, and then confessed that he should find it of no use unless Mr Vellum would explain to him the meaning of the black marks on the pages.

“Then you do not know your letters, my poor boy?” said the old man in a tone of commiseration.

“No, sir, I don’t; but I soon will, if you’ll tell them to me,” answered Nicholas in a confident tone.

“Sit down on that stool, and say them after me as I point them out to you,” said Mr Vellum.

With great patience he went over the alphabet again and again.

“Now I want to put them together, sir,” said Nicholas, not content with the extent of the first lesson. All day long he sat with the book before him, and then took it with him to his home. That home, the abode of his mother, a widow, with a pension of five shillings a week, which enabled her to live, although too small to afford subsistence to her son, was in a small garret up a dark stair in one of the poorest of the back streets of Liverpool. Nicholas set working away by the flame of a farthing rushlight, and at dawn he was up again poring over his book.

Old Vellum was so pleased with the progress made by his pupil, that he continued to give him all the assistance in his power, not only teaching him to read but to write. In a few weeks young Nicholas could do both in a very creditable manner. Having thus gained the knowledge he desired, dressed in a decent suit of clothes, he went round to various offices in Liverpool offering to fill any vacant situation for which he might be considered fit. Although he met with numerous rebuffs, he persevered, and was finally taken into the small counting-house of which Mr Peter Crank’s father was the head. To the firm, through all its various changes, he had remained attached, and though frequently offered opportunities of bettering himself, had refused to leave it. “No, no; I’ll stick to my old friends,” he always answered; “their interests are mine, and although I am but a poor clerk, I believe I can forward them.”

From the first, during all his leisure moments, of which he had not many, he continued to study hard, and to improve himself, spending a portion of his wages in books, which he obtained from Mr Vellum, who allowed him also the run of his library. He was raised from grade to grade until he became head clerk, and during the illness of Mr Crank and the absence of Mr Trunnion, he so well managed the affairs of the firm, that they felt bound to offer him a partnership in the business, to the success of which he had so greatly contributed. Notwithstanding his rise in the social circle, Nicholas Swab continued to be the same unostentatious, persevering, painstaking man which he had been from the first—upright in all his dealings, and generous to those who required a helping hand.

Some of the transactions of the firm would not, it must be confessed, stand the test of the present code of morality. The slave trade had, until lately, been lawful, and the firm had engaged in it with as little hesitation as it would in any other mercantile business. It had been in the habit of buying negroes in the cheapest market, and disposing of them in the dearest, without for a moment considering how they were obtained. When the traffic was pronounced illegal, it withdrew its own vessels, but still had no hesitation in supplying the means for fitting out others which it knew were about to proceed to the African coast, although no particular inquiries were made on the subject. It was not very long before the time of which I speak that the fact dawned on the minds of the partners that the traffic was hateful in the sight of God, as well as in that of a large number of their countrymen, and that it was the main cause of the cruel wars and miseries unspeakable from which the dark-skinned children of Africa had long suffered. Being really conscientious men, they had agreed to abandon all connection with the traffic, and to employ their vessels in carrying on a lawful trade on the coast. To do this, however, was not at first so easy as might be supposed. One of the vessels especially, which they had contributed to fit out and to supply with goods, although not belonging to them, was commanded by Mr Trunnion’s brother—a Captain Roderick Trunnion, of whose character I had heard from time to time mysterious hints thrown out not much to his credit. He occasionally made his appearance at Liverpool. He seemed to me to be a fine, bold, dashing fellow, ready to do and dare anything he might think fit. He was like several privateer captains I had met with, who set their own lives and those of their followers at slight value, provided they could carry out their undertakings. He gave, I believe, his brother, Mr Thomas Trunnion, the partner in our firm, considerable cause for anxiety and annoyance. The last time he had been on shore, in order to recover his brother’s confidence he endeavoured to make himself agreeable to the other partners. Mr Swab, however, I know, did not trust him, as he privately told Harry Bracewell on one occasion. “And don’t you,” he added; “he is without principles; he always did what he chose regardless of God or man. And he doesn’t believe in God, or that any man has a grain of honesty, nor does he, except when it suits him, boast of having any himself.”

Captain Trunnion, however, appeared to have insinuated himself into the good graces of our senior partner, at whose house he was a frequent visitor. He had a strong attraction there; for Lucy, Mr Crank’s, only child, was a sweet, amiable, pretty girl, and Captain Trunnion believed that, could he win her, he should not only obtain a charming wife, but become possessed, some day or other, of Mr Crank’s property. Which influenced him most I cannot say. All I know is, that he did not make any progress in the affections of Miss Lucy, for a very good reason, which he was not long in suspecting—that she had already given her heart to some one else. That some one was my friend Harry Bracewell Captain Trunnion had, however, gone away without suspecting who was his rival.

My father and mother resided in Chester, so that I was received into the house, as a lodger, of Mrs Bracewell; thus it was that I became more intimate with Harry than I might otherwise have been. I also had an opportunity of being constantly in the society of the widow’s only daughter, Mary—a charming little unaffected girl, full of life and spirits, who treated me as her brother’s friend, almost like a brother. For a long time I also thought only of her as a sister, although, somehow or other, I began at last to entertain the hope that, when I had by steady industry obtained the means of making her my wife, she would not feel it necessary to refuse me; and as my family was a respectable one, I had no reason to fear that any objection would be raised by Mrs Bracewell or Harry. Of my own family I need not speak, except of one member—my brother Charley, who had gone to sea before I entered the office, and was now a midshipman of some years’ standing. He had lately joined the “Rover” frigate, employed on the African station. Charley and I had been fast friends and companions, as brothers should be, when we were together, and when separated we constantly corresponded with each other. I cannot say that I had any special fondness for mercantile pursuits, or at all events for the work of an office, having to sit for ten or twelve hours of the day on a high stool at a desk, but yet I was thoroughly impressed with the fact that I must gain my own livelihood, and that by working hard alone could I expect to do so. Had the choice been given me, I should have preferred a life in the open air, with the opportunity of travelling about and seeing the world; but my father did not wish to have more than one son in the navy, and Charley had been devoted as an offering to Neptune. I was, however, very happy in my situation. Understanding what I was to do, I took a pleasure in doing it well; and I spent my evenings happily in the society of Mrs Bracewell and her son and daughter. We had generally music and singing, now and then two or three visitors. Occasionally we went out to Mr Crank’s parties and those of other friends, so that our lives were in no respects dull.

I enter into these details in order that more interest may be taken in the rest of my narrative than might otherwise have been the case.

About an hour after Harry had reported the arrival of the vessel, as I was engaged in Mr Trunnion’s private room in taking down letters at his dictation, the mate of the “Arrow” was announced. As Mr Crank was out, Mr Trunnion desired him to come in and give an account of his voyage. As I was not desired to quit the room, I continued transcribing the notes which I had taken down, but I glanced round at the mate as he entered. His appearance showed that he had suffered from the fever which had carried off so many of his shipmates. His cheek was pale and hollow, his eye dull, and his figure emaciated; even his voice sounded weak and hollow.

“Sit down,” said Mr Trunnion in a kind voice, showing that he was struck by the sickly look of the poor mate. “I should like to hear full particulars of your voyage. It has been a successful one judging by the manifest, which I have been looking over, although fatal to so many long in our employment. You have managed well, too, in bringing home the ‘Arrow.’ We are well satisfied—I can tell you that at once.”

The mate then began an account of the transactions connected with the vessel from the time of her arrival on the Coast of Africa, the number of places visited, and the trade transactions at each. They were very interesting to me I know at the time, but I did not note them. Mr Magor then described how one after the other the captain and crew died, until he and three others were alone left. “I doubted indeed whether I should have been able to bring the vessel home,” he continued. “We had a narrow escape of being captured by a picarooning craft which swept alongside us during a calm. A number of the crew, headed by their captain, had actually made their way on board, and having bound me and three of my men, were proceeding to get off the hatches to take the cargo out of the hold, when a man-of-war, bringing up a strong breeze from the south, hove in sight. The pirates on discovering her hurried on board their own craft, carrying away two of my Kroomen, and casting off the grapplings with which they had made her fast alongside, got out their long sweeps and pulled away for their lives. As soon as the remaining Kroomen had set me and the other white men free, we ran out our guns and began firing at her. She returned our shot; and as she had more guns and heavier metal than ours, we judged it prudent not to follow her. When the breeze came, which it did soon afterwards, she stood away under all sail before the wind. She showed that she was a fast craft, for she had almost got out of sight before the man-of-war came up with us. The latter pursued her, but whether she was overtaken or not I cannot say, as we continued our voyage towards England, and I saw no more of either of them. The pirates who had boarded us were of all nations, Spaniards, Portuguese, and French, and there were several Englishmen among them. That their leader was one I could swear, for I heard him speaking English to several of the villains; and what is more, as he gave me a good opportunity of marking his features while I was bound to the mainmast, I should remember him were I ever to meet him again.”

“I hope that you may never fall in with him again under similar circumstances,” remarked Mr Trunnion. “Should you do so, he will probably make you walk the plank before he begins discharging your cargo into his own craft.”

While the mate was narrating his adventures I heard a strange race speaking in an authoritative tone in the outer office. Suddenly the door was burst open, and a tall powerful man, dressed in riding-boots, his clothes bespattered with mud, yet having in other respects a nautical cut about him, entered the room. Mr Trunnion gazed on him without speaking.

“What, Tom! don’t you know me?” exclaimed the new-comer advancing and putting out his hand. “My beard has grown, and I have become somewhat sunburnt since we parted.”

“Bless my heart! is it you, Roderick?” exclaimed Mr Trunnion. “I own that I did not recognise you, and was surprised at the intrusion of a stranger.”

Roderick Trunnion, giving a laugh, threw himself into a chair opposite his brother, who reassumed his usual cold and dignified demeanour as he took his seat. From my desk I could observe what was going forward. I saw the mate start and narrowly scan the countenance of the new-comer with a look of extreme astonishment, while the latter, who did not appear to remark him, leaned forward and gazed at his brother, whose manner seemed to irritate him.

“Where in the world have you come from, Roderick?” asked Mr Trunnion.

“From Falmouth last, where I left the ‘Vulture’ to refit. We met with a somewhat heavy gale, in which she was fearfully knocked about, and had we not kept the pumps going she would have foundered to a certainty. As I wanted to see you and other friends; I took horse and rode night and day to get here. The business I have got to speak of brooks of no delay, and is such as you and I can talk about best alone.”

Turning round as he spoke, he cast a glance at Mr Magor. For a moment, it seemed to me that his eye appeared to quail, but he quickly recovered himself.

“Have you finished your business here?” he asked in a bold tone, looking at the mate. “If so, you will leave me and your employer alone—for I presume that you are the master of one of his vessels. And that youngster—you do not wish him to take down our conversation, I suppose,” he added, first looking at me then round at his brother.

“Really, Roderick, you have been so accustomed to command, that you forget that you are not on your own quarter-deck,” observed Mr Trunnion, who was evidently annoyed at the authoritative tone assumed by his brother.

The mate rose and looked first at Mr Trunnion then at Captain Roderick.

“I have met that man before,” he said, “and it is my duty to tell you when and how it was. It was not long ago, on the high seas, when he boarded the ‘Arrow’ at the head of—”

Mr Trunnion, as the mate spoke, looked very much agitated, and I naturally fancied that something extraordinary was about to be said. Captain Roderick alone appeared perfectly cool. Fixing his glance on the mate, he exclaimed in a loud tone, interrupting him—

“You, my good fellow, may have met me half-a-dozen times for what I know to the contrary, or half-a-dozen men whom you may mistake for me, although I cannot say that I ever set eyes on you before. However, go on and tell Mr Trunnion what I did when you fancy that you saw me, and I shall then know whether you are mistaken as to my identity.”

The mate looked greatly confused.

“I can only hope that I am mistaken, and unless Mr Trunnion desires me, I shall decline at present stating where, as I believe, I last saw you.”

Mr Trunnion was silent for a minute, and seemed lost in thought. Suddenly looking up he said—

“You have been suffering from fever, Mr Magor, and your recollection of events, very naturally, is somewhat clouded. A few weeks’ quiet and rest will restore your health. I would advise you not to repeat what you have just said. I’ll send on board and relieve you of charge of the brig as soon as possible, and you can go to your friends in the country.”

Mr Magor, making a nautical bow to Mr Trunnion, and giving another glance towards Captain Roderick, left the room.

“Westerton,” continued my employer, turning to me, “you have heard all that has been said, and if it were repeated, although the poor man is under an hallucination, it might be the cause of disagreeable reports. You are discreet, I can trust you. Let not a word on the subject escape your lips. You can now go and finish those letters at your own desk.”

I did as I was ordered, and gathering up the papers, followed the mate out of the room, leaving the two brothers together. What followed, I of course cannot say. For an hour or more they were closeted together. At last Captain Roderick came out, and returned to the inn where he had put up his horse. All I know is, that Mr Trunnion did not invite him to his house. It seemed to me suspicious, and I could not help thinking about the matter, and wished that I could have consulted Harry Bracewell. Two evenings afterwards we went to a party at the house of Mr Crank. Shortly after we arrived, who should walk in but Captain Roderick. By the way Mr Crank and Lucy received him, I felt convinced that Mr Trunnion had said nothing to prejudice the senior partner against him. He made himself at home as usual, treating Miss Lucy with great deference, and it seemed to me that he was gaining ground in her good graces.

His appearance was greatly improved since the day I had seen him in the counting-house. His face was carefully shaved, and his dress was such as to set off his well-made active figure. His aim was evidently to play the agreeable, not only to the young lady of the house, but to all the ladies present, and with some—especially with the dowagers—he appeared to be as successful as he could desire. He cast an indifferent glance now and then at me, as if he had never set eyes on me before, and appeared perfectly unconscious of the accusation—for such I considered it—brought against him by Mr Magor. When I observed his apparent success with Lucy Crank, I felt a greater desire than ever to tell Harry what I had heard, and to advise him to warn her and her father of what I believed to be the real character of the man. His brother, I supposed, from fraternal affection of family pride, had said nothing to his senior partner to warn him, and, of course, even to Harry I could not venture to say what I thought about Captain Trunnion. I could only hope that Lucy would remain as indifferent to him as she had always before appeared to be, and that he would quickly again return to the “Vulture.” I was surprised, indeed, that he had ventured to be so long absent from his vessel, as his presence would be necessary while she was refitting. Perhaps, after all, his statements about her might not be true; she might not even be at Falmouth, although his mud-bespattered appearance on his arrival showed that he had ridden a long distance.

Chapter Two.

Captain Trunnion appears openly at Liverpool—His attentions to Lucy Crank—Her affection for Harry Bracewell—Captain Trunnion exhibits his jealousy of Harry—Suspecting the Captain’s evil intentions, I watch over Harry—Godfrey Magor placed in command of the “Arrow”—Harry and I appointed supercargoes—Attend to the stowage of the vessel—Prepare for sailing—Farewell to loved ones—Voyage commenced.

Notwithstanding the very grave suspicion cast on him by the mate of the “Arrow,” Captain Roderick Trunnion did not immediately quit Liverpool, as I supposed he would have done. He was, as far as I could judge, not on friendly terms with his brother, as he lived at an inn, although there was ample room for him at Mr Trunnion’s house, where he seldom went, nor did he again appear at the office. I met him, however, frequently walking about Liverpool, dressed in shoregoing clothes, booted and spurred, and carrying a riding-whip in his hand.

Notwithstanding, I should have known him at a glance to be a seaman. I found also that he very frequently called at Mr Crank’s residence at times when he well knew that the old gentleman would be at his counting-house. I did not suppose, however, that he received any encouragement from Miss Lucy, but he always had some excuse for paying a visit, either to show some curiosity which he said he had brought from abroad, or to leave a book or other articles which he had obtained for her. The fact was, that he had got into the good graces of Miss Deborah Crank, Mr Crank’s maiden sister, who resided with him to look after Miss Lucy and keep his house in order. I met the Captain there at two or three evening parties to which the Bracewells and I were invited, and on each occasion he was evidently paying court to the young lady. When not with her, he was making himself agreeable to Miss Deborah.

Harry appeared to be in no way jealous or unhappy, which he would have been had he thought that Captain Roderick had the slightest chance of success.

“We understand each other,” he said, “and she has assured me that she does not like him, though she cannot be rude to him while her father and aunt invite him to the house.”

I did not like to make Harry unhappy by saying that I was not quite so certain about the matter as he was; at the same time I longed to be able to warn Miss Lucy of the character of the roan. What surprised me was that Mr Trunnion should not have spoken to Mr Crank, or that the latter should not have thought it strange that Captain Roderick never came to the counting-house.

Probably Mr Trunnion was influenced by fraternal feelings in not warning his partner of his suspicions regarding his brother’s character. I did not, however, long entertain fears of Miss Lucy’s affection for Harry, from a circumstance which he told me. It was a holiday, and he had arranged to accompany her and her aunt on a visit to some friends in the country. The coach was at the door waiting for Miss Deborah, who was upstairs, not yet having finished her toilet, while Lucy, who had finished dressing, was seated in the drawing-room with Harry by her side. Suddenly the door opened, the young people expecting to see Miss Deborah enter. What, therefore, was their surprise when Captain Roderick talked into the room. He stood for a moment gazing fiercely at Harry.

“What business have you here?” he exclaimed in a voice hoarse with passion.

Harry wisely did not answer him; but Lucy, looking up and holding Harry’s hand, said quietly—

“Mr Bracewell has come to escort my aunt and me into the country, and I have good reason for the annoyance I feel at the question you have put to him. My father is from home and will not return for some time, so I cannot invite you to wait for him.”

Captain Roderick was not a man to be abashed even by the way Miss Lucy had addressed him. Taking a turn or two in the room, he waited—so Harry thought—expecting Miss Deborah to come down-stairs and invite him to accompany them. Lucy, suspecting his purpose, took Harry’s arm and whispered, “Let us go down to the carriage.”

Miss Deborah, happening to look out of her window, saw them get in, and being just then ready, she joined them without going into the drawing-room. Lucy, with much presence of mind, just before the carriage drove off, desired the servant, in a low voice which her aunt did not hear, to see Captain Roderick out of the house.

Whatever Captain Roderick might before have supposed, he now discovered to a certainty that Harry Bracewell was his rival. When I heard the account just given, believing that the mate was right in his suspicions, I felt sure that, should he have an opportunity, he would revenge himself on my friend. I told Harry all I could to warn him. I said that I believed Captain Roderick was a bad, unprincipled man, whom no fear of consequences or any right feeling would restrain from committing an act of violence if he thought that it would further his object.

Harry merely laughed, and observed, “When he finds that he has no chance of cutting me out he’ll take himself off. I should think his brother, who is so strict and correct in his conduct, would be very glad to get him away from Liverpool.”

Knowing what dreadful deeds had been done by men of ill-regulated minds influenced by jealousy, I felt seriously anxious about Harry, lest Captain Roderick should find means to revenge himself. Had I been able to explain the cause of the dread I had of him I might have convinced Harry of his danger, and induced him to be careful when going abroad at night; but I could only tell him that I suspected the man, and that I did not like him: Harry, however, though he had a true regard for me, either thought that I was mistaken or needlessly alarmed.

Sometimes I thought of telling my fears to Mr Trunnion, and asking permission from him to warn Harry Bracewell; but I knew that he would feel highly offended were I to speak on the subject to him. I therefore, whenever Harry went out, made some excuse for accompanying him, especially when he went to Mr Crank’s house. On those occasions, instead of going in, I used to walk about in the neighbourhood, or sit down in an archway where the dark shadow concealed me from the view of passers-by. On two different evenings I saw a person pass whom I felt sure by his figure was Captain Roderick. The second time, when he stopped before Mr Crank’s house, the light of the moon falling on his face revealed his features to me, and convinced me that I was not mistaken. He was dressed as I first saw him at the counting-house, and he had a hanger by his side, and a brace of pistols in his belt, with a pair of riding-boots on, as if prepared for a journey.

Fearing that Harry might come out, and that his rival might attack him, I went up as if I was going to knock at the door; instead of which I stood in the porch, where, concealed, I could watch Captain Roderick. Perhaps he suspected that I had recognised him; for after waiting a minute, and looking up at the windows, he moved away, and I lost sight of him. I waited until Harry came out, and then taking his arm, I hurried him along in an opposite direction to that which he would naturally have followed as the shortest way home.

“Why are you going by this road?” he asked.

“I will tell you presently,” I answered, continuing at a quick pace. “Don’t ask questions just now, for I really cannot answer you.”

Harry did as I wished, and we therefore exchanged few word until we reached home.

“Now,” I said, “I will tell you. I am confident that Captain Roderick was waylaying you, and would either have sought a quarrel, or perhaps have cut you down with his hanger, or shot you.”

Harry was at length inclined to believe that I was right, but still he added, “Perhaps, after all, he maybe going away, and only came to take a last look at the house where Lucy lives; for, from what she tells me he said to her, I cannot help thinking that he must be desperately enamoured.”

“If he does go, well and good; but if he remains, I tell you, Harry, that I do not consider your life safe,” I remarked. “I must beg your mother and sister to lock you up, and not let you go out at night until the fellow has gone. He is a villain!” I repeated, in my eagerness almost revealing what I was bound to keep secret.

After this I saw no more of Captain Roderick. Whether or not he had left Liverpool I was uncertain, but I hoped he had gone. A few days afterwards, Mr Magor, the mate of the “Arrow,” came to the office, where he was received in a very friendly way by Mr Swab. He looked completely changed. The sickly hue had left his cheek, and he was stout and hearty, with the independent bearing of a seaman.

“I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr Magor,” said Mr Swab. “My partners and I have been talking the matter over; and from the way you brought the ‘Arrow’ home, and the character you received from her late master, we are resolved to offer you the command.”

“Thank you, sir. I am proud of your approval; and I may venture to say, as far as navigating a vessel, or handling her in fine weather or foul, I am as competent as most men. I cannot boast, however, of my abilities as a trader, as I am no hand at keeping accounts. In that respect, I do not think that I should do you Justice.”

“Well, well, Captain Magor; we cannot always expect to find a man like Captain Rig, who combined both qualifications. We must therefore send a supercargo, or perhaps two, to help you; and I hope, with their assistance, that you will not be compelled to remain long up any of the rivers, and run the risk of losing your own life or of having your crew cut off by fever. You must try and be away from the coast before the sickly season sets in. It is by remaining up the rivers during the rains and hot weather that so many people die.”

“As to the hot weather, I don’t know when it is not hot on the coast,” observed Captain Magor, for so in future I may call him; “but I am ready to brave any season in your service. And I again thank you, sir, for the offer you make me, which I gladly accept, provided you supply me with the assistance you see I require.”

“We will try to do that,” said Mr Swab. “Now, without loss of time, look out for a couple of good men as mates, and the best crew you can obtain, and get the vessel fitted out without delay. I will accompany you on board and place you in command.”

This was said in the outer office, where Henry and I overheard it.

“I wonder to whom they will offer the berths,” said Harry to me. “If I thought that it would advance me in the house, and enable me the sooner to speak to Mr Crank, I for one should be ready to accept an offer, although it would be a sore trial to go away. I had never dreamed of doing so; but yet, if I was asked, I would not refuse, as, of course, it could not fail to give one a lift; whereas, should I refuse, I should fall in the estimation of the partners.”

The very next day Mr Crank desired Harry and me to come into his inner room, and he then told us, what we already knew, that the firm intended to send out two supercargoes, who might assist each other, and asked if we would go, promising us each a share in the profits of the voyage, and advancement in the house on our return. “I do not hide from you that there is danger from the climate, and in some places from the natives; but the vessel will be well armed, and you must exert all the judgment and discretion you possess. You are both young and strong, and have never tampered with your constitutions, so that you are less likely to succumb to the climate than the generality of seamen.” He then entered fully into the subject, telling us how to act under various circumstances, and giving us full directions for our guidance.

We did not appear very elated at the offer, but accepted it, provided Harry’s mother and my parents did not object. “Tell them all I have said,” observed Mr Crank, “and let me know to-morrow, that should you refuse our offer I may look out for two other young men who have no family ties to prevent them from going. Our interests should, I think, be considered in the matter.”

I judged by the tone of the senior partner’s voice that he would be offended should we refuse his offer, and we therefore made up our minds to press the matter with those who had to decide for us. Of course we talked it over as we walked home that evening. We both fancied that we should be absent little more than five months, and that we should come back with our purses well filled, or, at all events, with the means of filling them.

Mrs Bracewell and Mary were very unhappy when Harry placed the state of the case before them; but they acknowledged that he ought to act as the firm wished. My parents, to whom I wrote, expressed themselves much in the same way, only entreating that I would come and pay them a visit before starting. As soon as I received their letter I placed it in the hands of Mr Crank, who seemed well pleased.

“You will not have cause to regret going, as far as we are concerned,” he observed; “as for the rest, we must leave that to Providence.”

Harry and I had, of course, been very often on board vessels, and made several trips down the Mersey, returning in the pilot-boat, but neither of us had ever been at sea. It was necessary that we should both see the cargo stowed, and be acquainted with the contents of every bale. As soon as it was stowed the brig would sail. I therefore hastened over to the neighbourhood of Chester to pay my promised visit to my family. “I shall be gone only five or six months,” I said cheerfully, fully believing that such would be the case. “I will take good care of myself, depend upon that. I won’t trust the black fellows, and will never sleep on shore.”

On my return I found the vessel nearly ready to take in cargo. Harry and I were employed from morning until night in the warehouse, examining and noting the goods. We then both went on board, one remaining on deck to book them as they were hoisted in, the other going below to see them stowed away, so that we might know where each bale and package was to be found. Captain Magor was also on board assisting us, as were his two mates, Tom Sherwin and Ned Capstick, both rough, honest hands, as far as I could judge, who had been chosen by the master simply because they were good seamen and bold fellows in whom he could trust. While we stood by, notebooks in hand, it was their business to stow away the various packages; and as we were together many hours every day, we became pretty well acquainted before we sailed. We had a few hours left after the cargo was on board and the hatches fastened down.

I should have said I had made all the inquiries I could for Captain Roderick, but could hear nothing of him, nor did he ever come near Mr Crank’s house after he knew I saw him waiting at the door. I had another reason for supposing that he had gone. Mr Trunnion had regained his usual spirits, and looked as cheerful as he did before his brother’s appearance.

“You have acted discreetly, Westerton,” said Mr Trunnion to me one day when I was alone with him in his private room. “Whether Captain Magor was right or not in the fearful accusation he brought against that unhappy man. I know not. The ‘Vulture’ has, I trust, long since sailed. I wish you to understand that, although she was once our vessel, she does not now belong to us, and I need not say how I fear she is employed.”

I was pleased to receive this commendation from my principal. I merely replied that I hoped to be always able to give him satisfaction in whatever way he might be pleased to employ me. He shook hands with me warmly on parting. “You will receive full written directions from the firm for your guidance while on the coast, and I hope that we shall see you and Bracewell back again well and hearty in a few months with a full cargo. I have great confidence in Captain Magor, into whose character, since he went to sea, we have made minute inquiries, and you will find him a bold and sagacious seaman, and an obliging and agreeable companion.”

Before I left the counting-house, Mr Swab called me into his little den, into which he was wont to retire whenever he had any private business to transact, although he generally sat in the outer office, that he might keep an eye on the clerks and see that there was no idling.

“My dear boy,” he said in a kind tone, “I have had a talk with Harry, and now I want to speak with you, and I’ll say to you what I said to him: Work together with a will; do not let the slightest feeling of jealousy spring up between you, and give and take. If he is right one time, you’ll be ready to follow him the next; while, if your opinion proves correct, he will be ready to follow you. I am sure you will both act as you consider best for the interest of the firm; and remember there is One above who sees you, and you must do nothing which He disapproves of—your conscience will tell you that. You are to be engaged in a lawful traffic. If carried on fairly, it must of necessity tend to advance the interest of the Africans. We did them harm enough formerly when we were engaged in the slave trade, although I for one didn’t see it at the time, and was entirely ignorant of the horrors it inflicted on the unfortunate natives. If I thought at all, I thought they exchanged barbarism for civilisation; and what are called the horrors of the middle passage were not so great in those days as they are now, when the traffic has become unlawful. We had roomy vessels, the slaves were well-fed and looked after; and the master had no fear of being chased by a man-of-war, so that they could wait in harbour when the weather was threatening, and run across the Atlantic with a favourable breeze. You will very likely see something of the business, and hear more of it while you are up the rivers; but you must in no way interfere, either to help a slaver by supplying her with goods, provisions, or water, or by giving information to the man-of-war of her whereabouts, unless the question is asked, and you will then tell the truth. And now about your personal conduct. You must do all you can to keep your health. Be strictly sober. Do not expose yourself to the heat by day nor to the damp air by night, which is, I understand, more likely to prove injurious than even the sun’s rays. Never lose your temper with the natives, or any one else, for that matter; and, from what I can learn, you are often likely to be tried. Many people fancy they show their spirit by losing their temper; in reality they always give an opponent an advantage over them, and the negroes are quick enough to perceive that. Do not imagine them fools because they do not understand your language. Indeed, I might say, as a golden rule, never hold too cheap the person with whom you are bargaining or an enemy with whom you are engaged in fighting. You will, of course, be very exact in all your accounts, and endeavour to obtain such information as you possibly can from all directions likely to prove of further use to the firm. Now, my dear boy, farewell. I pray that you and Harry may be protected from the dangers to which you will be exposed.”

The worthy man said much more to the same purpose. The “Arrow” had, in the meantime, hauled out into the stream, and Harry and I went on board that evening, as she was to sail at daybreak, the tide being fair, the next morning. Mrs Bracewell and Mary accompanied us, very naturally wishing to see the last of us; and just as we were setting out, Lucy Crank arrived, greatly to Harry’s satisfaction.

“Papa did not object to my going, and I thought that Mrs Bracewell and Mary would require some one to cheer them up,” she said.

Mrs Bracewell smiled, for Lucy did not look as if she was very well capable of doing that. She had evidently been crying, although she had done her best to dry her tears.

Just as we were at the water’s edge, Mr Swab joined us, remarking as he did so, “My partners are not able to come. I wanted to have a few more words with Captain Magor, so that I shall have the satisfaction of escorting you ladies back.” I suspected that, in the kindness of his heart, the latter was his chief object.

“Thank you,” said Mrs Bracewell; “we shall be glad of your protection. We wish to see Harry’s and Mr Westerton’s cabin, and the brig, now that she is ready for sea, so that we may picture them to ourselves when they are far away.”

The evening was serene, the water smooth as glass, the slight breeze blowing down the river, being insufficient to enable us to stem the flood tide, which had then begun to make up, or we should at once have sailed. Boats were plying backwards and forwards between the shore and the various vessels which lay in that much-frequented river. Some, like the “Arrow,” ready for sea; others only just arrived, or taking cargo on board from lighters. They were either bound to or had come from all parts of the world, the African traders perhaps predominating; but there were not a few either going to or coming from the West Indies, with which Liverpool had a considerable commerce. There were South Sea whalers, high black vessels, with boats hoisted up on either side, and fast-sailing craft running up the Mediterranean, besides innumerable coasters. Indeed, Liverpool had become a successful rival of Bristol, hitherto the chief commercial port of the kingdom.

The ladies were well pleased with our little berths off the main cabin, for Captain Magor had done his best to make them comfortable. The cabin was well fitted, with a mahogany table, a sofa at the upper end, and two easy-chairs. A swinging lamp was suspended above us, while the bulkhead in the fore part was ornamented with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses ranged in symmetrical order. The brig carried seven guns, three on each side, and one long gun, which could be trained fore or aft to serve as a bow or stern chaser, while all told she had thirty hands, besides Harry and me; so that we were well able to cope with any ordinary enemy we were likely to meet with, either pirate or Frenchman, Spaniard or Hollander. The captain had prepared tea on board, or rather supper. Mr Swab did his best to keep up the spirits of the party—which poor Lucy certainly failed in doing—by telling stories or cracking jokes, though he soon gave up the attempt when he saw none of us responded. Indeed, I must confess that both his jokes and stories were stale, and it might be added “flat and unprofitable.” They did not flow naturally from him. At length he discovered that the time was passing on; the shades of evening were already stealing over the broad surface of the magnificent stream. The boat belonging to the firm had hauled up alongside, and Harry and I helped the ladies into her, Mr Swab following, and giving each of us a hearty shake of the hand. As the boat rowed away they waved an adieu with their handkerchiefs, which before they were out of sight all three applied to their eyes, and even then I could distinguish Mr Swab frequently blowing his nose with his scarlet bandana.

Neither Harry nor I slept very soundly; we had too much to think about to allow “nature’s soft nurse,” as the poet calls it, to visit our eyelids.

The boatswain’s call roused up all hands. Quickly dressing, we were on deck. The dawn was just breaking in the eastern sky, from which direction there came a gentle breeze. The pilot was on board, the anchor hove up, the tide was making down, sail after sail was set, and just as there was light sufficient to enable us to see our way, the brig, under a cloud of white canvas, was standing down the Mersey.

“God bless you all! A prosperous voyage, and a safe and happy return!” was uttered by the pilot, as, having seen us clear of the sandbanks at the mouth of the river, he lowered himself into his boat and paddled off to his cutter, which had accompanied us. We were now left to our own resources, and before evening we were standing down the Irish Channel with a brisk breeze on the larboard tack.

Chapter Three.

My shipmates—Tom Tubbs the boatswain—Sight a suspicious craft—Alter our course to avoid her—Chased—A heavy squall—A thick mist—We hope to escape—The stranger reappears—Night comes on and we low sight of her—Once more the stranger is seen in hot chase—Opens fire—Desperate fight—We attempt to rake the enemy—He frustrates it—The enemy hoists the pirate flag—Boards us—Our crew overcome—The captain and boatswain, Harry and I, fight desperately—Captain Trunnion appears—Spares our lives—Dreadful state of the deck—Tom, Harry, and I taken on board the “Vulture”—Captain Magor ordered to navigate the “Arrow” into the Sherbro—The vessels part company.

Harry and I soon got our sea-legs, for although when we sailed the weather was fine, before we were well clear of the Irish Channel it began to blow fresh, and a heavy sea ran, which tumbled the vessel about not a little. We both quickly made the acquaintance of the officers and crew, for we did not consider it beneath our dignity as supercargoes to talk to our ship mates of lower rank. We were well repaid by the confidence they bestowed upon us, and the histories of their lives and adventures which they narrated. Although rough in their ways, they possessed many of the best qualities in human nature. The mates were, as I before said, good steady men, fair navigators, who could be trusted on all occasions, and had been chosen for these qualifications by Captain Magor, to whom they had long been known. Our chief friend was Tom Tubbs, the boatswain. Tom would have risen to a higher rank, but he was destitute of the accomplishments of reading and writing, though having to some purpose studied the book of nature, he possessed more useful knowledge than many of his fellow-men. He, like Tom Bowling, was the darling of the crew; for although he wielded his authority with a taut hand, he could be lenient when he thought it advisable, and was ever ready to do a kind action to any of his shipmates. He could always get them to do anything he wanted; for, instead of swearing at them, he used endearing expressions, such as “My loves,” “My dear boys,” “My charming lads.” Thus, “My darlings,” he would sing out, “be smart in handling that fore-topgallantsail,” or “Take down two reefs in the topsails, my cherubs,” or when setting studding-sails, he would sing out, “Haul away, my angels,” or again, when shortening sail, “Clew up—haul down, my lovely dears.” He varied his expressions, however, according to the urgency of the case. If more speed was required, the more endearing were his words. I won’t undertake to say that he did not sometimes rap out words of a very different signification, but that was only in extreme cases, when all others seemed to fail, or he had exhausted his vocabulary; but the men did not mind it a bit, for it only showed them that they must exert all their strength and activity if the masts were to be saved or the ship preserved from capsizing, or any other catastrophe prevented. The men were well aware of the motive which induced him to use strong expressions. We had two black men, who, having long served on board merchant vessels, spoke English pretty well. One of them, called Quambo, acted as steward; the other, Sambo, being ship’s cook, spent a good portion of his time in the caboose, from which he carried on a conversation on either side with the men who happened to be congregated there. He, as well as Quambo, had to do duty as a seaman, and active fellows they were, as good hands as any of the crew. Sambo, besides his other accomplishments, could play the fiddle, and in calm weather the merry tones of his instrument would set all the crew dancing, making even Tom Tubbs shuffle about out of sight of the officers; for it would have been derogatory, he considered, to have been seen thus conducting himself in public. We had an Irishman, a Scotchman, three Finns, and a Portuguese, who was generally known as “Portinggall.” The captain and the rest were Englishmen, two of whom had seen better days. One had been a schoolmaster and the other a lawyer’s clerk. There was also a runaway from home of gentle birth, but who had so long mixed with rough characters, that not a trace of the good manners he once possessed remained by him.

We had got into the latitude of the Cape de Verde islands, and were looking out for the African coast, the wind being about east, when about two hours after noon the look-out at the masthead shouted, “A sail in sight on the larboard bow.”

On hearing this, the first mate, with a glass slung over his shoulder, went aloft to have a look at the stranger. He was sometime there, and when he returned on deck I thought by his countenance that he did not like her appearance.

“She’s ship rigged, going free, and standing this way, sir,” he said to the captain; “and if we keep on our present course she will be within hail of us within a couple of hours at furthest. She may be a man-of-war cruiser, or an enemy’s privateer, or an honest trader; but were she that, I don’t see why she should be standing this way, unless she thinks the wind will shift, and she wishes to get a good offing from Cape de Verde. Or else she may be one of the picarooning craft which we have heard of on this coast, although it has never been my ill luck to fall in with them.”

“But it has been mine; and though I had the good fortune to get clear of the rascal, I never wish to meet with one of her class again; and so, in case yonder craft should be of that character, or an enemy’s privateer, we shall do well to stand clear of her,” said Captain Magor; “and although we may lose a day or two, that will be better than running the risk of being captured or sent to the bottom. All hands make sail—up with the helm—square away the yards. Rig out the studding-sail booms, Mr Sherwin,” he added, addressing the first mate as soon as the ship was before the wind.

The boatswain sounded his whistle. “Be smart there, my sweet lads,” he cried out. “Haul away, my lovely cherubs, on the starboard studding-sail halyards. Belay all that, my charmers;” and so he went on whistling and shouting, until we had studding-sails extended below and aloft on either side, and both royals set, and were running along at the rate of some seven or eight knots an hour before a light breeze.

Harry and I on all occasions lent a hand when we thought we could be of use, and Tom did not fail to bestow his approving remarks upon us. The first mate now went aloft to ascertain whether the stranger had again altered her course, or whether she was standing on as before, in which case we hoped to run her out of sight, when we could again haul on the wind. He remained some time aloft. When he came down he looked even grave than before.

“It is as I feared, sir. The fellow has clapped on all sail and is standing after us. It is a question which has the fastest pair of heels. If we can keep well ahead until nightfall, we may then alter our course and get clear of her.”

“Perhaps, after all, she is only a British man-of-war, which takes us for a slaver, or perhaps for an enemy’s cruiser; for the ‘Arrow,’ I flatter myself, doesn’t look like an ordinary trader,” observed Captain Magor.

“That may be, sir,” answered the mate, “but we are doing the wisest thing to keep out of her way; and, as you said, it’s better to do that and lose a day or two, than be snapped up by an enemy.” The captain ordered all hands to remain on deck at their stations, ready to shorten sail at a moment’s notice. I saw him frequently look astern, not so much at the stranger as at the appearance of the clouds.

“Do you think she is coming up with us, Captain Magor?” I asked.

“No doubt about that, though she is carrying less sail than we are. She has got a stronger breeze, and I am watching lest the wind should come down on us harder than our sticks can stand.”

A few minutes afterwards, as I moved to the fore part of the quarter-deck, where the boatswain was standing, the captain cried out, “All hands shorten sail!”

In an instant Tom’s whistle was at his mouth, and didn’t he stamp and shout.

“In with the studding-sails, my lovely lads; let fly topgallant sheets, my sweet angels. Haul down, trice up, my pretty boys.” Though what between the orders issued by the captain and mates, and repeated by him, with the howling of the wind and the whistling of his shrill pipe, the rattling and creaking of the blocks, and the fluttering of the sails, it was difficult for ears unnautical to comprehend the actual words uttered. All to me seemed hubbub and confusion. The men flew here and there, some going aloft, while others came tramping along the deck with the ropes. Even Captain Magor and the mates were pulling and hauling. Harry and I caught hold of the ropes they gave us, and ran along with them to gather in the fluttering canvas, which seemed as if it would be blown to shreds before it could be secured. As it was, a fore-royal was carried away and a studding-sail boom was snapt off. Before we had time to stow the lighter canvas the squall came down thick and strong on us. The order was given to clew up the courses and take a reef in the topsails. The wind, though coming off the land, quickly beat the ocean into wild tossing waves, through which the brig dashed forward with lessened sail, yet still with increased speed. A thick misty appearance, caused by a fine impalpable sand brought off the land by the squall, soon hid the stranger from sight. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” observed the mate; “and I hope we shall be in luck, and get out of the way of that fellow; I don’t like his looks, that I don’t.”

What Captain Magor thought about the matter he did not say. He kept the brig away, running as before, which showed that he considered the stranger was still in pursuit of us. Harry and I looked out for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps the squall took her unawares and carried away her masts; if so, and she is an enemy, we may thank the wind for the service it has rendered us,” observed the first mate.

“There’s little chance of that, I fear,” said Captain Magor. “When it clears up again we shall see her all ataunto, or I am much mistaken.”

We all continued looking out anxiously over the taffrail, while the brig ploughed her way through the fast rising seas, which hissed and foamed around her.

The captain paced the deck, now looking aft, now aloft, waiting for the moment when he could venture to make sail again. The men stood with their hands on the halyard, ready to hoist away at the expected order, for all on board knew the importance of keeping ahead of the stranger should she be what we suspected. Still the atmosphere remained charged with dust off the coast, which, as the rays of the sun fell upon it, assumed a yellowish hue. At any moment, however, it might dissolve, and already it had sunk lower than when it first came on. Before long we had evidence that the captain’s surmise was correct, for just over the thick bank astern we caught sight through our glasses of a fine perpendicular line against the sky, which he asserted were the royal masts of the stranger, with the royals still furled. If he was right—and of that there appeared little doubt—she must have gained rapidly on us. The best we could hope for was that the mist would continue until nightfall and shroud us from her sight. The setting sun, it should be understood, cast its light upon her masts, while ours were still in the shade. We were doomed, however, to disappointment; suddenly the mist cleared off, and the bright rays of the sun exposed to view the topsails and courses of our pursuer.

“We may still keep ahead of her, and when night comes on give her the slip,” observed Captain Magor; “if not, we will fight her. The men, I hope, will stand to their guns, and show that they are British seamen. It will be a disgrace to knock under to piratical villains, such as I fear are the crew of yonder craft.”

“The men are staunch, I’ll answer for that,” observed Mr Serwin. “Tubbs has had a talk with them to try their tempers, and he is as true a fellow as ever stepped.”

“That he is; and if you and I and the second mate should be killed, he will fight the ship as long as a stick is standing,” answered the first mate, showing his appreciation of the boatswain’s character. Harry and I, as we walked the deck, agreed that we would fight to the last, though we heartily wished that we might escape the stern necessity. Before long the captain shouted—

“Shake out the reefs in the fore-topsail, my lads.”

The topmen flew aloft and the sail was hoisted. Soon afterwards the captain gave the order to set the fore-topgallantsail.

“We must get preventer braces on it,” he observed to the first mate; “it won’t do to run the risk of carrying away the spar.”

The additional ropes were quickly secured by the active crew. As they stood aft watching the sail, it seemed as if at any moment it would carry away the mast and spar, as, bulging out with the strong breeze, it strained and tugged in its efforts to free itself, but the sticks were tough and the ropes which held them sound, and with increased speed the brig flew before the gale. Two of the best hands were at the wheel, for any carelessness in steering might in an instant have produced a serious disaster. The effects of the additional sail were satisfactory, as the stranger was no longer gaining on us, as she had hitherto done. Still, as I felt the violent blows given by the seas, now on one quarter, now on the other, the brig now pitching into a hollow ahead, now rising rapidly over another sea, then rolling from side to side, I feared that the masts must be jerked out of her. Harry and I found it scarcely possible to walk the deck without being tossed about like shuttlecocks, so that our only resource was to hold fast to the stanchions, or, when we wanted to move, to catch hold of the bulwarks. As night approached, however, the wind began to decrease, and the sea, having no great distance to run, went down. Whether this was likely to be an advantage to us or not was now to be proved. As the last rays of the sun ere he set glanced horizontally across the ocean, they fell on the stranger’s canvas down to the foot of her courses. Still our stout-hearted captain did not despair.

“We will do what we can to give the fellow the go-by, and may outwit him, clever as he thinks himself,” he said, laughing. “Aloft there, and set the fore-royal,” he shouted; and this being done, the foretopmast studding-sails were again rigged out, thus exhibiting a broad sheet of canvas to the eyes of our pursuer, which would probably make him suppose that we intended to continue our course directly before the wind. The sun had now sunk, but we could yet distinguish through the fast gathering gloom the sail astern. Captain Magor now ordered the mainsail to be hauled out, and the main-topsail and maintop-gallant-sail to be set. By the time this was done, not even the outlines of the stranger could be perceived astern.

“Take in studdin’-sails,” cried the captain.

These by the united efforts of the crew, wildly fluttering, were hauled down without a spar being lost. The fore-royal was then furled. “Starboard the helm,” was the next order given. “Haul on the starboard fore and main braces,” he then sang out, and the brig was brought to the wind on the larboard tack. No sooner did she feel its power, as the yards were braced sharp up, the tacks hauled down, and the braces and bowlines sheeted home, than she heeled over to the force of the wind, which was still considerable, although it did not appear to when we were running before it. “If the stranger does not discover our change of course, she will be well away to leeward before morning, and we shall see no more of her,” said Captain Magor, addressing Harry and me. “I don’t want to expose the lives of you young gentlemen to danger, or to risk the loss of our cargo, I daresay you felt not a little anxious, but you may turn in and sleep soundly, with the prospect of making the coast of Africa in another day or two at furthest. We will have some food first though, for you have been on deck ever since dinner; you’ll be hungry. Quambo!” he shouted, “let’s have some supper on table as soon as possible.”

“Him dare ’ready, captain,” answered the black steward, “only wait de young gen’lemen to cut him.”

The captain, leaving the deck in charge of the first mate, descended with us, and did ample justice to the plentiful meal Quambo had spread on the table. The captain, before going on deck again, advised us to turn in. We were, however, too anxious to do so, notwithstanding his assertions that all was likely to go well, and we therefore soon joined him on deck. We found him looking out over the larboard quarter, the direction in which the stranger was most likely to be seen. Although we swept the ocean with our glasses round two-thirds of the horizon, she was nowhere visible. At length, trusting that the captain really was right, with our minds tolerably relieved, we went below and turned into our berths. Still, though I slept, I could not get the thought of the pirate out of my mind. I dreamed that I was again on deck, and that I saw our pursuer, like some monster of the deep, her canvas towering high above our own towards the sky, close to us. Then she poured forth her broadsides, her shot with a crashing, rending sound passing across our deck. Still we remained unharmed, and I heard the captain say, “Give it them again, my lads—give it them again.” Our crew sprung to their guns; but there came another broadside from the enemy which carried away our masts and spars, pierced our bulwarks, knocking our boats to pieces. Still Harry and I stood on deck uninjured, and our crew appeared is undaunted and active as before. I have often heard of people “fighting their battles o’er again;” but in this instance I fought mine before it occurred. I was awakened by the stamping sound of the feet of the watch overhead as they ran along with the halyards; then came the cry, “All hands on deck.” I jumped out of my berth, and found Harry slipping into his clothes. No one else was in the cabin. We hurried on deck, where the officers and the watch below with the idlers had assembled. I was surprised to find the brig once more before the wind and the crew engaged in making all sail. The captain was standing aft issuing his orders, while the mates and boatswain were aiding the men in pulling and hauling. We joined them without asking questions. Some of the crew were aloft setting the top-gallant-sails and royals. I wondered why this was done, but there was no time to ask questions. At last, all the sail the brig could carry was set. I then, having nothing further to do, went aft and asked the captain the reason of the change of course.

“If you look astern you will see it,” he said.

Shading my eyes with my hand, I gazed into the darkness, and there I at length discovered what the more practised eyes of the captain had long seen—the shadowy form of the stranger coming up under all sail towards us.

“You see now why we have kept away,” observed the captain. “Before the wind is our fastest point of sailing, and I wish that we had kept on it from the first. That fellow out there must have hauled his wind soon after we lost sight of him.”

“Do you think she will come up with us?” I asked.

“There is a great likelihood that she will,” answered the captain; “but a stern chase is a long chase, as every one knows. Perhaps we may fall in with a man-of-war cruiser, when the tables will be turned; if not, as I said before, we must fight her.”

“With all my heart,” I answered; and Harry echoed my words.

The stranger had by this time approached much nearer to us than before, or we should have been unable to see her. We could thus no longer hope for an opportunity of escaping by altering our course. “It is my duty to stand on as long as I can, to give ourselves every chance of meeting with another craft, which may take a part in the game,” observed the captain. “At all events, it will be daylight before we get within range of her guns, and you young gentlemen may as well turn in in the meantime and finish your night’s rest.”

Neither I nor Harry had any inclination, however, to do this. The dream I had had still haunted my imagination, and I felt pretty sure that were I to go to sleep it would come back as vividly as before. Stepping into the waist, I found Mr Tubbs, the boatswain.

“Well, Tom, what do you think about the matter?” I asked. “Shall we have a brush with yonder craft which seems so anxious to make our acquaintance?”

“No doubt about it, Mr Westerton, and more than a brush too, I suspect. That ship out there is a big fellow, and will prove a tough customer. We shall have to show the stuff we are made of, and fight hard to beat him off. I don’t say but that we shall do it, but it will cost us dearly; for his people, we may be sure, know how to handle their guns; and from the height of his canvas I should say that he was twice our size, and probably carries double as many guns as we do, and musters three or four times more men.”

“Then I’m afraid that we shall have but a poor chance of beating him off,” I observed.

“There are always chances in war, and one of them may be in our favour; so it is our business to fight hard to the end. A happy shot may knock away his masts and render him helpless, or enter his magazine and blow him up; or we may send half a dozen of our pills between wind and water, and compel him to keep all hands at the pumps, so that he will have no time to look after us.”

“But the same may happen to us,” observed Harry.

“Granted; those belong to the chances of war,” answered Tom. “I was only speaking of those in our favour. We must not think of the others; if the worst comes to the worst, we can but go to the bottom with our colours flying, as many pretty men have had to do before.”

On the whole, Tom’s remarks did not greatly increase our spirits. Harry and I walked aft together.

“One of us may fall, Dick,” said Harry to me in a grave tone. “If I do, you will carry my last fond love to my mother and sister and poor Lucy, and say that my last thoughts were about them.”

“That I will,” I answered. “And should I fall and you escape, you will see my parents, and tell your mother and sister Mary how to the last moment of my life I thought of them—how grateful I am for all their kindness to me.”

The expressions we exchanged were but natural to young men who were about to engage for the first time in their lives in a desperate battle—for desperate we knew it must be, even should we come off victorious, if the stranger astern was, as we supposed, a pirate. We paced the deck together. The suspense we were doomed to undergo was more trying than when we were engaged in making or shortening sail, and the gale was blowing and the vessel tumbling about. Now we were gliding calmly on, with nothing to do except occasionally to take a look astern at our expected enemy. I began to long for daylight, and wished even to see the stranger come up within shot, so that we might ascertain to a certainty her true character. At length a ruddy glow appeared beyond her in the east, gradually increasing in depth and brightness until the whole sky was suffused with an orange tint, and the sun, like a vast ball of fire, rose rapidly above the horizon, forming a glowing background to the sails of our pursuer, who came gliding along over the shining ocean towards us. Already she was almost within range of our long gun, which the captain now ordered to be trained aft through one of the stern-ports. The gun was loaded and run out. “Shall I fire, sir?” asked Tom Tubbs, who acted as gunner as well as boatswain, running his eye along the piece.

“Not until we can see her flag,” answered the captain; “she may, after all, be a man-of-war. If we fire she may take us for a pirate, and we should get small credit for our bravery. We shall see her colours presently if she yaws to fire at us. Wait until I give the word.”

In the meantime the magazine had been opened and powder and shot brought up on deck; the guns were loaded and run out, the arm-chest was also got up, and Harry and I, as did all on board, girded hangers to our sides and thrust pistols into our belts.

The captain shortly afterwards issued the order for all hands to be ready to shorten sail as soon as no chance remained of escaping without fighting. Even now there was a hope that we might get away, or that the stranger might after all prove a friend instead of a foe; every rope was therefore kept belayed. “Long Tom,” as the boatswain called his gun, was run out, it should be understood, under the poop on which Harry and I stood. The captain had taken his post near the mizen rigging, so that he could see all parts alike, and his voice could be heard by Tom and the crew of the gun below him.

The mates were at their stations ready to shorten sail. I had my spyglass turned towards our pursuer, endeavouring to get a glimpse of her flag should she have hoisted one, which she very certainly would have done were she a King’s ship. As I watched her, I could see that she was gaining upon us. Objects which at first appeared indistinct were now clearly visible. I could make out the men on the forecastle, but I saw no gun there with which she could return the compliment our “Long Tom” was about to pay her. So far this was satisfactory.

“Were she a King’s ship she would have fired a gun without altering her course, as a signal for us to heave to,” observed the captain.

Scarcely had he spoken than the stranger yawed—a gun was fired, and a shot came towards us, striking the water and sinking close under our counter. At the same moment, raising my glass, I caught sight of the British ensign flying from the end of the peak.

“Hurrah!” I exclaimed; “she’s a King’s ship, and we are all right.”

“We must not be too sure of that,” observed Harry; “pirates can hoist false colours. We want better proof of her honesty before we heave to. Had she been well disposed, she would not have sent that iron messenger after us.”

For some time longer the “Arrow” stood on her course, while the stranger, keeping directly astern, did not alter hers. I expected every moment to hear our captain give the word to fire, but he refrained from doing so. Suspicious as was the behaviour of our pursuer, still I thought it possible that, after all, she might be a King’s ship, and had shown her proper colours. Presently, however, she yawed, her studding-sails fluttering as she did so, being almost taken back. Two spouts of flame, followed quickly by a couple of round shot, issued from her bow-ports. That the shot were fired with evil intent was evident, for one struck our larboard quarter close below where I was standing, and knocked away the carved work, while the other, flying high, passed close above our heads, and fell into the water not a dozen fathoms from the ship. Before her helm could again be put up, Captain Magor shouted, “Give it them, Tubbs,” and our “Long Tom,” with a loud roar, sending forth a spout of flame, pitched a shot right through the fore part of her bulwarks, and I could see the splinters fly as it struck them.

“Load and fire away as fast as you can,” cried the captain; “if that’s a King’s ship, she fired first, and must take the consequences.”

I should have felt more satisfied had I been convinced that the captain was right, but still I could not help fancying that she was a royal cruiser, and that we might be committing a terrible mistake. Shot after shot was now aimed at our pursuer. Tom Tubbs and his men hauling in and loading the gun with a rapidity which only well-trained hands could have done. Few of our shots—as far as I could judge—appeared to be so successfully aimed as the first had been. Still I heard Captain Magor shouting out, “Well done, my lads; never saw a gun better served. Wing her if you can; knock away her foremast, and twenty golden guineas shall be yours.”

The stranger all this time did not return our fire, for she could not bring her foremost guns to bear without yawing, and by doing so she would have lost ground. She was still gaining on us, and I observed at length that she had slightly altered her course, so as to be creeping up on our starboard quarter, though so slightly, that at first the alteration was not perceived. Captain Magor took two or three short turns on the poop, then suddenly stopping, he shouted, “In with the studding-sails, send down the royals,” and presently afterwards, when this was done, “Furl top-gallant-sails.” He had evidently made up his mind that escape was impossible, and was determined to fight the stranger should she prove an enemy. Active as were our crew, some minutes passed before sail was shortened, by which time the stranger had crept up on our quarter. She had hitherto kept all her canvas standing. We were still running before the wind. I saw the captain give a steady look at her.

“I know her now. She is the ‘Vulture,’ and we can expect no mercy if we are taken,” he exclaimed, turning to Harry and me, his countenance exhibiting the anxiety he felt in the discovery, although the next moment he spoke in the same firm tone as usual. “The men stationed at the starboard guns be ready to fire,” he cried out. “Brace the yards to larboard.”

Before, however, the words were out of his mouth, the stranger’s crew were seen swarming aloft. The yards and tops were covered with men, and with a rapidity far excelling anything we were capable of, the studding-sails were taken in, the royals and top-gallant-sails furled, and just as our helm was put down, and we were about to luff across her bow, she luffed up and let fly a broadside of ten guns in return for our three. At the same moment, as I looked aft, expecting still to see the ensign of Old England flying from her peak, I beheld a black piratical flag with the death’s head and cross-bones, which had evidently been hoisted to strike terror into the hearts of our crew. At that instant I heard the same crashing, rending sounds which had disturbed my slumbers, as the shot tore their way through our bulwarks, some striking the masts, others cutting away the shrouds and knocking a boat to pieces. I saw one man fall at the after-guns, while two more were binding handkerchiefs round their arms, showing that they had been struck either by shot or splinters. Having missed the opportunity of raking the enemy, we were now placed in a disadvantageous position to leeward. Still Captain Magor was not the man to give in. He ordered “Long Tom” to be dragged from its present position, and run through the foremost port.

“If the enemy have more guns than we have, we must make amends by firing ours twice as fast as she does,” he cried out in a cheerful tone. “Cheer up, my lads. Toss the pieces in, and give the villains more than they bargain for.”

Harry and I hastened to one of the guns, at which three of the crew had already been killed or disabled, and we exerted ourselves to the utmost. I confess that I have a somewhat confused idea of what now occurred. I was thinking only of how I could best help in loading and running out the gun at which I had stationed myself. All my thoughts and energies were concentrated on that; but I remember hearing the cries and groans of my shipmates as they were shot down, the tearing and crashing of the shot as they struck our devoted craft, the blocks falling from aloft, the shouts of the officers, and the occasional cheers of the men, and seeing the ropes hanging in festoons, the sails in tatters, wreck and confusion around us, with wreaths of smoke. Then I remember observing the pirate ship, which had approached us closer and closer, come with a louder crash than any previous sounds alongside. Grapplings were thrown on to our bulwarks, then a score or more of ruffianly looking fellows with hangers flashing leapt down on our decks. We fired our pistols and drew our own blades, and for a few minutes fought with desperation; then Harry and I, with Tom Tubbs and the captain, were borne back towards the poop, where, as we stood for a few seconds, keeping our enemies at bay, we saw that, overwhelmed by numbers, all hope of successful resistance was vain. Captain Magor shouted to us to sell our lives dearly, but just then I heard a voice exclaim, “Drop your weapons and you shall have your lives, for you have fought like brave fellows.” Gazing at the speaker, whom I had not before recognised among the boarders, I beheld one whose countenance I knew. Yes! I had no doubt about the matter, he was Captain Roderick Trunnion. At his heels followed a huge mastiff, who growled fiercely as his master was addressing us. Whether or not Captain Roderick recognised Harry or me, we neither of us could tell.

“We had better make a virtue of necessity,” said the captain, dropping his sword; and I with the rest of the party did the same, for we could not suppose that our captors intended afterwards to slaughter us. One of the officers of the pirate, stepping up, took our weapons, which we handed to him; and as our assailants now separated, apparently to plunder the vessel, the fearful condition of our deck was exposed to view. In every direction were our poor fellows dead or wounded, including the two mates, one of whom had his head knocked off, while the other was cut almost in two by a round shot. Planks were torn up where the shot had ploughed their way along them; blocks, entangled ropes, shattered spars, fragments of the bulwarks and boats, and pieces of sails, were scattered about amid large splashes of blood. The pirates, now masters of the vessel, began at once to heave the dead overboard, several still breathing, who might have recovered, being treated in the same way. Every moment I expected that the miscreants would compel us to walk the plank, but for a wonder they appeared satisfied with their victory.

Captain Trunnion did not appear to recognise us, though he fixed his eyes on Captain Magor in a very ominous way.

“I know you,” he said, approaching him; “you once did me a good turn by picking me out of the water. I should probably otherwise have served for a dinner to a hungry shark close at my heels; but you counterbalanced that by the scurvy trick you endeavoured to play me at Liverpool. However, as no harm was done, except that my brother was not quite so affectionate as he might have been, I’ll overlook that, and I tell you I don’t wish to have your blood or that of any other man on my hands. Now, listen to me, and if you are a sensible person, you will accept my offer and save your life. I happen to have no one on board whom I can spare capable of navigating the vessel. I intend to put a prize-crew on board this craft, and leave you some of your own men, and if you take her and them safe into the Sherbro River, you shall have your liberty and go wherever you like after the vessel has sailed. I must send a man on board to act as mate who will stand no nonsense. If you prove true, he’ll be civil; but if not, you may expect to have your brains blown out at a moment’s notice. You understand me?”

I watched Captain Magor’s countenance, to judge whether he would accept the offer or not I hoped that he would do so, and that we should be allowed to accompany him. He placed his hand on his brow as he paced several times up and down the deck. “I accept your offer,” he said at length. He did not I remarked, address Captain Roderick by his proper name. “You will, I hope, allow my two passengers to accompany me, and the boatswain, who, although not a navigator, is a first-rate seaman, and will be of great assistance to me.”

“No, no, my friend. I intend these two young gentlemen, who, by the way they fought, have shown themselves to be fine spirited fellows, to accompany me; and the character you give of the boatswain makes me wish to have him on board my craft, where, to tell you the truth, I have not got too many able seamen. You may consider yourself very fortunate at being allowed the privilege I offer you, so say no more about the matter.”

These remarks destroyed the hopes Harry and I had entertained that we might get free of the pirate and ere long obtain our liberty. Poor Tubbs looked very much cast down. Knowing him well, I was sure he was not a man who would join with the pirates, although Captain Roderick might employ every means to win him over. We were not long left in suspense as to our fate.

“Now, my lads,” exclaimed the pirate captain, addressing Harry and me, “make your way on board my ship, and you follow them,” he added turning to Tubbs.

We had just time to shake hands with Captain Magor, whose countenance showed the sorrow and anxiety he felt, when, at a sign from Captain Roderick, several of his men seized us by the shoulders, and hurried us on board the “Vulture.” Tubbs then, giving an involuntary shrug of his shoulders, as if resigned to his fate, followed us; the savage growls of the dog making us dread that he would seize one of us by the leg, and so I have no doubt that he would have done at a sign from his master. The deck of the pirate presented much the same scene as did that of the “Arrow.” Our shot had done no little damage to the hull and rigging, while several of her crew were dead or dying. Their shipmates were in the act of heaving the bodies overboard, although they did not treat those who were still breathing as they did our poor fellows. A few of them, more compassionate than the rest, were endeavouring to staunch the blood flowing from the limbs and sides of the wounded men. Harry, Tubbs, and I, finding that no one interfered with us, knelt down beside three of the men who were unable to move on the after part of the deck. The wretched beings were crying out for help and mercy. Two of them were evidently suffering fearfully from thirst. “I’ll get some water; it will do them good,” said Tubbs, and making his way to a water-cask which stood on deck, from which he filled a tin mug, he brought it back to the men. They all drank eagerly, one of them, however, in the very act, fell back and expired. The others cast a look at their shipmate. Such might be their fate. “Take him away,” groaned one of them. “I cannot help casting my eyes on him, and he is terrible to look upon.” In truth, the man’s countenance, distorted with pain, bore a horrible expression. We dragged the body forward, that his shipmates might dispose of it as they thought fit. We were so eagerly engaged in attending to the wounded men, that we did not observe that the vessels had been cast loose from each other, and that Captain Roderick had returned on board. We were aroused by hearing his voice issuing orders to his crew to make sail. We cast a look over the bulwarks, where we saw the “Arrow,” from which we were greatly increasing our distance, her people busily employed in repairing damages, knotting and splicing the running rigging, getting fresh yards across, and bending new sails. The work was still going on when the “Vulture,” having made sail and steering to the south-east, ran her out of sight.

Chapter Four.

Our life on board the pirate ship—We tend the wounded—Discuss plans for escaping—Land in sight—Enter the river—At anchor—Preparations for receiving slaves on board—Wounded men landed—We accompany them—Tom agrees to try and escape with us—Comfortably lodged—Slave barracoons—A visit on board to see Tom—Obtain arms and escape from the village—Our flight—Reach a river—Fall in with French traders—Kindly treated—Intended treachery of our pirate companions—Defeated by the Frenchmen—Surprised by a band of savages—A fearful massacre—Saved by the mate of the “Vulture”—Again made prisoners.

We were treated with more leniency than we could have expected on board the “Vulture,” in consequence, I believe, of our having attended to the wounded.

“We have no doctor on board, and you and your friends may look after those fellows, and try to patch them up,” said the pirate captain to me the day after the action. “I cannot spare the boatswain, as he is wanted to do duty as a seaman. Remember that I might have clapped you down in the cable-tier, or, had I chosen, made you walk the plank, as many have done before; but I don’t want to have the deaths of more men than I can help at my door, even though I run the risk of losing my life in consequence of my leniency.”

“We will continue to look after the wounded as long as we are able,” I answered. I thought it prudent not to expend any thanks on him, for which he would not have cared, nor to show any very great satisfaction at being left at liberty, as he might have suspected that we were contemplating plans for our escape, nor would he have been far off the truth. Harry and I, when we were certain that no one was listening, had discussed the matter, intending to let Tom Tubbs into our plan, and invite him to join us. At present, however, we had no means of holding communication with him. He was sent forward, while we remained either on the quarter-deck, or in a sort of cockpit to which the wounded had been carried. It was a dark, close place, its only advantage being that it was out of the way of shot in action. In the course of a few hours, death removed all but six of our patients and Harry and I had enough to do to attend to them. They were groaning and complaining all day long, and constantly calling out for liquor, though, when we supplied them with water instead, they drank it greedily, sometimes fancying that it was what they had asked for. We kept them constantly supplied with liquid, which, although often hot and tepid, appeared like nectar to their fevered lips. No one interfered with us. How the poor fellows would have fared had they been left to themselves I know not, but I suspect that they would have been allowed to suffer with very little commiseration felt for them. Still all this time our position was far from comfortable. I was doubtful how Captain Roderick might treat Harry. I had no doubt that he knew who he was, though he had never addressed him by name; indeed, after having spoken to us about the wounded men, he took no further notice of us, allowing us to take our food in the cockpit, and to sleep in a couple of hammocks which were slung there, which had belonged to two of the men who had been killed. We had to do everything for ourselves, the seamen being either surly to us or rude. Harry and I separately, on two different occasions, endeavoured to speak to Tubbs, but a man immediately stepped up and asked us what we wanted, he having, I suppose, been directed by the Captain to watch us and Tubbs, to see that we held no communication, while Growler—for so we found that the captain’s dog was called—came snuffing and growling round and round us, ready to fall to and tear us to pieces at the word of command. We fortunately had fine weather as we continued our voyage towards the Bight of Biafara, for which we were bound. All this time we did not lose the hope of falling in with a British man-of-war by which we might be rescued. Day after day passed by, but not a sail hove in sight. That Captain Roderick thought such might be the case seemed probable, as he was constantly on the watch, and exercising his men both at the guns, and with small arms and cutlasses; and I felt certain that, sooner than surrender, he would fight to the last, and then blow up the ship. It appeared to me that he had become more desperate than he had been when he last paid a visit to Liverpool. Indeed, he must have known that he could never again show his face there, should either Harry or I, or Captain Magor, or the boatswain, find our way back. Probably, however, he counted on our never doing so. It was not a pleasant feeling to know that he might consider his interest advanced by effectually preventing us from again seeing our native land. The wounded men made fair progress towards recovery under our care, but when not attending them, Harry and I found time hang very heavily on our hands. We had no books, and were afraid of conversing except on indifferent subjects, for fear of being overheard. Even the men we were attending might betray us should we say anything at which the captain might take offence. Our life was therefore, as may be supposed, anything but a pleasant one. We went on deck occasionally very early in the morning or after sunset, when the shades of night prevented our being observed, and generally managed to get a few turns together to stretch our legs and breathe the fresh air; for had we always remained in the close hold, do not suppose that we could have retained our health. Our thief amusement was endeavouring to win our way into the good graces of Growler, and gradually we succeeded in doing so, though we of course took good care not to let it be seen that we were on friendly terms with him. We were very thankful when at length, early one morning, we heard the cry from the look-out at the masthead—

“Land, oh!”

Both Harry and I felt a strong impulse to run aloft and have a look at it, but this we dared not do. It was some time, therefore, before we saw the shore from the deck. We could then make out a line of mangrove-trees, with blue hills rising to a considerable height in the distance. The mangrove-trees marked the entrance of the river up which we were bound. We stood on until within about four miles of the shore, when it fell a dead calm. There the brig lay, rolling her sides in the smooth burnished water on which she floated. We could now perceive, projecting from among the mangrove bushes, a long spit of white sand, from which to the opposite shore ran a line of foam, marking the bar which we had to cross. The heat was intense, making the pitch bubble up between the seams of the deck, while down below the air was horribly stifling. It seemed surprising that the poor wounded fellows could live in it; but they had got accustomed to a close atmosphere, I suppose, and were, at all events, saved from feeling the direct rays of the sun. The whites of the crew sought shelter wherever a particle of shade existed, although the black and brown men, of whom there were several, appeared indifferent to the heat—the black cook and his mate actually sitting on the top of the caboose and smoking their pipes, with the advantage of a fire beneath them. I expected to see them begin to broil, but they were evidently enjoying themselves. Thus it lasted for a couple of hours, until the sea-breeze set in, when all sail was instantly made, and the ship was headed up for the bar. The breeze increased. As we got nearer we caught sight of a canoe and half a dozen black fellows coming off to assist us. We accordingly hove to, that they might be able to get up the side, when a huge fellow in a broad-brimmed straw hat and a pair of trousers with pink stripes came on deck, and walking up to the captain, shook hands with him as with an old friend.

“Ah, massa cap’n, glad to see you ’gain. You take plent slavy—him dare all ready;” and he pointed up the river.

“All right, Master Pogo. Take care that you don’t put my ship ashore though, as you did Captain Watman’s. I wonder he did not shoot you through the head for your carelessness. I wouldn’t scruple to do so, let me tell you.”

Pogo grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Me take good care, cap’n,” he answered; and stepping up to the break of the poop, he took his post there that he might con the vessel. He looked around him and then surveyed the shore.

“Starboard a little,” he sung out. “Now steady, dat will do. Now we go in like shot,” he added, turning to the captain, who significantly touched the butt of one of the pistols in his belt.

As the line of surf was approached, Pogo became more energetic in his actions. He shouted to the crew, “Stand by the braces, tacks, and sheets!” The wind began to fail, and he knew well that a puff coming down the river might take the ship aback, and drive her on shore before there was time to drop an anchor. For an instant her sails fluttered. He began to dance about and wring his hands, looking at the captain’s belt as if he expected every moment to see the pistol sticking in it pointed at his head; but happily for him the sails again filled, and the breeze increasing, the ship, after pitching three or four times, glided on into smooth water. We were now free of all danger for the present. There was nothing very attractive in the appearance of the river. As far as the eye could reach, we could distinguish only mangrove bushes rising apparently out of the water itself. Except a hut or two at the inner end of the sandy point I have described, not a human habitation was to be perceived, and scarcely a canoe dotted the broad expanse of the river as we glided up it, stemming the current with the strong sea-breeze which had now set in. As we got higher up, an occasional opening in the mangrove bushes showed us a more attractive looking country, with cocoa-nut, fig, and other trees, and native huts nestled beneath them; but it was not until we had got about twenty miles from the mouth of the river that any sign of a numerous population appeared. At length we prepared to come to an anchor off a village from which a wooden stage projected into the river. Beyond it were several long sheds of considerable extent, which were ere long discovered to be barracoons or sheds for the reception of slaves brought down from the interior to be embarked. The anchor was dropped, the sails were furled. What now was to be our fate? The captain had interfered so little with us, that we hoped he would allow us to go on shore, and that we might be able from thence to make our way down the river, and get on board a lawful trader or man-of-war. I proposed to Harry that I should at once ask him. Just as I was about to do so, I heard him order the wounded men to be brought up and placed in a boat alongside. I thought that now was a good opportunity, “I am afraid, sir, that these men are scarcely in a fit state to be removed; unless they have some one to look after them, they are very likely to lose their lives.”

“You may accompany them,” he said, “but remember that you do not go beyond the village, or you will stand a chance of being knocked on the head. The blacks are not very fond of strange white men hereabouts.”

Of course Harry and I did not consider ourselves bound to follow his directions in this instance, nor had we given any promise to do so. Before we left the ship, we found that the crew were preparing her for the reception of slaves. Some were hoisting up her cargo and placing it either on deck or in the after-cabin ready for trade, and others were fixing in a slave-deck fore and aft, while casks of water and bags of farina were being brought on board in large quantities. I was thankful to see Tom Tubbs in the boat which was to convey the wounded men on shore. He gave us a wink as we went down the side, and I saw that he took the stroke oar, so that he would have an opportunity of speaking to us. The ship was some distance off the bank, for there was not sufficient depth of water to enable her to come nearer. It took us, therefore, nearly ten minutes to reach the spot. “I’ll lend a hand to carry one of these poor fellows,” observed Tom, giving me a meaning look as he pulled away. “I suppose Mr Bracewell will help us?”

I turned to Harry, and of course he said “yes.” Two of the men were able to walk, but the other three were still too weak to help themselves. The crew of the boat, therefore, took two of the latter up on their shoulders, and Tubbs, Harry, and I lifted the third. Harry carried the man’s feet; Tubbs and I supported him by our arms and shoulders.

“We shall be here for more than a week, I suspect,” said Tubbs as we walked along. “I must come on shore to see how these poor fellows are getting on, and may be you may fancy a walk into the country, either up the river or down the river, as you wish.”

The habitation selected for the accommodation of the wounded was far superior to what I expected to find. It was, indeed, the house of a white slave-dealer and general trader, who, with his clerks, was now away, and Captain Roderick had thought fit to take possession of it. A large airy room in which eight hammocks were slung, afforded quarters for our five patients and to Harry and me.

“I wish that you could occupy the other,” I said to Tubbs; “we should be glad to have your assistance. Couldn’t you ask the captain’s leave, and say that we want you to help us to look after the wounded?”

The boatswain shook his head. “Not much chance of his granting it; he would suspect that there was something in the wind; but I’ll keep my weather eye open, and if I have a chance I’ll come on shore. If you determine to try and make your escape, it must be just before the ‘Vulture’ sails, or the captain will be sending to look for you,” he whispered. “Good-bye, gentlemen,” he added aloud; “glad to see you on board again.”

We found a couple of blacks in the house—an old man and a woman, servants of the owner—to look after it. They appeared well disposed, and brought us food and everything we required for ourselves and the wounded men. The latter—ruffians as they may have been—were very grateful to us, and one and all declared that they would not have received such attention from their own shipmates.

“I should think you must be pretty well sick of the life you have been leading,” I ventured to say in a low voice to one of them, who appeared to be of a better disposition than the rest. “That indeed I am, sir,” he answered, the tears coming into his eyes. “I’d leave it to-morrow if I could, for I know a sudden death or a bowline-knot will be my lot some day or other.”

“What do your wounded shipmates think about the subject?” I asked.

“I cannot say positively; but my idea is that they would be glad enough to get free if they had the chance,” was the answer.

I did not venture to make any remark in return, but the thought then occurred to me that we might possibly all escape together. If we could procure arms, we should form a pretty strong party, and might fight our way in any direction in which it might be advisable to go. The French had a settlement on that part of the coast, so had the Portuguese further south; but the English had none except a long way to the north. Still, as ships of war and traders occasionally appeared off the coast, could we once reach it, we might make signals and be taken on board. I do not mean to say that Harry or I had much hope of thus escaping, still it was possible, and that assisted to keep up our spirits.

Captain Trunnion appeared much disappointed at not finding the number of slaves he had expected in the barracoons, as it would compel him to wait until they could be obtained from the interior, and his crew he knew were as liable to coast fever as that of any other vessel.

Next to the house in which we lived was a large store where the cargo of the “Vulture” was stored when landed. At a short distance off were several barracoons. I may as well describe one of them. It was a shed composed of heavy piles driven deep into the earth, lashed together with bamboos, and thatched with palm-leaves. Down the centre was another row of piles, along which was a chain. In this, at intervals of about every two feet, was a large neck-link, which, being placed round the necks of the slaves, was padlocked. When I looked in, the barracoon contained only about twenty slaves. Some of them were fine athletic looking men, and were shackled three together, the strongest being placed between two others, and heavily ironed. The walls of the building were about six feet in height, and between them and the roof was an opening of about four feet to allow the free circulation of air. The floor was planked, not, as I found, from any regard for the comfort of the slaves, but because a small insect, a species of chigoe, which is in the soil, might get into the flesh of the poor creatures, and produce a disease which might ultimately kill them. Half a dozen armed men, two being mulattoes, the others blacks, were guarding the barracoon and watching the slaves, so that any attempt to free themselves from their irons was impossible. These slaves were the property of a dealer with whom the captain now commenced bargaining. As there was time to spare, he chose to select each one separately, lest any sick or injured people might be forced upon him, as is often the case where slaves are shipped in a hurry. He and the trader stood at a dignified distance, while their subordinates carried on the active part of the business, a half naked black acting for the trader, while the captain was represented by a mulatto, who felt the arms and legs of each man, and struck him on the chest and back to ascertain that he was sound in wind, before he consented to pay over his price in goods. Another slave was then summoned, and, if found satisfactory, passed at a fixed price; but otherwise, a less sum was offered, or the slave was sent back to await the arrival of some other slaver likely to be less particular. Women and children were treated in the same way, but there were comparatively few of them in the lot now offered for sale.

I had to return on board the “Vulture” to obtain some medicines for our wounded men, and also to get some articles belonging to Harry and myself which we had left on board. Great alterations had taken place in the fitting of the ship between decks. Huge casks called leaguers had been placed in the hold; in these were stowed the provisions, wood for fuel, and other stores; above them was fitted a slave-deck, between which and the upper deck there was a space of about four feet. On this the slaves were to sit with shackles on their feet, and secured to iron bars running from side to side. They were divided in gangs, about a dozen in each, over which was a head man, who arranged the place each slave was to occupy. The largest slaves were made to sit down amidships, or the furthest from the ship’s side, or from any position in which their strength could avail them to secure a larger space than their neighbours. As I was to see more of the system, I need not now describe it. On my return on shore, I looked into the barracoon hired by Captain Trunnion, in which I saw from forty to fifty slaves assembled, and even more heavily ironed and secured than they had been before. They were mostly sitting with their heads between their knees, bowed down with blank despair. Having seen the ship which was to convey them from their native land to a region they knew nothing of, and observed the savage countenances of the men who were to be their masters during the voyage, all hope of escape had fled. Every day after this, fresh batches of slaves arrived, their hands secured behind their backs, and walking in a long line fastened together by a rope, strictly guarded by blacks with muskets in their hands and swords by their sides, with which they occasionally gave a prod to any of the laggards. The wretched beings were marched, in the first instance, to the trader’s barracoons, where they could be sorted and regain some of their strength. Harry and I were paying all the attention we could to the wounded men, who, enjoying the advantage of fresh provisions, were quickly recovering their health. Caspar Caper, the man who seemed to be the most grateful to Harry and me, was quite himself again, and was certainly fit to return on board, but he begged hard that we would not inform the captain.

“If I had my will, sir, I’d never go back to that craft; nor would you if you knew the dreadful deeds which have been done on board her or by her crew.”

“I have no wish to go back, you may be sure of that,” I answered; “but what do your companions say?”

“Well, sir, three of them are pretty well agreed with me; but there is one, Herman Jansen, the Dutchman, who has a fancy for the buccaneering life we have led, and I don’t like to trust him.”

This showed me that the man to whom I was speaking, Caspar Caper, had thought the subject over, and was himself fully prepared to try and escape from the pirates. I told him to speak to his shipmates while Harry and I were out of the way, and not to say that we entertained the idea, but simply to state his belief that we would accompany them if they made up their minds to run off from the slave village. Before doing anything, I was very anxious to see Tubbs; but he was so busily employed on board that he could not manage to come on shore. It was very probable, I thought, that the captain would not give him leave, and that he must come at night if he came at all. I thought again of all sorts of excuses for visiting the ship, although I feared, if I did so, that I might be detained on board. Several days passed; the “Vulture” was ready for sea, but a sufficient number of slaves to form her cargo had not yet arrived; others, however, were coming in, sometimes twenty or thirty at a time. It would not take more than a couple of hours to stow them all away on board. Although by this time all the wounded men had recovered, they pretended to be too weak to get out of their cots. Once or twice the captain looked in to see how they were getting on, when they all groaned and spoke in feeble tones, as if they were very little better.

“I can’t say much for your doctoring, young sirs,” he observed, turning to Harry and me. “I believe if you had left the men alone they would have got well of themselves. I never have had a surgeon on board my ship, and never intend to have one. Nature is the best surgeon, and if she can’t cure a man he must die.”

“I don’t know what you would say if you were wounded, captain, and there was no one to extract the ball,” observed Harry.

“I should have to take my chance with the rest,” answered the captain in a tone which showed, however, that he did not like the remark. “But, whether cured or not, these fellows must come on board and try and do their duty,” he exclaimed as he left the house.

“I must get some stronger medicines then,” I said, the thought suddenly striking me that this would be the best excuse for visiting the ship; for although the captain spoke in the way he did, he had a medicine-chest on board well stored with drugs, with a book of directions for their use.

“I thought that you before took enough physic on shore to cure a dozen fellows,” he remarked.

“And so I did, sir, but I remember seeing on the last visit a mixture, the name of which I forget, for restoring strength to people who have been brought down, and that’s just what these men want.”

I spoke the truth in regard to the drugs, the only question was how much the men required of them. As the captain did not forbid me, as soon as he was out of sight I hurried down to the beach, and got a black fellow to paddle me on board in his canoe. I soon found a big bottle, and made up the mixture according to the recipe, which I took good care to keep in my hand, so that anybody could see what I had been about. I looked round for Tubbs, and when I returned on deck, much to my satisfaction I found him working at the mizen rigging with no one else near. I hastened up to him, and in a low voice said—

“The rest are ready. Will you come to-night or to-morrow night? although I fear if we put it off till to-morrow you may be too late. We will, however, wait for you if you will come.”

“Yes,” he answered, “wait! I will be on shore an hour before midnight. By that time the black fellows will have turned in. Tell the negro who brought you off that there will be a couple of doubloons for him if he comes alongside at the hour I name. If he fails me, I must swim on shore, although there is a risk of being snapt up by a shark or a stray crocodile. However, I may find another chance before that of getting on shore. Now you’d better be off, for it won’t do for you to be seen lingering about talking with me.”

I followed his advice, and got into the canoe. As the black paddled me on shore, I asked him if he would like to obtain a doubloon. I knew very well what would be his answer. Being a discreet personage, he asked no further questions, but promised to be alongside at the hour I named.

On landing, I hurried to the house, which was some way up the beach, and told Harry of the arrangements I had made. I then explained more clearly to Caspar Caper than I had hitherto done the plan Harry and I proposed, which was to direct our course to the southward, and then to strike directly for the coast, where we might hope to be taken off, or to find a canoe or craft of some sort, in which to make our way to one of the European settlements. The means of subsistence we hoped to find in the forest if we could obtain firearms. As I had been going about the house one day, I had seen a couple of fowling-pieces, with powder-horns and shot-belts, hanging against the wall Harry doubted whether we had a right to take them; but necessity has no law, and in this case we came to the conclusion that we were justified in taking possession of them. Our associates had no scruples on the subject Caspar fully agreed to carry out the plan we proposed, and now told us that his shipmates were perfectly ready to escape, and try for the future to lead peaceable lives. We did not inquire too minutely into their motives, but I suspected that these arose not so much from their hatred of piracy, as from being compelled constantly to fight with the fear of a rope’s end before their eyes. I told the two old blacks that the wounded men required as much food as they could obtain, and they brought us an abundant supply. We accordingly had a hearty supper, but we were to make a scurvy return to them for their kindness. As soon as it was dark, the men got up and dressed themselves. Harry and I groped our way to the room where we had seen the fowling-pieces, which, with the ammunition, were at once secured.

“There’s more to be found in the house than those things,” observed Jansen. “We shall want a fresh rig out. What say you, mates? Besides which, if old Dobbo and his wife hear us moving about, they will give the alarm, so we must settle them first.” Saying this, he took up the lamp, and, followed by the rest, quitted the room, leaving Harry and me in darkness. Soon afterwards we heard a slight scream, then all was silent. We waited a quarter of an hour or more. The time was approaching when we expected to see Tubbs. Presently we heard a knock at the shutter of the room. Of course there was no glass. I opened it, and Tubbs sprang in. We knew him by his figure, though there was not light sufficient to see his countenance.

“Are you alone?” he whispered.

“Yes,” answered Harry; “the others have gone to see what they can find in the house likely to be useful on the journey. We secured some fowling-pieces; we could not defend our lives without them.”

“And I have brought off a brace of pistols and a hanger,” said the boatswain.

“We shall do very well then; but I almost wish that we had attempted to escape without those other fellows—they are likely to bring us into trouble by their lawless ways,” said Harry.

This was indeed too probable. While we were speaking they returned. They had sense enough to suppress their voices, and as Caspar, who carried the light, entered, I saw that they were all rigged out in the trader’s clothes, which they had appropriated. One had got a musket, another a sword, and others richly ornamented pistols, while the legs of another were encased in high boots, and he had on a handsomely embroidered coat, used by the owner on grand occasions.

“The old people will not follow us or give the alarm,” said Jansen. “We have gagged and bound them, for we heard them moving about in the next room, and if we hadn’t been quick about it they would have given the alarm, and the whole village would soon have been awake.”

The men had not returned empty handed. Some had brought in a further supply of provisions which they had found in the house, and several articles they had picked up.

Having made a hearty supper, “Now, my lads,” I said, “it is time to start. The people in the village must be fast asleep, and the further off we get, the better chance we shall have of keeping ahead of our pursuers. One of us must act as leader. Who will do so?”

The men at once unanimously chose Tom Tubbs. Harry and I were glad of this, as we felt sure that he was the best person for the post. “Well, my lads, if you will obey me, I’ll do what I can to lead you well,” he said. “Now, the first thing I have to charge you is to keep silence. Follow me!” He noiselessly opened the door and looked carefully about. Neither seeing nor hearing any one, he gave as the signal to move on. Harry and I went next, and the other men followed in single file. They knew that the slightest noise would betray them. For what they could tell, the captain himself might be on shore; and should we be caught, he would certainly visit us with severe punishment. We treaded our way silently through the village, keeping at a distance from the barracoons, the guards at which would otherwise have discovered us. The country was sufficiently open to enable us to see the stars overhead, by which we guided our course to the southward. When we approached any huts, we turned aside, taking care not to go through any plantations, where, by breaking down the stalks, we should leave traces of our passage.

After going some distance we stopped to listen. We could hear two or three dogs barking, one replying to the other, but no human voices. This made us hope, at all events, that we were not discovered. Again we went on at a pretty quick rate, considering that five of our party had not been on their feet for several weeks. At last the men called a halt. “We had better not stop yet, lads,” said Tom Tubbs; “we must put a good many miles between us and the village before we are safe. Your skipper is not the man to let any of his crew get away without an effort to bring them back.”

A short time, however, served to restore our companion’s strength, and we once more set off as fast as our legs could carry us, breaking into a run whenever the ground was sufficiently level for the purpose. We had made good, I calculated, fully twenty miles when morning broke. It was a distance, I hoped, which would prevent the pirates from successfully pursuing us, but it would not do to rest here, for as soon as it was discovered that we had fled, Captain Roderick would be informed of it, and he would certainly tend a party after us.

“If he does, I hope that he’ll send some of his white crew, for they’ll soon get tired and give up the chase,” observed Harry.

“I am afraid, sir, he won’t trust them,” remarked Tubbs; “he’ll get a band of black fellows, who will keep on through the heat of day. I would advise that we should go forward during the cool of the morning, and try and find a place to conceal ourselves.”

To this proposal Harry and I agreed, so did our other companions, though they would have preferred resting where they were. After a short halt by the side of a stream to take some food and quench our thirst, we again pushed on, the vegetation in many places being so dense that it was not without difficulty that we could force our way through it. The worst of this was, that while we were thus delayed we should form a road for our pursuers. However, that was not to be avoided should they get upon our track.

We had made good nearly a dozen miles, I should think, when we came upon a broad river, flowing, as we supposed, into the sea.

“If we can find a canoe, or a craft of some sort, we may easily reach the coast, and save ourselves a good deal of fatigue,” observed Tubbs.

The rest of the men, who were pretty well knocked up, seemed highly pleased at the proposal. Instead of attempting to cross the stream, we proceeded down it. Harry suggested that we should form a raft if we could not find a canoe, and should a party be sent in pursuit, they would thus be puzzled to know what had become of us. I proposed that, before commencing out voyage down the stream, we should cross to the opposite bank, and there trample down the grass, and make other marks as if we had continued our course to the southward. We had not gone far when we saw a smoke ascending from amid trees on the banks of the river.

“Some native traders or white men are encamped there,” observed Tubbs. “They are probably proceeding up the river, and will tell us what sort of people we are likely to meet with on the passage down. If they are traders, they are likely to prove friendly and we may consider ourselves fortunate in falling in with them.”

“But suppose they are not traders, suppose they are not friendly, what are we to do then?” asked Harry.

“We muster eight white men with arms in our hands, and are not likely to be uncivilly treated,” observed Jansen, flourishing his weapon. “I’ll go forward, and see who these people are, and we’ll soon settle whether we are to be friends or foes.”

As there was no time to be lost, he hurried forward, while we halted to await his return. In a few minutes he reappeared.

“Friends! come on,” he exclaimed; and once more moving forward, we reached an open space near the bank of the river, where we saw a tent pitched and two white men and a party of six blacks, two of whom were cooking at a fire, while the rest were seated in the shade. They rose to greet us.

The white men were French traders, they told us. They spoke a little English, and we understood enough of their language to be able to carry on a conversation. As they were inclined to be friendly, and appeared to be honest, we told them that we were escaping from a piratical slave craft, which we described. They appeared to know her well, and seemed greatly to commiserate us. They informed us that they were proceeding up the river to trade with the natives; that one of their number had fallen ill and was now suffering from fever inside the tent. They hoped by spending a day or two where they were that he would recover sufficiently to enable them to continue their voyage. They told us that we were nearly two hundred miles from the sea, and a much greater distance following the course of the river; but still it would be the safest plan to descend it in the way we proposed, until we reached a village where canoes were to be obtained. Though Harry and I and Tubbs were anxious at once to set to work and build a raft, our companions declared that they were too tired to do anything more until they had had a long rest. Our new friends, who had plenty of provisions, kindly bestowed some upon them, and invited us to join them in their repast, giving us some wine, which we found very refreshing. The Frenchmen, hearing how far we had come, expressed their opinion that the pirates would not attempt to follow us, and that we were perfectly safe from pursuit. We ourselves were glad to get some rest, and lay down in the shade to wait until evening, when we proposed building the raft. The Frenchmen had several axes amongst their goods, and furnished us with three, so that we might cut down any small trees we required for the framework of the raft. After a sleep of some hours we got up much refreshed. Harry, Tubbs, and I immediately began to select trees for our purpose. The other men, whom Tubbs roused up, however, showed no inclination to assist, declaring that they were too tired, and must wait until the next day. Tubbs went back two or three times to speak to them, but without success. At last, on his return to us he said—

“I am afraid these fellows intend to play the Frenchmen some scurvy trick. Their idea is to carry off the canoe, and if you and Mr Bracewell won’t go, to leave you behind.”

“We must defeat their treachery,” I observed. “I will tell the Frenchmen and put them on their guard; I will at once do so.”

Our friends, at first, would scarcely believe that the fellows would be guilty of so abominable a trick, but when I reminded them of the lawless lives they had led, they saw that it was too probable, and promised to keep a guard on their canoe. We laboured away until nightfall, our companions either sleeping or pretending to be asleep all the time. They got up, however, to eat some supper which the Frenchmen had prepared for us. Our hosts then produced some bottles of liquor, looking significantly at each other as they did so. I guessed their object, but said nothing. The seamen fell into the trap, but Harry and I took very little of the spirits, and Tubbs followed our example. The Frenchmen having plied the pirates with more and more liquor, they soon appeared to forget all about their previous intentions; they talked, laughed, and sang, and clapped their entertainers on the back, vowing that they were thorough good fellows. They then became very uproarious, and seemed disposed to quarrel amongst each other, but by degrees they became quiet again, and ultimately crawling to the bank of the river, lay down to sleep, entirely thoughtless of the risk they ran of being snapped up by alligators.

“They will do us no harm at present, at all events,” said one of the Frenchmen, “and to-morrow I hope that our companion will be well enough to enable us to continue our voyage. We are much obliged to you for your timely warning, and we would advise you to part company from such lawless associates as soon as possible.”

Harry and I assured him that such was our purpose, although we would gladly have enabled the men to escape from the pirates, hoping that they would take to a better course of life. We sat up talking with our friends for some time, and were then glad to lie down outside their hut, having agreed to keep watch with them during the night. We drew lots as to who should keep the watches. Harry had the first, from eight to ten; Tubbs the next two hours; I from midnight until two o’clock, and the Frenchmen the morning watch. Tubbs roused me up and said that all was quiet, and that the ex-pirates were sleeping soundly. I paced up and down between the tent and the boat, in which some of the black crew were sleeping, while the rest were near their master’s tent. Frequently I stopped to listen for any distant sounds. I could hear occasionally the cries of wild beasts far away to the eastward, and the shrieks of night birds, the chirping of crickets or other insects, and the croaking of frogs; but no human voice reached my ears. I trusted that we should be able to finish our raft early the next day, and begin the voyage down the river. With this hope, having called up one of the Frenchmen, I lay down to sleep, feeling more drowsy than usual. I had just opened my eyes and discovered that it was dawn, when I was startled by the most fearful yell I had ever heard, and the next instant a hundred dark forms, flashing huge daggers in their hands, leapt out from among the bushes on every ride. Harry and Tubbs, who were sleeping next to me, sprang to their feet. Our first impulse was to run to the trunk of a large tree and place our backs against it, so that we might defend ourselves to the last. As the unfortunate Frenchmen were crawling out of their tent, the savages were upon them, while others seized upon the drunken and still helpless seamen, and a fearful scene of slaughter ensued. Three of them we saw killed, while some of the crew of the canoe were also mercilessly put to death. Two of the seamen, however, Herman Jansen and Caspar Caper, seizing their weapons, fought their way out from among the savages, and, we concluded, took to flight, for we saw a party of blacks start off in pursuit. Our enemy, seeing us well armed, had not hitherto attacked us. We expected them to do so every moment. In a few minutes the whole of the party except the two men who had taken to flight and ourselves, were massacred.

“We must fight to the last if we are attacked,” said Harry; “but don’t fire first. Perhaps the savages, when they see the bold front we show, will think it wiser to let us alone.”

Our hopes, however, were soon dashed to the ground; for the negroes, seeing only our small force opposed to them, after shouting and shrieking, and making significant signs, advanced towards us. Although we might have shot down three of them, we should inevitably have been overpowered. Still we would not yield without striking a blow, and we were on the point of firing when a white man appeared, followed by a fresh party of blacks, and as he advanced from the shadow of the wood, I recognised Mr Pikehead, the first mate of the “Vulture.” On seeing only Harry, Tubbs, and me together, he exclaimed—

“Put down your arms and your lives are safe. The other fellows have met the fate they deserved,” and he kicked the body of one of the pirates. “They were deserters; but you had a perfect right to make your escape if you could. You have, however, failed, and must come back with me. Our captain will decide what is to be done with you.”

“We’ll not yield until you call these fellows off,” answered Harry; “we shall then be able to treat with you.”

The pirate laughed, for he fancied that he had us in his power.

“What shall we do?” asked Harry, addressing Tubbs and me.

“We had better give in, sir,” said Tubbs. “The odds against us are too great, and although we might shoot that fellow and a couple of the blacks, we should be certain to lose our lives. If he promises to carry us safe on board the schooner, scoundrel though he is, he will keep his word, and we may have another opportunity of escaping.”

“We must make a virtue of necessity,” I observed, “and I agree with Tubbs.”

In the meantime the mate was shouting to the blacks to fall back, allowing him space to approach us.

“I again promise you your lives, my men,” he said, as he stopped a few paces off, still holding a blunderbuss in his hand, pointed towards us. “You are plucky fellows, and I wish to do you no harm, although you have given me a long tramp which I would gladly have avoided.”

I felt convinced from his tone that he spoke the truth, and we all three accordingly lowered our weapons. By this time two of the pirate crew and several of the blacks whom we had seen at the village appeared, and by the mate’s directions we delivered our arms to them.

“I’ll not bind you,” he said, “but you must give me your word that you will not run away.”

This, of course, as we could not help ourselves, we did. While the mate was engaged with us, the rest of the blacks had been employed in plundering the cargo of the French trader’s canoe, over which they soon commenced quarrelling, flourishing their daggers and gesticulating furiously at each other. For some time the mate did not interfere, but I heard him direct his own party to take possession of any provisions they could find: “Leave the rest to the black fellows,” he added.

We were not sorry to see some cases of preserved meat, a box of biscuits, and a bag of flour brought up, with a case of tea, some sugar, and other eatables. The fire was quickly lighted, and one of the white men with two of the blacks set to work to prepare breakfast. By degrees the tumult of the blacks, who had been quarrelling over their booty, subsided; they had apparently come to some arrangement among themselves without the interference of the mate, and each of them now appeared habited in the various articles they had appropriated—some with pieces of coloured calico round their loins, others in the form of turbans round their heads or over their shoulders, evidently supposing that the appearance they presented was very distinguished. Shortly afterwards, however, the return of the party who had gone in chase of the two pirates, irritated at having failed to overtake them, created a fresh disturbance, each one among them claiming some of the booty.

On this occasion, bloodshed would certainly have ensued, had not the mate interfered, and insisted on the portions claimed being given up. As he and his followers had firearms, and the blacks had only their long knives, they were afraid of disobeying him, and order was again restored.

Notwithstanding the unfortunate termination of our adventure, we all ate heartily of the food placed before us. The remainder of the provisions was done up into packages, so that each of us might carry enough to last until we reached the village.

Mr Pikehead had certainly no wish to be in the company of his black allies, whom he had instigated to attack the camp, for making them a speech in their own tongue, he sent them off in a different direction to that we were about to follow. He then directed each man to take up his package, gave the word to march, and we set off.

Chapter Five.

We are marched back to the village—Carried on board the “Vulture”—Sent down below—Tubbs refuses to turn pirate—An unpleasant night—The ship under weigh—Crossing the bar—Allowed to go on deck—At sea—Another night—Attempt to escape a pursuer—Sounds of a fight reach us—We break our way out—The captain attempts to blow up the ship—We stop him and make him prisoner—A party from the frigate on board the pirate—Charley appears—Lieutenant Hallton doubts the vessel being a pirate—Trusts the crew—A pleasant supper—Unpleasantly aroused from sleep by seeing the Lieutenant and Charley in the hands of the pirates—A trick to deceive the frigate—The pirate makes sail and escapes from the frigate.

Harry and I trudged along side by side, feeling dreadfully out of spirits at the ill success of our attempt to escape, as also at the thought of the sad fate which had befallen the good-natured Frenchmen. We also could not help considering ourselves in a degree guilty of the death of the three men we had induced to desert, as well as of that of our friends and their attendants. Tubbs tried to cheer us up.

“Maybe the blacks would have attacked the Frenchmen whether we had been with them or not,” he observed; “and as for the rest, it is the fortune of war. We tried to escape but failed; better luck next time, say I.”

This, however, was but poor consolation, as we could only expect the harshest treatment at the hands of Captain Roderick, even if he did not put us to death. Whether he would do that or not was doubtful. The mate, however, did not seem inclined to ill-treat us, except that we each had to carry a heavy load, while a dozen men were placed behind and on each side of us; but we were allowed to march as we liked, and to converse freely together. Though we had slept the previous night, we were pretty well tired out when a halt was called and preparations made to bivouac. Supper was prepared by the cooks, and we were allowed as large a share as we required. The mate then told us to lie down together, a couple of black fellows with arms in their hands being placed over us.

“You’ll not attempt to run,” observed the mate. “I have given orders to these fellows to shoot you if you do; so the consequences be on your own heads.”

“No fear of that,” answered Harry. “We’ll promise to sleep as soundly as we can until we are called in the morning.”

“One good thing, we’ve not got to keep watch,” observed Tom Tubbs; “and I hope our black guards will keep a look-out for any snake, leopard, or lion who may chance to poke his nose into the camp; although I wish that Mr Pikehead had left us our arms to defend ourselves.”

We were too tired to talk much, and I believe we all slept soundly until morning, when we were roused up to breakfast and resume our march. It was late in the day when we reached the village. Fortunately for us, the owner of the house we had formerly occupied was still absent, and the theft committed by the pirates was not discovered. Soon after we arrived Captain Roderick made his appearance, a sardonic smile on his countenance.

“You thought to escape me,” he said. “You acted foolishly, and must take the consequences. Had you been shot, your blood would have been on your heads, not on mine. I intend to take good care that you shall not play the same trick again. You will now come on board the ‘Vulture,’ and it is your own fault that you will not be treated with the same leniency that you were before. My crew will see that I do not allow such tricks to be played with impunity. Lash their hands behind them, Pikehead, and bring them along.”

The mate, with the aid of three seamen, immediately secured our hands behind our backs, and we were led down, amid the hoots and derisive laughter of the population, to the boat which conveyed us on board the “Vulture.” Having been allowed to stand for some minutes in that condition exposed to the view of the crew, we were ordered down below. As we passed near the main hatchway, we saw that the slave-deck was already crowded with blacks, seated literally like herrings in a tub, as close as they could be packed side by side, with shackles round their necks and legs. Our destination was, however, lower down by the after hatchway. As soon as we were below the deck, our arms were released, and we were able to help ourselves down the narrow ladder which led into the cable-tier. Here, in a space which allowed us room only to sit with our knees together, without being able to stand up or walk about, the mate told us we were to remain.

“You may consider yourselves very fortunate, my fine fellows, that worse has not happened to you,” he said. “How you’ll like it if it comes on to blow, and the hatches are battened down, is more than I can say. You’ll get your food though, for the captain doesn’t want to take your lives—he has some scruples about that—nor do I. Indeed, you might have escaped as far as I was concerned, although it was fortunate for you I came, up when I did, or those Ashingo savages would have put you to death as they did your companions.”

“We are grateful for the leniency with which we have been treated, but may I ask what the captain intends doing with us?” I said.

“Why, I suppose that he intends to sell you two young gentlemen as slaves in the Brazils. He will give your faces and bodies a coating of black, and put you with the rest of the negroes,” answered the mate. “And as for you,” he exclaimed, turning to Tubbs, “you might have been treated as a deserter; and if you don’t sign articles and join us, you will probably have to walk the plank. I say this as a hint to you. If you act wisely, you’ll be set at liberty as soon as we get into blue water.”

“You reckon wrongly if you think I’ll join this craft or any other like her,” answered Tubbs stoutly. “I’m ready to take the consequences, for turn pirate I won’t; so you have my answer.”

The mate laughed.

“Many a fine fellow has said that and changed his tone when he has seen the plank rigged or the yard-arm with a running bowline from it. However, I must not waste words on you. I’ll send you down your suppers, and you must manage to stow yourselves away in the best manner you can think of for sleep. One of you must needs sit up, and he’ll have plenty to do in keeping off the rats and cockroaches, for you’ll be somewhat troubled by them, I suspect.”

We thanked the mate for the promise of sending us some supper, and wished him good-night; and I really believe that, as far as his brutalised nature would allow, he intended to be kind to us. Cramped as we were in the hot stifling hold, it was a long time before any one of us could go to sleep. We were, I should have said, left in total darkness; not the slightest gleam of light descending into the part of the hold in which we were confined. At length I was awakened from a tolerable sleep by a noise which betokened that the ship was getting under weigh. I did not like to arouse my companions; but Tubbs, who had been sitting on a locker, started up exclaiming—

“Ay, ay! I’ll be on deck in a twinkling.” The blow he gave his head against the beam above him, roused him up. “Bless my heart! I forgot where I was,” he said. “Yes, the ship’s under weigh, no doubt about that, and we shall be out at sea in the course of a few hours if we have the tide and wind with us, and don’t ground on the bar and get knocked to pieces.”

After some time Harry awoke. I told him that the ship was running down the river.

“Our chance of escape for the present is over, then,” he said with a deep sigh.

He had naturally been thinking of home and Lucy and his blighted prospects; so indeed had I. Tubbs, as before, tried to cheer us up by talking on various subjects.

“There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip,” he observed. “Although the captain fancies his craft faster than anything afloat, he may catch a tartar in the shape of a British man-of-war before we cross the Atlantic. As to selling us into slavery, I don’t believe he’ll attempt it. He must know that before long we would find means of communicating with a British consul or some other authority, and make our cases known. If he had talked of selling us to the Moors or Turks, the case would have been different. Once among those fellows, we should have found it a hard matter to escape.”

“Still he may sell us,” observed Harry; “and perhaps months and years will pass before we can let our friends know where we are.”

“Well, well, that’ll be better than having to walk the plank or being run up at the yard-arm,” said Tubbs. “We must not cry out until we are hurt, although I’ll own that I’d rather have more room to stretch my legs in than this place affords. I hope Master Pikehead won’t forget to send us the food he promised; I’m getting rather sharp set already.”

Harry and I confessed that we were also feeling very hungry. Even the talking about food gave a new turn to our thoughts. At last we heard the hatch above our heads lifted, and the black steward came down with a bowl of farina and a jug of water. It was the same food the slaves were fed on, but we thought it wise to make no complaint.

“It shows that the captain has no intention to starve us,” observed Harry. “However, this is better than mouldy biscuit and rancid pork, such as I have heard say seamen are too often fed upon.”

“You’ve heard say the truth, sir,” observed Tubbs. “Often and often I’ve known the whole ship’s company get no better fare than that, with little better than bilge water to drink. If we get enough stuff like this, we shall grow fat, at all events.”

The steward, leaving the bowl between us, quickly disappeared up the hatchway. The only light we had was from a bull’s-eye overhead, which enabled us, as Tubbs said, “barely to see the way to our mouths;” we could not, at all events, distinguish each other’s features. Although we could not see, we felt the claws of numerous visitors crawling over us, and smelt them too, and now and then were sensible that a big rat was nibbling at our toes, although, by kicking and stamping, at the risk of hitting each other’s shins, we kept them at bay. Notwithstanding this, we managed to sleep pretty soundly at intervals.

Tubbs assured us that the ship was gliding on, although it might be some time before she reached the bar, as it was impossible to judge at what rate she was sailing. Now and then we felt her heel over slightly to starboard, showing that the wind was more abeam, or rather that we were passing along a reach running to the southward; then, when she came up again on an even keel, we knew that we were standing directly to the westward. At last we felt her bows lift, then down she glided, to rise again almost immediately afterwards, while the increased sound of the water dashing on her sides showed us that we were crossing the bar.

“There is some sea on, I guess, and I know what it is with these African rivers. Should the wind suddenly shift southward, we may be driven on a rock or sandbank, and we and all on board will have a squeak for life,” observed Tubbs.

“I hope not, although anything might be better than being carried into slavery,” observed Harry. “But we ought not to despair. I have been thinking and praying over the matter, and know that God can deliver us if He thinks fit. We must trust Him; I’m sure that’s the only thing to be done. In all the troubles and trials of life. At all times we must do our duty, and, as I say, trust Him; even when bound hand and foot as we are at present, all we can do is still to trust Him.”

I heartily responded to Harry’s remark, and so I believe did Tubbs, who, although nothing of a theologian, not even knowing the meaning of the word, was a pious man in his rough way.

“Ay, ay, sir,” he said. “I know that God made us, and He has a right to our service; and if we don’t run away from Him and hide ourselves, He’ll look after us a precious deal better than we can look after ourselves. That’s my religion, and it’s my opinion it’s the sum total of all the parsons can tell us.”

“Not quite,” said Harry, “although it goes a long way. We are sinners in God’s sight, whatever we are in the sight of men; and if God in His mercy hadn’t given us a way by which we can be made friends to Him and saved from punishment, we should be in a bad condition.”

“You are right, sir,” answered Tubbs; “but to my idea that’s all included in what I said.”

We sat listening in silence.

“We are pretty well over the bar now, and I don’t think we shall be cast away this time,” he observed a few minutes afterwards.

That he was right we were convinced by the more regular movement of the vessel, as she slowly rose and fell, moved by the undulations which rolled in towards the coast. We could judge that she was making good way, and Tubbs was of opinion that all sail was set, and that we were standing to the westward. At the time the slaves were fed, we had a bowl of farina brought us, but the man put it down and disappeared again without saying a word. Soon afterwards the mate came down, and told me that I might come on deck for a quarter of an hour to stretch my legs. I was thankful to breathe the fresh air, although there was but little of it, and the ship was almost becalmed. I glanced astern, and could distinguish the shore, although I could no longer make out the mouth of the river. We had, at all events, got a safe offing. When my time was up I was sent below and Harry took my place, and he was succeeded by Tubbs. We were treated, however, with no more consideration than was afforded to the slaves, who were brought up on deck at intervals in the same fashion. The hold felt doubly close and oppressive after the mouthful of fresh air we had enjoyed.

The second night of our captivity was even more trying than the first, for the atmosphere of the hold, into which the horrible odour from the slave-deck penetrated, was becoming every hour more and more unendurable. I feared that should we be kept below during the voyage, I, at all events, would sink under it, for I already felt sick almost to death, and my spirits were at a lower ebb than they had ever before reached. Harry was almost in as bad a condition as I was. Tubbs, who had been well seasoned in the close air of forecastles, held out better than we did.

“Don’t give way, young gentlemen, whatever you do,” he said very frequently to us. “Cheer up, cheer up! When we get a breeze, some of it will find its way down here perhaps; and if not, I’ll ask the skipper if he wishes to kill us by inches, and I’ll tell him he’ll never land either of us if we are kept shut up in this hold and treated worse than the negroes. They are born to it, as it were, and we are not, and have been accustomed to pure air all our lives.”

I did not quite agree with Tubbs as to negroes being born to be shut up in the hold of a slave ship, but I did not just then contradict him. By a faint gleam, like the light of a glow-worm, which came down from overhead, we knew that it was morning, and soon afterwards we felt the ship heel over to larboard, or port as it is now called. In a short time the increasing motion also showed us that the sea had got up. We heard sounds which indicated that sail was being shortened. We stood on, it might have been an hour, on the same tack, when the ship was put about, and now she heeled over more often, and pitched and tumbled about in a way which showed that it was blowing fresh. The cries of the wretched slaves, unaccustomed to the motion, reached our ears, while the tossing stirred up the bilge water and almost stifled us. Two or three hours passed, when the ship became somewhat steadier. Tubbs averred that the helm had been put up, and that we were running before the wind.

“There’s something taking place, although I cannot make out just what it is to a certainty; but I’ve a notion that there is some craft in sight which the ‘Vulture’ wants to escape; and if so, I hope she won’t.”

“So do I, indeed,” murmured Harry. “I shall die if we remain here much longer.”

Another hour of suffering and anxiety passed, when Tubbs roused Harry and me—for we had dropped off in a kind of stupor—by exclaiming—

“Holloa! What was that? A shot, or I’m a Dutchman.”

As he spoke I distinctly heard the sound of a gun, though it seemed to be at a great distance. We listened with bated breath. Again there came a faint boom, and at the same instant a crash, which told us that the shot had struck the ship.

“Hurrah! I thought so,” cried Tom; “there’s a man-of-war in chase of us, and it is pretty evident that the ‘Vulture’ has no wish to engage her, or she would not have been trying to get away, as she has been for some hours past.”

We waited now with intense anxiety. We knew that the “Vulture” was a fast craft, and that it was too likely she had just passed within range of her pursuer’s guns, but might escape notwithstanding. Except by the motion of the vessel, we could not possibly judge how we were steering. In spite of the stifling atmosphere, our senses were wide awake. Again there came the sound of a gun. Although the shot did not strike the ship, yet it seemed to us that our pursuer must be nearer. Another and another shot followed. The “Vulture’s” guns were now fired, although I was surprised to find how little noise they appeared to make, and could scarcely believe that they were fired from our deck, had not Tubbs assured us of the fact. Then there came a lull, and we heard a whole broadside fired, the crashing and rending sound showing that the shot had torn through the bulwarks and sides of the ship. The fearful shrieks which rose from the hold made us fear that the miserable slaves had suffered, though perhaps their cries rose from terror as much as from the injuries they had received. A fearful uproar ensued, the roar of the great guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the slaver’s crew, the shrieks and cries of the slaves, the groans of the wounded, the rending and crashing of planks mingled, were well-nigh deafening even to us. Presently there came a crash. The ship seemed to reel, a shudder passed through her whole frame.

“They’ve run us aboard,” cried Tubbs, “and maybe the ship with all hands will be sent to the bottom. We must get out of this somehow to try and save our lives. There will be no one on the look-out to stop us.”

The boatswain’s exclamations made us fear that probably our last moments were at hand.

“We must try and find something to help us to force our way out,” cried Tubbs. “If we cannot get the hatch off, we must make our way through this bulkhead. Hurrah! here’s an iron bar.”

As he spoke, Harry and I laid hold of it to be sure that he was not mistaken. How it came there, of course we could not tell.

“Now, keep behind me, that I may have room to use it,” he exclaimed.

We obeyed and he commenced a furious attack on the bulkhead. The crash which followed showed that he had succeeded in driving in some of the planking. He worked away with the fury of despair, fully believing that ere long the ship would be sent to the bottom. The noise he made prevented our hearing what was going forward on deck; indeed, all sounds were undistinguishable by this time.

“There is room to pass now,” he cried.

He led the way through an opening he had formed. We followed him, but still found that there was another bulkhead before us. He quickly attacked that, and in a few seconds had demolished a sufficient portion to enable us to creep through. We found a ladder, which led, we judged, into the captain’s cabin. We climbed up it, and were just on the point of springing through a skylight which would have led us on to the poop-deck, when we saw Captain Roderick himself enter, a pistol in his right hand and a sword in the other, his countenance exhibiting rage and despair. He did not observe us. Several casks of powder, which had been brought up to be more ready at hand, were piled in one corner of the cabin. He pointed his pistol, his intention was evidently to blow up the ship and all on board. In another moment his desperate purpose would have been effected. As if moved by one impulse, we all three sprang upon him, Tubbs grasping his right wrist and turning the pistol away, the bullet striking the deck above. Mercifully none of the sparks fell on the powder. Tubbs, grasping him by the throat, and throwing himself with his whole force upon him, brought him to the deck, while Harry and I each seized an arm and knelt upon his body to prevent him from rising. Although we exerted all our strength, it was with the greatest difficulty we could keep him down. He seemed now like a wild beast than a human being. He gnashed his teeth and glared fiercely at us.

“Be quiet, captain, won’t you?” exclaimed Tubbs. “We have saved you and ourselves from being blown into the air, and you ought to thank us.”

The captain made no answer. I looked round for a piece of rope or some means of securing him; for had he been set loose, he would probably have accomplished his purpose, and we, of course, were eager to get on deck and try and save our lives, for we fully believed that the “Vulture” was on the point of sinking. The guns, however, had ceased firing, although there was a stamping overhead, the clashing of hangers, and the occasional sounds of pistols at the further end of the ship.

“The man-of-war’s men have gained the after part, and have driven the pirates forward,” observed Tubbs; “we shall soon have some of our people here to help us.”

Again the captain gnashed his teeth and made an effort to free himself. “It’s all of no use, captain,” said Tubbs. “I don’t want to take your life, but if you don’t keep quiet, I shall be obliged to draw my knife across your windpipe.”

The captain evidently fully believed that the boatswain intended to do what he threatened.

“You’ve treated us with less severity than we might have expected, Captain Roderick,” said Harry. “Will you give us your word that you will not again attempt to destroy the ship, or to attack any of the people who have captured her, and we will conduct you into a cabin where you must remain until to-morrow, or until you are set at liberty?” Captain Roderick made no reply.

All this time the ship, I should have said, had been rolling and pitching, and it was very evident that she had broken loose from the man-of-war. It might possibly be that the pirates had gained the upper hand, but the appearance of Captain Roderick below convinced us to the contrary. At length the sounds I have described ceased, although there was a continuous tramping of feet overhead, and the rattling of blocks and yards.

“They are shortening sail,” observed Tubbs; “we shall soon have some one below to relieve us of this gentleman, and I’m thankful to say I don’t believe the ship’s going down just yet. If he had thought she was, he wouldn’t have taken the trouble to try and blow her up.”

We could see Captain Roderick’s eyes glaring at us, but Tubbs held him too tight by the throat to allow him to speak. So violent were his struggles, however, that he nearly got one of his arms loose, on which Tom tightened his grip until the pirate captain was nearly black in the face. In spite of this, giving a sudden jerk, he freed the arm Harry was holding down, when three persons appeared at the door. One was, I saw, a naval officer, by his uniform—the other two, seamen. I shouted to them to come to my assistance, and seeing what we were about, they sprang forward.

“Get some rope and lash this man; he is mad, I believe,” I cried out.

“Go and get it,” said the officer. One of the sailors sprang on deck, while the two newcomers assisted us in keeping down the infuriated pirate. He was, I fully believed, from the almost supernatural strength he exhibited, mad.

The seaman quickly returned with a coil of rope, with which the officer and his men, aided by Tubbs, soon lashed Captain Roderick’s arms and legs in a way which prevented him from moving until he was secured to the mizenmast, which came through the cabin, when we felt that we were safe from his attacks. I had not hitherto looked into the countenance of the officer, nor he into mine. What was my surprise, then, to see a face I well knew.

“Charley!” I exclaimed.

“Dick!” was the answer. “Can it be you?” and my brother and I grasped each other’s hands. He had grown into a tall young man, and certainly I should not have recognised him by his figure. I was also greatly altered; besides he would not have recognised me in my present condition—my countenance pale, my dress begrimed with dirt, torn, and travel-stained. I introduced Harry and Tubbs to him, and he shook hands with them both. There was no time for talking. He told us that the frigate had lighted the slaver, which had refused to heave to, and had had the audacity to fire at his Majesty’s ship. A gale coming on, as the only means of securing her, the frigate had run the slaver on board, when he with a lieutenant and eight men had leapt down on her deck, expecting to be followed by more of the crew, but, before they had time to spring on board, the ships parted. The slaver’s crew, as he called them, had made a desperate resistance, but a considerable number having been killed and more badly wounded, the survivors had been driven forward and yielded. “Having ceased to resist, the slaver’s crew,” he said, “had promised to assist in shortening sail, and apparently in good faith, having yielded up their arms, set about doing so. We have now got under snug canvas. There is too heavy a sea running to allow of a boat with more hands being sent to our assistance. However, as we have complete mastery of the people, we can do very well without them. Mr Hallton, the second lieutenant of the ‘Rover,’ our frigate, was inquiring for the captain of this craft, when he was told that he must either have been killed or fallen overboard, but one of his crew suggested that he might have gone below. Another then owned that he had heard the captain say, that sooner than fall into the hands of an enemy, he would blow the ship up. On hearing this, Mr Hallton sent me down below to search for him.”

“You would have been too late had we not providentially prevented him from executing his mad scheme,” I observed; and I then told him how we had discovered the captain in the very act of attempting to blow up the ship. “But you mistake the character of this craft,” I said; and I briefly told him how she had captured the “Arrow,” and how we had been treated since we fell into Captain Roderick’s hands.

“That greatly alters the aspect of affairs,” he observed, looking grave. “If you will come on deck with me, we will inform Mr Hallton. Perhaps he is inclined to treat the crew rather leniently, and to put more confidence in their promises than he would do if he were aware of her real character.”

Harry on this desired Tubbs to watch the pirate.

“I should be glad to do it, sir, but I should like a sniff of the sea-breeze,” answered Tom. “I want just to pump out all the foul air I’ve got down my throat.”

“Well,” said Charley, laughing, “one of my men shall remain instead of you. Noakes, stand by this man, and shoot him through the head if any one approaches to set him free or he manages to cast off the lashings, although he’ll not do that in a hurry, I suspect.”

On going on deck, we found Mr Hallton, the second lieutenant of the “Rover,” standing aft, giving directions to heave the dead bodies overboard and to collect the wounded, to attend to whom he summoned several of the most respectable-looking of their shipmates. The “Vulture” had not suffered much in her rigging, and was now hove to under a closely-reefed main-topsail. She rode so easily that I was not aware until then that a heavy sea was running, and had been surprised at Charley telling me that the two ships could not communicate. Charley introduced me to Mr Hallton, and briefly ran over the events of which I had given him an account.

“A pirate, do you say she is?” exclaimed the lieutenant. “I must really beg leave to doubt that. She is full of slaves, in the first place, and the captain and his crew very naturally fought to defend their property. But you say, Westerton, that you have found the captain. I will examine him and ascertain the state of the case.”

“But my brother here, sir, and Mr Bracewell, and the boatswain of the ‘Arrow,’ aver that they were taken out of their vessel and detained by force on board this ship, and there can be no doubt of her piratical character.”

“I beg that you will wait to give your opinion until you are asked for it, Mr Westerton,” answered the lieutenant in a gruff tone. “I say that she’s a slaver, and, as such, being taken full of slaves, we will condemn her. With regard to her piratical character, that has to be proved.”

I was very much surprised at the way in which the lieutenant spoke. Charley told me that the report on board was that he himself had served on board a slaver, if not a pirate, in his younger days, and that he was stubborn and ill-tempered in the extreme. “Whether or not he has found any of his old associates on board the craft I cannot say, but I know that the crew gave in very soon when they saw him leading the boarders across the deck. To be sure he fought like a tiger, and cut down several fellows, so that I cannot suppose that he has any great love for them, at all events.”

The cries and groans which ascended from the slave-deck soon drew our attention towards it, and Mr Hallton sent Charley with four hands down to ascertain their condition. I accompanied him, having procured a brace of pistols and a hanger, without which I should not have liked to venture among them. A dreadful sight met our eyes. Three or four of the frigate’s shot had entered and swept right across the deck, taking off the heads of not less than eight men in one row, and wounding others on the further side of the ship in another row as if it had gone through diagonally; while the legs of a still greater number had been shot away. Most of the badly wounded were dead, but others were still writhing in agony. I need not picture all the horrors we witnessed. Charley told me to go on deck and obtain assistance. The lieutenant replied that I might take some of the slaver’s crew, but that he could not spare his own men. I went forward to where they were collected, but found only three, to whom Harry and I had rendered some service in dressing their wounds, willing to give themselves any trouble in performing the task. They, however, got tackles rigged, and we hoisted up three and sometimes four bodies together, all dripping with gore, a terrible sight, and then swung them overboard. Even this took some time. The wounded thought that they were to be treated in the same manner, and we had great difficulty in persuading them that we intended to do them no harm, but rather to attend to their hurts. Altogether, fifty men had been killed, or had died from fright, or succumbed directly they were lifted on deck from their wounds. Charley proposed having the survivors up, so that the slave-deck might be washed and cleaned from the mass of gore and filth collected upon it, but Mr Hallton replied that it was perfectly unnecessary, and that if the slaves should break loose, we might have to kill them all, or be ourselves overpowered. This I thought very likely to happen, though I felt that a few might safely be brought up while the part of the deck they had sat upon was cleansed. Harry and I, however, did our best to attend to their wants. We carried down water and supplied a cup to each. They mostly received the water scarcely casting a glance of gratitude towards us; but one man exhibited a marked contrast to this behaviour, and, as I handed him the cup, he exclaimed before drinking it—“Tankee, massa, tankee, massa,” and then quaffed it eagerly, showing how much his parched throat required the refreshing fluid.

“Do you understand English?” I asked, thinking perhaps that these were the only words he could speak.

“Yes, massa; him talky English, him serve board English ship.”

I inquired his name. He told me it was Aboh. I found, however, that although he might understand me, his vocabulary was very limited. I should have liked to have given him another cup of water, but as I knew that the rest of the slaves would consider themselves ill-treated if I favoured one more than another, I refrained from doing so, but I promised to remember him. I then begged that he would speak to his companions, and advise them to be quiet, telling them that we would do everything in our power for their benefit. I heard him shout out what appeared to me to be perfect gibberish, but it had the desired effect, and they at once became far more tranquil than they had hitherto been.

Night was now rapidly coming on; the frigate was hove to about half a mile to windward, and, as Tubbs observed to me, both ships appeared to be making very fine weather of it considering the heavy gale blowing. The frigate showed signal lights, and the lieutenant ordered ours to be hoisted in return. Captain Roderick had hitherto remained lashed to the mast, but he could not, without cruelty, be left there all night, and it was necessary to decide what should be done with him. Lieutenant Hallton considered that it would be sufficient to shut him up in one of the cabins and place a sentry over him. Charley suggested that his wrists, at all events, should be placed in irons, as in his savage mood it was impossible to say what he might do. The lieutenant was obstinate.

“The man was only acting as he believed right in defending his own ship, and I’m not one to tyrannise over a fallen enemy,” he answered in somewhat a scornful tone.

Charley could say no more. The lieutenant went below to look out for a suitable cabin in which to place Captain Roderick—Tubbs, Harry, and I, with three men, accompanied him. To our surprise, we found the pirate quiet enough. His mad fit had apparently passed away.

“I am sorry to give you all this trouble,” he said quite calmly. “You young gentlemen will, I hope, return good for evil, and I shall be grateful.”

We were, however, not to be deceived by such an address. Charley replied that his orders were to place him in his cabin by himself, and that was better treatment than he might have expected.

“Certainly,” answered Captain Roderick, looking quite pleased; “it is a favour I should not have ventured to ask for. If my steward has escaped, I’ll trouble you to tell him I should like some food. He is a good cook, and if you order him, he will prepare supper for you, gentlemen. He knows where all the provisions are stowed and will speedily carry out your directions.”

On this being reported to Mr Hallton, he immediately ordered supper to be prepared in the chief cabin.

As I moved across the deck, the only difference I could see between the man-of-war’s men and the pirates was, that the former were armed and that the latter were not; but as they still numbered more men than the party from the “Rover,” it struck me that they might easily possess themselves of the means of offence and master their captors. During daylight it was not likely that they would venture to do this, as the frigate would quickly have retaken the ship. I clearly remember this idea passing through my mind. As Harry and I had had nothing but farina for the past three days, and for several hours we had been without food, we were very glad when we were summoned into the cabin. Here we found a really handsome repast spread out, everything secured by “fiddles” and “puddings,” for the ship was tumbling about too much to allow the plates and glasses otherwise to have remained on the table.

As Tubbs was a respectable man in his appearance, the lieutenant, with more politeness than might have been expected, invited him to supper. It may be supposed that we all did justice to the meal placed before us. Charley had to go on deck until the lieutenant had finished supper; when he had done so, he went up saying that he would send my brother down to have some food.

Charley, however, had to hurry again on deck, as he said Mr Hallton wanted him to keep a look-out. The lieutenant had, considering the time he had been occupied, imbibed no small amount of liquor, though it did not appear to have affected his head.

Harry, Tubbs, and I ate our suppers more leisurely. As may be supposed, having obtained but a few winks of sleep the two previous nights, we soon became drowsy Harry proposed turning in.

“If we do, we must keep one eye open and our hangers by our sides,” observed Tubbs. “I don’t quite like the freedom of the lieutenant with these buccaneering fellows. If we hadn’t got the King’s ship close to us, they would be playing us some scurvy trick, depend upon that.”

As Harry and I could be of no use on deck at night, and Tubbs really required rest, we all lay down, Harry and I each taking a sofa at the further end of the cabin, while Tubbs stowed himself away in a berth which had been occupied by one of the mates who had been killed in the late action. I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard a scuffle, and on looking up, what was my dismay to see two seamen grasping the arms of the lieutenant, who had just before entered the cabin, while two others were hauling Charley along. The sentry, instead of attempting to assist Mr Hallton, presented his musket at us, exclaiming—

“If you interfere, gentlemen, I am ordered to shoot you.”

As we saw several other men at the entrance of the cabin with muskets in their hands, we knew that resistance was useless. I was indeed too much astonished and confused, suddenly awakened as I had been out of my sleep, to say or do anything. I fancied for some seconds that I was dreaming. Here were the tables turned, and that with a vengeance. It was very evident that the pirates had tampered with the man-of-war’s men, who were probably a bad lot, as was too often the case on board King’s ships in those days, and that thus they had easily been won over. Mr Hallton’s folly and obstinacy had also greatly contributed to enable the pirates to carry out their project. I should have been less surprised had Captain Roderick been at liberty, but, as far as I could then see, he had had no hand in the business. I had good reason to dread the way he would serve us when he once more found himself in command of the ship and that we were in his power, when he would, I feared, wreak his vengeance on our heads for the way we had treated him.

These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind. Harry and Tubbs, who had been fast asleep, were awakened by the entrance of the party, and now sat up rubbing their eyes, as much astonished as I had been.

Tubbs, who was but partly awake, sprang to his feet and made a step forward as if to interfere, but seeing the sentry pointing his musket at his head, he sat down again.

“Well, this is a pretty go,” he exclaimed. “Who commands this ship I should like to know, and then I can settle whether I’ll do duty or turn in and go to sleep again?”

“Belay your jaw-tackle, master,” growled out one of the pirates who had advanced into the cabin. “You’re mighty too free with your tongue, fine fellow as you think yourself. A better man than you commands her, and he’ll soon show you whose master.”

I must own I cared very little about Mr Hallton, but I felt the deepest anxiety as to how Charley might be treated. I feared the pirates less than I did the “Rover’s” men, who had thus turned traitors to their King and country, for they were too likely to add crime upon crime, and to murder their officers. Had Mr Hallton and Charley been armed, we might have made an effort to release them, but they had both been deprived of their swords and I felt sure that Harry, Tubbs, and I would be unsuccessful, and only make matters worse.

The seamen, having now bound the arms of the two officers behind them, led them into an inner cabin, where, shutting the door, they locked and bolted it.

“Now, you three, go on deck and help work the ship,” said one of the men, whom I recognised as the third officer of the “Vulture,” but who had slipped into sailor’s clothes, probably to deceive his captors.

I could scarcely suppose that all this time Captain Roderick had any hand in the mutiny, for, to the best of my belief, he had been shut up in the cabin, and was still there. The mate teemed to be of the same opinion, for he bade the sentry open the door. He did so, when Captain Roderick was seen stretched on his couch. At the first glance I thought he was dead, but he was only in a deep sleep, so deep that all the noise outside had not aroused him. The mate shook him by the arm, but it had no effect. I was thankful for this, for I dreaded that, should he awake and find us in his power, he might commit some act of violence. Lest he should be awakened, Harry, Tubbs, and I gladly made our escape on deck. I prayed that no harm would be done to Charley, for I felt more anxious about him than about myself. On reaching the deck, I looked out for the frigate, I could just see her light away to windward, but it seemed to me much further off than before. The gale had abated somewhat, but both ships were still hove to. The mate speedily followed us up, and gave orders to the men to bring some long spars to the quarter-deck. He then got a grating, to which he fixed the spars upright, so as to form a cone-shaped structure; then turning it over, he secured some rather shorter spars in the same way, fixing a shot at the point where they united. Inside the points of the upper end, a ship’s lantern was securely hung, when the machine was carefully lowered overboard, the light we had hitherto carried being extinguished. Immediately this was done, the order was given to put the helm up, and the foresail being squared away, we ran before the gale, leaving the light burning at the spot where we had been. There was no doubt about its object; it was to deceive the man-of-war, so that, until the trick was discovered, it was not likely that we should be chased. The hope that I had hitherto entertained that we might, after all, be quickly recaptured, now vanished. The mate assumed the command—the crew seemed willing to obey him. Whether he intended to retain it or not I could not tell, but I thought that he certainly would should he find that Captain Roderick remained as mad as I was convinced he was when he attempted to blow up the ship.

As the gale slightly decreased, more sail was made, and before morning the “Vulture” had as much canvas packed on her as she could carry. We were kept on deck pulling and hauling until our arms ached. When dawn broke I looked astern. The frigate was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Six.

Morning—The frigate not in sight—Again prisoners—The mate of the “Vulture” takes command—Orders us to do duty as seamen—The lieutenant and Charley kept bound—We go below to sleep—Awakened and see Captain Roderick with pistol in hand approaching the lieutenant and Charley—We spring up, overpower him, and release our friends—Suppose the captain to be mad—A discussion among the crew—Hopes of recovering the ship—The “Vulture” comes to an anchor—A sinking boat gets, adrift—Fearful death of one of the crew—Many of the slaves die—A gale comes on—Dangerous position—Attempt to beat off the land—Driven towards the shore—The ship among the breakers—We set the captain at liberty—The ship strikes—We knock the shackles off the slaves’ limbs—They rush on deck—We form a raft and land the survivors—Return on board and supply ourselves with guns, ammunition, and stores—Regain the shore—The blacks, with one exception, have disappeared.

As the day advanced the wind decreased, and the ship closehauled was headed up towards the coast. How far off we were I could not tell, but Tubbs told me he should not consider that we were less than a hundred miles, perhaps more.

“So far that’s satisfactory. It is possible that the ‘Rover’ may overtake us,” I observed.

“If she finds out the course we have steered, sir; but we had run seventy or eighty miles at least before she was likely to discover the trick the pirates played her. Besides, to tell you the truth, I’d rather she didn’t overtake us. The fellows on board would fight with ropes round their necks, and they would not give in as long as a plank held together, and then we should have to go down with them. I would rather run the chance of getting on shore and making our escape afterwards.”

I at once agreed with him, and we made up our minds that it would be well for us to get out of the ship without the risk of another battle. The mate, I observed, remained on deck, issuing all the necessary orders; the boatswain of the “Vulture” and one of the man-of-war’s men, with one of the mutineers, acting as his subordinates. He ordered Harry and me about, treating us like the common seamen, and if we were not as smart as he wished us to be, he sent the boatswain or the mutineer from the “Rover” with a rope’s end to start us. Tubbs at once fell into his ordinary duty of boatswain. The mate, it appeared to me, wished to win him over, and always spoke civilly to him, although he was not very particular in regard to his language when he addressed us. The evening was drawing in, we had been on deck all day. I was, of course, very anxious to know how it fared with poor Charley, who was kept a prisoner below. Whenever Harry or I attempted to leave the deck, the mate called us back and told us to attend to our duty. We got some food, however, for the cook, a good-natured black fellow, gave us some at the caboose, or we should have starved. Still, it was much better than being shut up in the dark hold, and, of course, we wished to avoid being sent below to our former place of confinement. I saw some messes of soup and porridge being cooked and carried into the cabin, and I concluded, therefore, that Lieutenant Hallton and Charley would be fed. Harry and I agreed that it would be wiser for us to obey the orders of the mate as long as he thought fit to issue them.

“I shall go and lie down in the cabin,” said Harry to me. “I can but be sent up again, and I have no fancy to go and sleep among the men.”

Accordingly, as soon as it grew dark, while the mate was looking another way, we slipped into the cabin, and coiled ourselves up on the sofas we had before occupied. Tired as I was, however, the heat and the cockroaches and the thoughts of our dangerous position kept me awake, although I tried hard to go to sleep. A lamp hung from the deck above, but the part of the cabin where we were was in perfect shade. I had not lain long when I saw the door of Captain Roderick’s cabin open, and out he stepped, looking round him as if trying to recover his scattered senses. Presently he advanced across the cabin, when, by the light which fell upon him, I saw that he held a pistol in his hand; what he was about to do with it I could not tell. To my horror, he opened the door of the cabin in which the lieutenant and Charley were confined. Although he had looked unusually calm as the light fell on his countenance, the moment I saw his movements I felt convinced that he had some evil intention. Springing up, I grasped Harry by the arm, and rushed towards the open door. I could see the lieutenant and Charley standing upright close together, with their arms bound behind them against the opposite bulkhead.

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the captain, fixing his eyes on the lieutenant; “you thought to capture me and hang me at your yard-arm; but the yarn’s not spun nor the bullet cast which is to take my life. I might order you on deck and run you up to the yard-arm before five minutes are over; but I intend to have the satisfaction of shooting you myself.”

Lieutenant Hallton, unprincipled man as I believe he was, stood calm and unmoved. Charley was endeavouring to draw his arms out of the ropes which bound them. Twice Captain Roderick lowered his pistol as if he had changed his mind, but still he went on taunting the unfortunate officer. It would have been prudent in the latter to have held his tongue, but instead he went on answering taunt for taunt, rather than endeavouring to calm the rage of the pirate captain, which increased till I feared every instant that he would pull the trigger.

Harry and I stood ready to spring upon him, but I saw that in doing so we might run the risk of making him fire the pistol, and bring about the very catastrophe we desired to prevent Charley in the meantime caught sight of us. I made a sign to Harry to get out his knife. I knew that to cut the ropes which bound my brother’s hands would be the work of a moment, and I hoped, by the suddenness of the attack we were about to make, to keep Captain Roderick down until that object was effected. We should then be three to one, or four to one if we saved the lieutenant’s life.

Harry understood perfectly what he was to do. One bound would carry him to where the pirate stood. The moment came, I sprang forward, and throwing my arms round his neck, kicked him violently behind the knees. Although I was so much lighter, the effect was what I expected. Down he fell, and his pistol went off, the ball grazing the lieutenant’s forehead. The lashings which held Charley were cut, and he immediately came to my assistance, while Harry performed the same office for the lieutenant without difficulty. The sound of the pistol would, I feared, bring some of the crew down upon us. Fortunately at that moment a strong breeze had struck the ship. The officers were issuing their orders, so that we had hopes we might be undisturbed. No time, however, was to be lost. We quickly lashed the pirate’s arms and legs, and crammed a handkerchief into his mouth. Lieutenant Hallton proposed to throw him overboard, and then, rushing together on deck, to master the officers, and try to recall the crew back to their duty. To the first part of the proposal none of us agreed, but we forthwith dragged the unhappy man back to his cot and lifted him in. He appeared to me to be insensible. At all events, when Charley took the handkerchief out of his mouth, he did not cry out or utter a word, although his eyes glared at us.

“We might have put you to death,” said Charley, “but you are safe if you will remain quiet, and not attempt to summon any one to set you free.”

The pirate did not reply, and I was doubtful if he understood what was said to him. He must indeed have been surprised at finding himself again a prisoner at the very moment he supposed that he had regained his authority. We had now to decide what to do. We might certainly master one or two officers, but it was a question if the men from the “Rover” would return to their duty, and still less likely that the pirates would yield to our authority. Lieutenant Hallton then suggested that we should drag the pirate up on deck, and, holding a pistol to his head, threaten to shoot him if he did not order the crew to obey us. To this I for one strongly objected.

Charley thought that Captain Roderick was perfectly mad, and I also was very unwilling to injure a brother of Mr Trunnion’s, villain as he was.

“If he is really mad, he will not know what has happened,” said Charley. “The best thing you can do is to return on deck, and try and negotiate yourself with the mate, who has now the command, and will probably wish to keep it. Tell him that I am your brother, and as he has no one on board who understands navigation, that I shall be happy to assist him in navigating the ship; that we have no wish to inform against him and his men if we obtain our liberty, and that all we request is that he will set us on shore at the first place we touch at.”

This seemed the only feasible plan, and Harry and I set off to try and find Tubbs and consult him, while Charley and the lieutenant returned to the cabin in which they had been confined. Harry and I, as agreed on, went on deck.

Our absence had not been discovered. Slowly groping now on one side, now on the other, we at length discovered Tubbs. Taking him by the arm, I led him away apart from where any one was standing.

“To my mind, sir, the mate will be very much obliged to you for what you have done. He has no wish to give up the command, I can see that; and if you can persuade Captain Roderick—should he come to his senses—that such is the case, we should have him on our side. I suspect, also, that there are two or three of the ‘Rover’s’ men who are sorry for their conduct, and would join us. The truth is, I believe, when Captain Roderick is in his right mind, that he wishes he had a better calling, but when the mad fit comes over him, he goes back to his bad ways.”

“That may be true,” I could not help remarking, “but it is no excuse for him; he must have an evilly-disposed mind to have taken to such a calling; he should seek for strength from Heaven to overcome his wicked propensities. Even the worst men at times regret the harm they have done on account of the inconvenience and suffering it has caused them, but the next time temptation is presented they commit the same crime, and so it goes on to the end.”

It was settled, therefore, that the next day Harry and I should go boldly up to the mate and speak to him as agreed on, while we were to see that no one in the meantime came down to set the captain at liberty, though, as Tubbs observed, “The mate would take very good care of that.”

Soon after this a fresh watch was set, and as we were supposed to be in the first watch, we took the opportunity, accompanied by Tubbs, of again slipping down below. Scarcely had we stowed ourselves away out of sight, than the mate came down and looked into the captain’s cabin. As not a word was spoken by either, we concluded that he had not discovered the state of things; for, locking the door and taking away the key, he returned to his own cabin, which was further forward on the opposite side. Altogether, as must be seen, affairs were in a curious state on board that ship. I at length dropped off to sleep. How long it was after I closed my eyes I know not, when I heard a sound like that of a cable running out Tubbs started up at the same moment. “Why, we have just come to an anchor,” he exclaimed. “We must have been closer in with the land than we supposed.”

Harry being awakened, we both stole quietly on deck. The crew had furled sails, the night was perfectly calm, the stars shone brightly overhead. Looking over the larboard side, we saw the shore, a high land with a point running from it, off which we lay. By the ripple of the water against the bows, I knew that a strong current was running, which accounted for the ship having been brought up. Looking forward, I saw that a bright light was burning at the bowsprit end, and presently it was answered by a rocket fired from the shore, which rose high in the air, scattering its drops as it fell. Exclamations of satisfaction escaped the mate and several of the crew who were on deck.

“Lower the starboard quarter-boat,” shouted the mate.

“She’s well-nigh knocked to pieces, and can’t swim,” was the answer.

“Lower the larboard boat.”

This was done, and several of the crew jumped into her, but most of them as quickly hauled themselves on board again. She sank beneath their feet, as she too had been injured by the frigate’s shot. The boat getting adrift, one of the men, before he could spring up the side, was drifted away in her, the current of which I have spoken carrying him rapidly astern. The longboat amidships was in a worse condition, being riddled with shot.

“I hope that the people on shore will send off to us,” observed the mate; “it’s very certain we cannot get to them until the boats are repaired.”

“They’ll not do that in a hurry; for, as it happens, the carpenter and his crew are all killed, and there is not a man on board able to do the work,” I heard Tubbs observe.

In the meantime, the cries of the poor fellow in the sinking boat reached our ears, but it was impossible to render him any assistance. Farther and farther he drifted at a rapid rate, until he and the boat were lost sight of, although, we could hear his shouts every minute becoming fainter and fainter. At last there arose a dreadful shriek, which, although from a distance, was piercingly clear.

“Poor fellow! Jack shark has got him,” said Tubbs. “There are plenty of those creatures about here, and I was sure that it wouldn’t be long before they had hold of him.”

I have not mentioned the poor slaves all this time. The wounded were suffering dreadfully, and since they had again been sent down to the hot slave-deck, several had died. The mate, while waiting for the expected boat, ordered some hands below to overhaul them. Six dead bodies were brought up, which were without ceremony thrown overboard, as if they were so many rotten sheep, and the men reported several more not likely to live out the night. The mate, hardened villain as he was, did not order them to be got rid of, as was sometimes done by slavers to save themselves trouble, and to economise the food the poor creatures might have consumed. He became impatient when, after waiting some time, no boat appeared. The weather, too, although so fine and calm when we brought up, gave indications of a change. The sky was overcast, and heavy undulations began to roll in towards the shore. Though as yet the wind had not increased, our position was becoming dangerous, and I for one wished that we were miles off the coast.

“If there’s no harbour into which we can run, we shall be in a bad way,” said Tubbs. “I suspect that the mate doesn’t know of one, or we should have steered in for it at once.”

“What had we better do?” I asked.

“Do, sir! Why, there’s nothing we can do but ask God to take care of us. If it comes on to blow, as I believe it will, ten to one but that the ship is driven on shore, and with the heavy surf there will be, before many hours are over, breaking on the coast, and the sharks waiting for us outside, there won’t be many who will reach the shore alive. The best swimmers could not help themselves, and that’s all I can say.”

I was convinced of the truth of what Tubbs said. That he was right with respect to a gale approaching was soon proved; the wind, bursting suddenly on us, striking the ship, and, although all her sails were furled, making her heel over before it, and at the same time the rollers which came in from the offing increased in height, and we could hear their roar as they broke on the shore to leeward. The ship pitched fearfully into them, and every moment I expected to see the cable part. Should such be the case, I was very sure that not many minutes afterwards all on board would be struggling for their lives. I thought of my brother and the lieutenant, and of the unhappy captain. I intended, should the cable part, immediately to rush below and set them all at liberty. Although the captain had so cruelly ill-treated us, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to allow him to perish without a chance of escaping, which he would do were he left bound hand and foot. I told Harry what I thought of doing.

“No doubt,” he said. “Should the captain escape, he would scarcely fail to be grateful to us for saving his life; and if he is drowned notwithstanding, we have done our duty.”

The mate, who had been below, now came on deck. He evidently did not like the look of things. Two or three times he went forward and examined the cable, at which the ship seemed to be tugging with all her might as she rose on the summits of the heavy foaming swells. He then got another cable ranged to let go should the first part.

“If I were him, I’d get ready to make sail. The sky looks to me as if the wind were coming more to the south’ard; and if so, we may chance to stand off shore should the ship cast the right way.”

“I would not hesitate to tell him so,” I observed; “when his life may depend upon it, he may perhaps take your advice, although he will not follow that of any other man.”

“At all events, I’ll try it,” said Tubbs; and going up to the mate, he told him what he thought. I had very little hope, however, that the mate would listen to him.

“You think yourself a better seaman than I am. Just go and attend to your duty,” was the answer. Not two minutes had elapsed, however, before the mate ordered the crew to stand by the halyards. Presently he shouted, “All hands make sail.”

The boatswain went forward, axe in hand, to cut the cable. The topsails, closely-reefed, were let fall, the fore-staysail and jib hoisted.

“Cut!” shouted the mate.

The ship cast the right way to starboard, the helm was put to port, and she begun to stand off from the shore.

“She’ll do it, and we shall have a new lease of life,” observed Tubbs when he rejoined Harry and me; “that is to say, if the wind holds as it is; but if not, the chances of our hauling off the shore are doubtful.”

For some minutes the ship stood on with her head to the north-west, all hands anxiously watching the sails, and casting a look every now and then towards the dark outline of the shore, which could be distinguished through the gloom. The current was all this time drifting us to the northward, but it appeared to me that we were getting no farther from the coast. Of that, however, it was difficult to judge by the rate at which we were sailing, as although she might be moving fast through the water, she might really be making but little way over the ground. Tubbs several times went aft to the binnacle.

“She has fallen off two points, I’m sorry to say,” he observed; “still it is possible that we may beat off, as the wind may shift again; but I wish that it had kept steady, and we should have done it.”

Scarcely, however, had he spoken, when the sails gave a loud flap.

“No higher!” shouted the mate to the man at the helm, “or you’ll have her aback.”

The helm was put up in time to prevent this danger.

On looking over the starboard side, we now saw that the land was broad on the beam, and that we were thus standing almost parallel with the coast, towards which it was too evident that the heavy rollers were gradually setting us. Still it was possible, as Tubbs thought, to keep off the shore until daylight, when the mouth of a river might be discovered and we might run into it; or the wind might again shift, and we should, once more, be able to stand off, and get to a safe distance from the hungry breakers, which we could hear roaring under our lee. I was struck by the change which had come over the crew. Generally, when on deck together, they were shouting and swearing, and exchanging rough jokes or laughing loudly. Now scarcely a man spoke, all stood at their stations turning their gaze towards the shore. It was evident they were fully aware of the dangerous position in which the ship was placed. I asked Tubbs how long he thought the ship could be kept off the land, standing as she was now.

“Oh, maybe for half an hour, maybe for less,” he answered. “The current is sending her along at the rate of two or three knots an hour, and we may fall in with some headland which we are unable to weather, or we may find ourselves standing across a wide bay which will lengthen the time before she drives on shore.”

“At all events, I will tell my brother and Mr Hallton. It will be wrong to let them remain longer in ignorance of the danger we are in. Perhaps we ought to set the captain at liberty.”

“No, no, sir; let him stay until the last, we don’t know what mad things he will do if he comes on deck. Perhaps he will be shooting the mate or one of us. It will be time enough to let him out of the cabin when all chance of saving the ship is gone.”

I saw at once the prudence of this, and settled to act accordingly. Taking an opportunity, I slipped below, and found Charley and Mr Hallton asleep. Having roused them up, “I have not got very pleasant information to give you,” I said; and I then told them that Tubbs considered the ship would drive on shore in less than half an hour.

Mr Hallton, though supposed to be a brave man, was much more agitated than was Charley.

“The ship cast on this abominable coast in less than half an hour!” he exclaimed. “Why, even down here, the sound of the breakers reaches us.”

“Well, Dick, if the worst comes to the worst, we must have a struggle for life,” said my brother calmly. “You stick to me, and I’ll do my best to help you. I am well accustomed to the sort of work we shall have to go through, and I hope that we shall manage somehow or other to get on shore.” Of course, they were both unwilling to remain longer below, and as neither the mate nor the crew were likely to interfere, they made up their minds to come on deck with me. I had some hopes that Mr Hallton, who was a first-rate seaman, might devise some means for escaping. I first consulted Charley about setting the captain at liberty, but he thought that it would not be prudent to do so until the last moment, when it would be right to give him a chance of saving his life with the rest of us. We soon gained the deck. Whether Charley or the lieutenant were observed, I could not tell. I waited anxiously to hear what opinion Mr Hallton might offer as to the state of affairs.

“If we get much nearer the shore, we must bring up, and perhaps the anchor will hold until the wind moderates. It is the only chance we have of saving the ship. If we were to go about now, we might miss stays, and there is not room to weal without getting perilously close to the breakers,” he observed.

At the rate we were sailing, we must have gone over thirty or forty miles from the point where we exchanged signals with the shore, and as most probably the country was inhabited by a different tribe, who might be at enmity with the white men, those of us who might reach the shore would run a great chance of being slaughtered or carried off into slavery. I said as much to Harry and Charley. The same idea had occurred to them.

“It may be the case, but we may fall among friends, and we will hope for the best,” observed Charley.

Dawn was at length approaching, but there was no abatement of the gale, while it was too clear that we were drifting nearer and nearer to the coast. Every moment I expected to hear the mate give the word to furl the sails and let go the anchor. I suggested to Tubbs that he should advise him to do so.

“He would not listen to me; although he may know it is the best thing to be done, he’ll just put off doing it until it’s too late,” he answered.

Gradually the coast became more and more distinct, and we could make out the white line of breakers as they burst upon it. We stood watching it with straining eyes, the minutes turned into hours, the ship all the time rushing through the water at a furious rate. Presently a headland appeared on the starboard bow. It seemed impossible that we could weather it. Still the mate issued no order except to the man at the helm.

“Luff all you can,” he shouted out; “we don’t want to cast the ship away on that point if we can help it.”

In a few minutes—how many I cannot say—we saw the breakers close under our lee, the ship was almost among them, but on she stood. Again the land appeared to recede.

“Can there be a harbour in anywhere here?” I asked of Tubbs.

“The mate doesn’t think so, or we should be running into it,” was the answer.

It was only a small bay across which we were passing. Not a quarter of an hour afterwards another point appeared. As we had succeeded in weathering the first, the mate evidently expected to pass this in the same way.

Mr Hallton, convinced that we could not do so, shouted out, “Down with the helm—shorten sail—let go the anchor—let fly everything.”

“Who dares give orders on board this ship?” cried the mate.

The crew, however, were convinced that the first order was the wisest. The tacks, sheets, and halyards were let go, the stoppers of the cable cut, the helm put down to bring her up to the wind. She pitched into the seas, but the anchor held. The crew now flew aloft to try and gather in the canvas, fluttering wildly in the gale.

“In three minutes more we should have been knocking to pieces on the rocks,” observed Mr Hallton. “It is a question whether the anchor will hold now; if it doesn’t, we sha’n’t be much better off.”

Scarcely had he spoken when a loud report was heard. “The cable has parted!” shouted several voices.

“Let go the last hope.”

The anchor so called was let go, and although it brought the ship up in a couple of minutes, it also parted, and the helpless ship now drifted rapidly towards the breakers, which could be seen curling up along the shores of the bay into which we had driven.

“Come aft,” said Charley to Harry and me. “The moment the ship strikes the masts will go, and we shall chance to be crushed as they fall.”

“The time has come to set Captain Trunnion at liberty,” I said.

Charley and I hurried below and burst open the door of the cabin. The unhappy man was still sleeping, with his dog Growler at his feet. Surly as the animal was to others, he was faithful to his master, and he seemed to understand that we had come with no evil intentions, for though he uttered a low bark, he did not attempt to fly at us. By the light of the lamp we saw that the captain had no arms near him. To cut the ropes which bound his limbs was the work of a moment.

“Captain Trunnion,” I exclaimed, “we have come to warn you that the ship will be in the midst of the breakers in the course of a minute or two. If you wish to save your life you must come upon deck.”

Not, however, until Harry and Charley had shaken him well did he wake up. He gazed around him with a bewildered look.

“What is that you say?” he asked.

In a few sentences I told him.

“Then it is time to look out to save our lives,” he said springing up, apparently quite himself. He looked as cool and composed as he had ever been. We were about to return on deck, when there came a fearful crash overhead, followed by several others. The ship had struck and the masts had all gone together by the board. Shrieks and cries arose, but many of the voices were speedily silenced, as the sea, breaking over the ship, washed several men from the deck into the seething cauldron into which she had been driven. The captain, followed by Growler, sprang up the companion ladder, and we saw no more of them. The cries of the helpless slaves below, uniting in one fearful chorus, overwhelmed the voices of the white crew.

“We must set these poor wretches at liberty. It would be a fearful subject of thought if we were to leave them to perish,” observed Charley. “There is a hatch, I know, which leads from the main cabin to the slave-deck, although it is kept closed.”

“Ay, ay, sir! But we can’t do it without the instruments,” said Tubbs. Hunting about, he discovered some irons used for the purpose, with which we each supplied ourselves. With this means we soon opened the hatch.

There was great risk in the merciful task we were about to perform, but Charley, setting the example, we quickly knocked off the manacles of Aboh and the slaves nearest to us, and, with the assistance of the former, made them understand that they were to perform the same operation to their fellow-captives. Some obeyed, but others rushed immediately on deck. However, we persevered, and, faster than I could have believed it possible, we contrived to set all the slaves free. Many of the poor wretches enjoyed their liberty but for a few seconds, for they were quickly washed off the deck, or were drowned in a vain attempt to reach the shore by swimming. All the time the sea was striking with terrific force against the sides of the ship. The loud crashing sound overhead showed us that her bowsprit and bulwarks and everything on deck was being rapidly carried away.

While we were thus engaged daylight appeared, and when we reached the deck we saw that the wind had greatly gone down. Although there were rocks on either side of us, there was a clear piece of sand, on which, could a raft be formed, those who could not swim might land. The blacks were mostly clustered aft, the part least exposed to the fury of the seas. Several persons were in the water, some swimming, others floating apparently lifeless. The greater portion of the crew had disappeared; many had been crushed by the falling masts, others washed overboard, and a few on pieces of wreck were trying to reach the beach One thing was certain, there was no time to be lost, as the ship could not long hold together, lashed as she was by the fury of the seas which rolled in from the ocean. The surviving blacks recognised us when we appeared as the persons who had set them at liberty and we made them understand that if they would remain quiet, we would endeavour to provide the means for enabling them to reach the shore. I thought that among the people clinging to pieces of wreck I saw Captain Trunnion, but I was not certain. The mate had disappeared, and had, I concluded, been washed overboard, and, as far as we could learn, Mr Hallton had shared the same fate. We had reason to be thankful that we had been below, or we also might have lost our lives. We immediately set about forming the raft from some spars which still remained lashed to ring bolts on the deck and from fragments of the bulwarks. Every instant the wind was going down, rendering our task less difficult. The tide too was falling, and as it did so rocks rose out of the water, which further protected us from the fury of the breakers. When the blacks saw what we were about, some of the more intelligent among them offered to assist us. At length a raft capable of holding a dozen people at one time was constructed. We also obtained a rope of sufficient length to reach the shore, so that we might haul it backwards and forwards. This we made the blacks understand that we intended to do, and that we could only take off a certain number at a time. The head men, who had all along held an authority over the rest of their fellow-slaves, now came forward to maintain discipline. By this means only the number which the raft could carry were allowed to descend at a time. As soon as we had a cargo we commenced our passage to the shore, and happily landed all those we had taken on board, who at once squatted down on the beach waiting for their companions. We immediately put back and took in another cargo, and thus we continued going backwards and forwards until we had placed the whole of the slaves on shore.

“We must look out for ourselves now,” observed Charley. “I saw some firearms in the cabin; we must secure them, as well as some ammunition, clothes, and provisions. It will not do to trust those black fellows when they at once find themselves at liberty.”

Of course we all agreed to Charley’s proposal, and climbing up the side, made our way into the cabin. We each got a fowling-piece or musket, a brace of pistols, and a good supply of ammunition. We also found some dollars, which we stowed away in our pockets.

“The money may not be of much use while we are among the savages, but it will come in very handy when we get into a more civilised region,” said Charley. “Hurrah! here are some things which will be of immediate use,” and he produced a boxful of strings of beads of various colours.

We each stowed away as many of them as we could carry. Under the circumstances in which we were likely to be placed, they would prove of the greatest value.

As the ship it appeared probable would hold together for some time, we hunted about until we found as many things as we could carry likely to be of use. Among others, were a pocket compass, a knife apiece, and other things. Tubbs produced a cooked ham and a box of biscuits, which were divided and put into some canvas bags well suited for the purpose. We were still engaged in our search, when a loud crashing sound reached our ears. We rushed on deck, and found that the sea had made a breach clean through the ship. Fortunately the raft was secured to the after part. We quickly lowered ourselves down on it, and shoved off in time to escape another sea, which came rolling in, and committed further damage, sending fragments of the wreck floating about in the comparatively smooth water between us and the shore. We had great difficulty in avoiding the pieces of timber which were driven towards our frail raft. Every moment it seemed as if we were about to be overwhelmed. On looking towards the beach, we found that the blacks had disappeared, with the exception of one man, who stood ready to assist us in getting on shore. A few more hauls on the raft, and we, with our packs, were able to spring on the sand, the black seizing our hands as we did so, one after the other, and dragging us up out of the seething water, which came foaming up around us.

Chapter Seven.

The black Aboh remains with our party—The march towards the forest—Charley chosen leader—Sufferings from thirst—We find traces of the blacks—An enemy at hand—Battle between the natives—Flight and pursuit of the beaten party—Fear of being captured—We conceal ourselves—I and Aboh attempt to succour the wounded—We rejoin our friends and push forward—Our thirst becomes intense—I am on the point of sinking—Encouraged by Harry, I struggle on—Water discovered—Aboh’s duck-hunting—Napping on guard—The big snake—We decide on the route to be taken—Making hats.

Our first impulse on reaching dry ground was to kneel down and thank Heaven for having mercifully preserved our lives, the black standing by and watching us with a wondering look as we did so. We rose to our feet.

“Where are the rest?” I asked of the friendly negro, whom I recognised to be Aboh, the man to whom I had given water in the slaver’s hold, and whom I had just set at liberty.

He pointed over his shoulder, signifying that they had gone inland.

“And you wish to remain with us?” I asked, at once seeing that it would be of importance to have a native with us who might act as our guide and interpreter.

“Yes, massa; me like white man. Once serve board man-of-war; cappen kind, sailors kind; but me went on shore to see me fadder, modder, me brodder, me sister; but dey all get catchee, an’ all de oder people run ’way, an’ dey take me for slavee.”

The beach, which was here of some height, prevented us at first from seeing what had become of the people; but climbing up the bank of fine sand to the summit, we caught sight of some of them making their way towards the forest, about half a mile off.

“They have gone there, poor fellows, to look for food, or perhaps some of them think that they are not far from home, and expect to get back again,” observed Tubbs.

This appeared very likely. Before, however, we set off to join our companions in misfortune, we searched about for any of the white men who might have been cast by the surf on the beach. We found several dead bodies, but not a single living person could we discover. On looking eastward, we observed numerous rocks, stretching out to a considerable distance, which, now that the tide had fallen, appeared above water. It was a mercy that the “Vulture” escaped striking on any of them, for, had she done so, she must have been knocked to pieces at a distance from the shore, and probably not one of us would have escaped alive.

We now sat down on the beach and consulted what to do. As it was not likely that any ship, trader, or man-of-war, or even slaver, would willingly come near that part of the coast, we resolved to travel either to the north or the south, hoping to reach one of the French settlements, which existed at the mouths of two or three of the rivers running into the ocean in that region. On looking along the shore on both hands, we saw a wide extent of sand.

“It will never do to attempt travelling over that, gentlemen,” said Tubbs. “We shall certainly find no shade, and probably not a drop of water, without which we cannot get along. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll follow the blacks to the forest. It’s water, to a certainty, they’ve gone to look after; they’re thirsty beings, and their instinct has told them where they can find it.”

Aboh, who had been listening all the time, evidently understood what was said, and nodded his head. We, that is, Charley, Harry, and I, agreed to do as Tubbs had proposed, and we all accordingly set off eastward, accompanied by the black. The forest appeared much further away than we supposed, or perhaps the soft sand, into which our feet sank at every step, made us think the distance longer than it really was. The sun, which was now high in the heavens, beat down with terrific force upon our heads, and as we had on only our sea-caps, which afforded little or no protection, we felt the heat greatly. We found some comfort, however, by shifting our packs onto our heads. Aboh, who saw how much we suffered, offered to relieve us of them. He carried my pack and his own on his head, and another on his shoulders, with perfect ease. I bethought me of a handkerchief which I had in my pocket, and fastened it like a turban over my cap; Harry imitated my example. Charley and Tom, who were stronger than either of us, continued to carry their packs with comparative ease on their heads. We had lost sight of the blacks, the last of whom had disappeared before we commenced our march. At length we reached the outskirts of the forest, and were thankful to sit down and rest under the shade of a tree.

“I have been thinking,” said Harry, “that we ought to have a leader who should decide what we should do. It will save a good deal of trouble and discussion.”

“You are right, Mr Bracewell,” said Tom, “that’s what I’ve been thinking too; and I propose that we at once elect Mr Westerton, Mr Harry’s brother. Although I’m older than any of you, he’s a naval officer, and I for one shall be ready to obey him.”

Of course Harry and I agreed to this, and Aboh, who understood almost everything we said, nodded his head, just to show that he also consented to the proposal.

“I will do my best, my friends,” said Charley, “although, had you chosen Mr Tubbs, I should have been willing to follow him, for I feel convinced that he is a man of courage and judgment.”

“Thank you, sir, for your good opinion,” said Tom. “You have been more accustomed to command than I have, although I shall be happy to give you any advice whenever you ask it, to the best of my power.”

“Well, then,” said Charley, “the first use I will make of my authority is to select a northerly route. I have been trying to recall the map of the country, which I frequently studied on board the ‘Rover,’ and I think we shall, by proceeding as I propose, fall in with the Gaboon River, at the mouth of which there is a French settlement. I remember that three days before the frigate captured the pirate we sighted Cape Lopez, some way to the south of which I calculate we now are, in what I think is called the Pongo country.”

“I believe you are right, sir,” said Tom. “We shall have to make a pretty long march though, I suspect; but if we can manage to keep near the coast, we may sight a ship, and by making signals, get her to send a boat on shore to take us off; always provided there happens to be no great amount of surf.”

“Well then, friends, if you are all rested, we will commence our march,” said Charley. “We will first, however, try to overtake the blacks, who, as Mr Tubbs observes, have been led by their instinct, or rather their knowledge of the country, in the direction where water is to be found; and I daresay you all feel as I do—very thirsty.”

“That I do, sir,” said Tom. “I feel for all the world as if my mouth was a dust-hole, and that a bucketful of hot cinders had been thrown into it.”

We confessed that our sensations were very similar to those Tom described. We accordingly all got up and shouldered our packs, for neither Harry nor I would allow Aboh to carry our any longer; not that we thought he would attempt to run away with them. We told him, however, when we camped in the evening, that we would divide them, so as to give him a separate package, and thus we should all have an equal load to carry. Aboh pointed out the direction in which, from the appearance of the trees, he believed we should find water, and eagerly led the way.

It was farther inland than we had intended to go, but from his description we made out that there was a lake or pond fed by a stream coming down from the mountains of the interior, and which afterwards lost itself in the sand. We had gone some distance when Aboh made a sign for us to note that the ground had been trampled down by many feet, and that the people who had passed that way had broken off a number of young saplings, probably to form spears, and had also torn down the boughs to serve as other weapons of offence or defence. After going a short distance farther, the sound of voices reached our ears. Aboh shook his head. “No good, no good,” he muttered, and made us understand that we must advance cautiously.

Presently he again stopped, and advised us by signs to conceal ourselves. He then crept forward, crouching down beneath the bushes, so that he could not be perceived by any persons in front.

“I’ll go forward and try and learn what his object is,” I whispered to my companions; and Charley not forbidding me, I imitated Aboh’s example and quickly overtook him. He turned on hearing my footsteps, and seeing that I was resolved to accompany him, made a sign to me to be cautious. We had not gone far when the sounds we had before heard became so loud that I knew we must be close upon the people who were uttering them. After advancing a few paces farther, on looking through the bushes I saw a large party of blacks encamped in an open spot surrounded by tall trees. They were evidently in an excited state, looking up the glade as if they expected some one to approach. They were mostly employed in sharpening the ends of long poles in several fires they had lighted. I at once recognised them as the blacks whom we had assisted to escape from the wreck. They numbered, however, fewer than those who had landed, and I concluded, therefore, that some had deserted their companions in misfortune. Those who had gone away probably belonged to a tribe in the neighbourhood, and were endeavouring to reach their own people.

We were not long left in doubt as to the cause of their excitement. Some distance off we caught sight of another large party of negroes advancing with threatening gestures, many of them being armed with muskets and bayonets. On seeing this, Aboh, seizing me by the arm, dragged me back, and motioned me to climb into a large tree the lower branches of which we could reach without much difficulty, he setting me the example and assisting me up. We soon gained a place where we were completely concealed and protected by the thick boughs. Scarcely were we seated than we saw the slaves advancing towards the newcomers, flourishing the spears they had made and shouting savagely, as if not aware that their opponents had firearms, or fearless of their effects. They soon, however, discovered their mistake. The enemy fired a volley which brought several of them to the ground.

Notwithstanding this they rushed forward, and a fierce hand-to-hand conflict ensued. The slaves greatly outnumbered their opponents, of whom there were probably not more than fifty or sixty, but nearly all these had muskets. Some of the firearms, I observed, did not go off, probably because they had no locks, or it may have been that their powder was bad. The parties were indeed more evenly matched than at first appeared to have been the case. They fought with the greatest desperation. Those who had muskets which would go off kept at a distance firing at the slaves, while their comrades either charged with their bayonets, or holding the barrels in their hands, used their weapons as clubs.

Several on both sides had fallen, when a fresh party of armed negroes appeared in the direction from whence the others had come. On seeing them, the slaves, who had hitherto fought so bravely, were seized with a panic. The greater number took to flight, making their way westward towards the coast, though they must have looked in vain for succour in that direction. I was afraid that some of them, flying in other directions, might pass by the spot where we had left our friends, who would run a great risk of being killed either by them or their pursuers. Aboh and I were so well concealed that there was not much danger of our being discovered. As may be supposed, we crouched down among the thick leaves, much in the same way that Charles the Second did in the oak after the fight of Worcester. The tide of battle swept by beneath our feet, and a more fearful din of shouts and shrieks and cries I had never heard. Those of the slaves who had been engaged in the front rank, deserted by their companions, were mostly bayoneted or shot down or knocked on the head, but the courageous way in which they fought enabled the rest to get to some distance before their rear ranks were overtaken by their pursuers. At length not a combatant was to be seen, but the ground was strewn with the dead and dying. As I was anxious to rejoin my friends, I immediately descended. Had I possessed a drop of water I would have taken it to the poor wretches, whose moans as they lay expiring reached my ears.

“Do you think we could help some of them?” I said to Aboh, pointing to the wounded men.

“No good,” he said, and made a sign that they would soon be dead. I went up to three or four, and was convinced from the nature of their hurts that I could do nothing for them; indeed, the spirits of most of them fled while I stood by. Aboh then, seizing my arm, hurried me away.

I found Charley and Harry very anxious about me, for hearing the firing, they supposed that I must have been in the thick of it, and by my not coming back they thought that I was either killed or taken prisoner.

“One thing is certain, we must not remain here a moment longer. The negroes will very likely pass this way, and either kill us all or carry us off into captivity,” observed Charley. “I have heard that the black people in this part of the country are among the most savage of the African tribes, and that some—the Fans—are cannibals. I don’t know to what tribe Aboh belongs, but I hope he is not a Fan.”

“Maybe he is, and intends to deliver us to his countrymen, to serve as a feast given to celebrate his safe return to the bosom of his family,” said Tom, in a tone half in joke half in earnest.

“He has hitherto shown only good feelings, and we will trust him, at all events,” said Charley.

He made signs to Aboh that we wished to move on, and being anxious to find water, we begged that he would lead us to it as soon as possible. He nodded, and pointed to the east. We were too thirsty to hesitate about going in that direction, although we should thus be led farther than we wished from the coast.

We accordingly once more set off, Aboh hurrying us along as fast as we could make our way through the thick forest, stopping at first every now and then to listen as the sound of distant firing was heard, and then apparently to ascertain whether any of the blacks were coming towards us. Aboh’s object was evidently to avoid both parties. It was most likely that the slaves whom he had deserted would murder him for having left them, while the people of the other tribe were probably hereditary enemies of his, and would without ceremony have put him to death. We were by this time very hungry as well as thirsty, but our thirst prevented us from eating, and we urged Aboh to endeavour to find water without delay. He merely pointed eastward, and nodded his head as before.

“Well, keep moving, my black angel; whatever you do, keep moving, and lead us to the water,” said Tubbs, patting him on the back.

We marched chiefly under the shade of the forest trees, where we found it tolerably cool; at the same time, as Tom observed—“In the opening the sun was hot enough to roast an ox.”

At last I felt that I could go on no longer. I threw myself down at the roots of a large tree. Harry, who was marching with me, while the rest were ahead, endeavoured to rouse me up.

“No, no,” I said; “go on. If you find water, bring me some, though I doubt if I shall be alive by that time;” and I spoke as I felt.

“Nonsense!” cried Harry. “You are the last person of the party I should have expected to give in. I’ll stay by you until you are rested, and then we will hurry on after our friends.”

“Perhaps we shall lose them if we are separated,” I answered.

The thought made me arouse myself, and rising to my feet, I staggered on. Harry shouted to Charley and Tom, and they came back to give me their assistance. We had not gone far after this, when Aboh shouted out—

“Dere water, water!”

We caught sight of a bright gleam shining through the trees. Though we were in Africa, we knew that it was no mirage, which only appears on dry and sandy deserts. We all hurried on, knowing that our burning thirst would soon be relieved. As we drew nearer, we saw a lake stretching out before us, on the banks of which appeared numberless birds. There were long-legged storks, cranes, pelicans, pink-winged flamingoes, ibises, and similar waterfowl of various descriptions. As we appeared, those nearest to us took to flight, the beautiful flamingoes rising in the air with their long legs stretched out behind them. One thought, however, occupied our minds. How to get to the water, for we feared that we should find muddy banks, which might prove impassable. Aboh’s quick eye, however, detected a small inlet into which a rivulet fell. He led us down to a hard, gravelly bank, where the water ran as clear as that of an English trout-stream.

We did not stop to consider whether alligators lurked beneath the lilies which floated on the surface, or huge snakes were concealed near at hand waiting for their prey, but kneeling down, we plunged in our heads, and drank huge draughts of the cooling liquid. Cooling it was to us, although probably it would have been thought somewhat tepid in a colder climate. In an instant I was revived, and my companions felt the same sensations.

We could now sit down and enjoy a few mouthfuls of the food we had brought from the wreck, which we took to stay our appetites. We intended, before many minutes were over, to have some of the waterfowl flying round us cooking before the fire. Charley and Harry, being tolerable shots, agreed at once to try and knock over a sufficient number for our wants, while Tom and I collected sticks for a fire. Aboh, seeing them set off, started by himself in an opposite direction.

“We’re not likely to starve on our journey, Mr Westerton, if we are fortunate enough to fall in with as many birds as we see around us just now,” said Tom.

“I am afraid that we cannot expect always to camp on the borders of a lake or river,” I answered. “It will be plenty one day, and starvation the next. However, if we are prudent, I hope that we shall get along without much suffering. There are probably wildfowl to be found, and then we may fall in with friendly tribes, of whom we can purchase food. At all events, don’t let us expect misfortunes until they come.”

“That’s what I never have done, and never intend to do,” answered Tom. “I’ve always held that there’s ‘a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft, to take care of the life of poor Jack;’ and although that may sound like a heathen song, there’s truth in it notwithstanding.”

We were talking thus while engaged in collecting sticks, cutting some with our axes, and picking up others, until we had made a large pile, sufficient, Tom averred, to roast an ox, when we saw our friends coming back, each loaded with half a dozen ducks. Directly afterwards Aboh appeared, carrying a still greater number, which he gave us to understand that he had captured by swimming out into the lake, his head concealed by a cap of rushes, towards a flock floating unsuspicious of danger near the margin, and that, getting close to them, he had pulled them down under water by the legs. As the slight repast we had eaten had only just taken off the edge of our appetites, we eagerly plucked a bird apiece, and had them spitted in a few minutes before the fire.

“If we only had some pepper and salt, we should do well,” said Harry.

“Here they are, sir,” said Tom, producing from his knapsack a bag of each.

“We are greatly indebted to you, Mr Tubbs, for your forethought,” observed Charley; “but remember, we must husband these treasures, for it may be a long time before we are able to replenish them.”

By the time we had finished our repast, the sun had sunk behind the trees of the forest we had passed through, and as we could not go farther that night, we agreed to camp where we were. It was important to keep up the fire, as we might otherwise receive an unwelcome visit from a lion, elephant, or leopard, or perhaps from a huge species of ape, numbers of which we had reason to suspect were in the neighbourhood, though we had not as yet seen any. It was, of course, settled that we should keep watch, each one of us taking it in turns. Not knowing how far Aboh might be trusted, we did not ask him. Before sitting down we collected a further supply of fuel, and cut down some boughs, with which we constructed a rude arbour to shelter our heads and bodies from the night dew, although it would have been of little service in case of a fall of tropical rain. Tom suggested that, as Charley was leader, he ought not to keep watch.

“No, no,” said Charley. “I will share with you all in that respect;” and he offered to keep the first watch. Harry took the second, Tom the third, and I the morning watch.

Tom called me, saying that he had been listening to the mutterings and roars of lions, the occasional cries of deer as they were pounced on by some savage beasts, and the shrieks and other strange noises of night birds. “But you mustn’t mind that, sir,” he said; “you’ll soon get accustomed to them. If you see anything suspicious, don’t mind rousing me up, although you may not wish to awaken the whole party.”

I promised to do this, and began to walk about in front of the fire. However, feeling very tired, I sat down, placing my rifle by my side. While thus seated, I confess that, unexpectedly, my eyes closed. It appeared to me but for a moment, although when I opened them daylight had broken, and a bright gleam cast from the orange-tinted sky was thrown over the lake. I was about to spring to my feet and stoop to pick up my rifle, when I found it had gone. On looking round, I saw Aboh holding it in his hand and moving cautiously away from the camp, while he presented it at some object of which he had caught sight a little distance off, and on which his eye was intently fixed. He did not appear to hear me as I followed, when what was my horror to see an enormous serpent, its neck rising in the air, its mouth extended as if about to spring. Aboh stepped behind a small tree, which afforded him some protection, and resting the barrel of the rifle against the trunk, fixed his eye on the creature. It seemed to me about to make its fatal spring, when he, and perhaps my companions and I as well, might have been destroyed. The serpent rose in the air, Aboh fired, its head instantly dropped, although the body continued to writhe and twist along the ground.

The report aroused the rest of the party, who sprang to their feet. They looked greatly astonished when they found it was Aboh and not I who had fired. This, I may say, was the first of many dangers we escaped from the huge monsters of that region. On measuring the snake, we found it full thirty feet in length, with a girth as large as the body of a stout man. Indeed, we agreed that the creature could have swallowed any of us, or all of us in succession, had he been so disposed.

“Good eat,” said Aboh, as he cut off the creature’s head.

While we cooked the ducks, he roasted a piece of the snake’s flesh at the fire, and ate it in preference to them.

We had now to decide what course to pursue, whether to take the eastern or western side of the lake. Charley was disposed to think that we should find the western very marshy, for, looking in that direction, the ground appeared to be covered with tall reeds, while the distance round the eastern side would evidently be much longer. On consulting Aboh, he gave the preference to the eastern side, intimating that the people we had seen, who had attacked the slaves, resided between the lake and the sea, and that probably they would not allow us to pass through their territory without depriving us of everything we possessed, even should we escape with our lives.

“If you’ll take my advice, gentlemen, before we start, you’ll make some hats to keep the sun off your heads; it won’t take us long, and depend upon it, we shall find it very hot along the borders of the lake. Mr Westerton, I daresay, knows how to make a straw hat as well as I do.”

Charley said he did, and he and Tom quickly procured a quantity of dried palm-leaves, which, splitting up, they formed into wide rough plaits. Harry and I imitated their example. In a few minutes they had enough plaited to form a hat, when, with some large thorns for needles, and fibre for thread, they stitched the plaiting together as quickly as they made it Harry and I were longer about our task, for we managed to make only one hat while they put together two, but in less than an hour we were each provided with a very fair straw hat. Some handkerchiefs, which we had brought from on board served to line them, and make them more impervious to the sun.

Our task completed, strapping our knapsacks on our backs and shouldering our rifles, we commenced our march along the shores of the lake.

Chapter Eight.

Our march westward along the shores of the lake—Tom and the crocodile—Charge of elephants—A narrow escape for Charley—Anxiety on Tom’s account—Besieged in a tree—We have recourse to stratagem and recover our rifles—Aboh’s daring—Renewed attack—The enemy repulsed—Search for our companion, whom we find severely injured—We camp—Danger from crocodiles—Cooking the elephant-meat—Aboh’s skill—Strange noises heard at night—We are compelled to halt—An African forest giant—Tom recovering from the accident slowly—Charley proposes to build a canoe.

According to Aboh’s advice we proceeded eastward, with the lake on one side and the vast trees of the forest rising up to an immense height on our right. Frequently the indentations in the shores of the lake compelled us to keep away from the water, when we trudged on completely surrounded by trees. Even at mid-day it was dark and gloomy, not a ray of the sun penetrating to the ground which we trod. Sometimes the silence was profound, when suddenly it was broken by the shrill scream of a parrot, or the chatter of a monkey as he caught sight of us from his leafy covert.

We saw no other animals, though we discovered elephant tracks and other marks on the ground. Aboh, on examining them, said that they were made by leopards, those savage animals abounding in the forest through which we were passing. On the shore of the lake, however, we caught sight of numerous crocodiles, some poking their ugly snouts above the surface of the water, others basking on sandbanks, or on the points projecting out into the water.

Once, as we were keeping along the shore, the head of a huge monster rose not ten feet from us. Aboh shouted, “Run, massa, run.” His warning came only just in time. Charley, who was farthest from the water, instantly brought his rifle to his shoulder as he saw the crocodile making a dash at Tom, who was nearest to him. Aboh shouted and shrieked to scare the creature. Its jaws were within a foot of Tom’s legs, when Charley, knowing that our companion’s life depended upon the correctness of his aim pulled the trigger and the ball entered the monster’s head through the eye. Tom gave a desperate leap on one side, the crocodile still moved on, and I fancied that Charley must have missed. Harry and I, imitating Tom’s example, sprang out of its way. It had not run five yards on dry ground, however, before it stopped, then rolling on its side, began to kick violently. Harry quickly had his rifle ready, and firing down its throat, put an end to its struggles. Aboh proposed cutting some slices out of its body for dinner, but we declined joining him in the repast, as we hoped to catch as many birds and monkeys as we might require. The narrow escape we had had taught us that we must in future avoid marching close to the water, and that it would be prudent to keep a bright look-out when near the shores of the lake not to run the risk of being snapped up by a crocodile.

We were disappointed in consequence of this at not being able to sleep securely, as we had expected, close down to the water, so that we might have only one side of our camp to defend. From the experience we had obtained we now saw that we should run a greater chance of being carried off by crocodiles than even by lions or leopards.

We had marched on for about an hour after the occurrence I have described, when finding that we could cut off a point by proceeding straight on, we had of necessity to leave the shore of the lake, the water of which we had hitherto always had in sight. We had made good some distance, often having to cut away the creepers which impeded our path, and were expecting soon again to catch sight of the water, when loud trumpeting sounds reached our ears.

We stopped to listen, and were soon convinced that the sounds we heard were uttered by elephants, and, moreover, that they were for some cause or other excited by rage. However, as the animals were, we judged, still at some distance on our right hand, we agreed to continue our course, hoping that they would not discover us. In case they should do so, and we should have to defend ourselves, we put bullets into our rifles. The evening was approaching, and it was necessary to look out for a spot sufficiently open to enable us to light the fire, and at the same time not in too dangerous proximity to the lake. That we might have a better chance of finding the spot we were in search of, we separated, Tubbs and Charley going on ahead, while Harry, Aboh, and I searched round on either side of where we then were. We found that we were at no great distance from the lake, the shining water of which we saw between the trees.

“Here’s a spot just suitable for us,” cried Harry, “but we shall have to cut down the grass that the fire may not spread, otherwise we may create a blaze which would prove very inconvenient.”

Just as he spoke the trumpeting sounds we had before heard again reached our ears, but very much nearer. Aboh stopped in an attitude of listening. Presently there came a noise as of the crashing of branches and the tramping of heavy feet on the ground. “Elephant come dis way,” exclaimed Aboh; “run, massa, run;” and he set off in the direction of the lake, pointing to a large tree at no great distance from us.

Harry and I followed his example, hoping that Charley and Tubbs would hear the sounds in time to make their escape. The trumpeting and crashing sounds drew nearer. Presently we caught sight of several huge trunks lifted in the air, with gleaming tusks below them, and the huge heads of the savage monsters among the leaves.

“Here, massa, here, get up!” exclaimed Aboh, reaching the foot of the tree.

As he spoke, seizing a bough, he swung himself up with the agility of a monkey onto a lower branch. I cast my eye behind me, when what was my horror to see Charley coming along with three or four elephants dashing at full speed not thirty yards behind him. It seemed scarcely possible that he could reach a place of safety before he was overtaken. All my thoughts were now turned on Charley, and I regretted that I had not managed to hand my rifle to Aboh before climbing up myself. Charley had dropped his, and came bounding along, the elephants, however, gaining on him. He saw us, and made towards the tree. Aboh and I stooped down to catch his hands and help him up. He was within twenty yards of us, when his foot caught in one of the treacherous vines which crept in snakelike coils over the ground and hung from numberless branches, and he fell. He was instantly, however, again on his feet, and came rushing on as before; but the delay had enabled the leading elephant to gain on him. We shrieked and shouted to encourage him, or perhaps impelled to do so by our fears. He reached the foot of the tree. In another instant the elephant would have seized him with its trunk or trampled him under its feet. Had he not possessed unusual activity his destruction would have been certain. He grasped the bough nearest him. Aboh sprang down and got him by one hand. I seized him by the other. The elephant’s trunk was already touching his leg, which would the next moment have been encircled in its fatal embrace. We tugged and hauled; the animal caught his shoe, which happily gave way, and Charley was out of its reach. We now breathed more freely, for the tree was far too stout to enable the elephants to tear it down. The beast which had so nearly caught Charley stood trumpeting with rage beneath our feet, lifting up his trunk in a vain attempt to reach us.

We, as may be supposed, climbed higher up, so as to be well out of his way. In a few seconds the remainder of the herd came up, surrounding the tree and all trumpeting together. It was a sound sufficient to make our hearts quail. Had we possessed our rifles, we might have quickly put an end to the animals, mighty as they seemed. Fortunately, in their rage they did not discover them, as they were concealed in the tall grass and leaves between the roots. We dreaded, however, every instant that their feet would come down and crush them, when they, in all probability, would have been rendered perfectly useless.

Our thoughts were now turned towards Tom. Charley said that he had lost sight of him just before he saw the elephants, but that he trusted he had sought safety in a tree as we had done. We shouted out, hoping that he would hear us; but the trumpeting of the elephants drowned our voices. However, although we did not get any answer, we still hoped that he might have escaped.

“I wish that I had not lost my rifle,” said Charley, “although I think I should be able to find it again if the beasts did not trample upon it, and I don’t think they did, for I threw it as far from me as I could into a thick bush.”

“If you hadn’t thrown it away, both you and it would have been crushed to pieces,” answered Harry. “I think it is fortunate that you had presence of mind to get rid of it. But, I say, I wonder whether these beasts are going to lay siege to us all night. I’m getting very hungry. If they don’t go away we shall be starved.”

“Perhaps the best thing we can do is to climb up higher and hide ourselves, and then, when they don’t see us, their rage may abate, and they will go away,” I remarked. “They are not likely to remain here all night, and will probably go to the lake to drink, and give us time, at all events, to get down and recover our rifles.”

“What does Aboh think about the matter?” asked Charley.

I inquired of the black, making the usual signs by means of which we carried on a conversation with him, and using such simple words as he was likely to understand. He evidently comprehended what I said, and highly approved of our plan of hiding ourselves, setting the example by climbing up and concealing himself from the elephants below. We three did the same, though I managed still to watch them by peeping through the leaves of the bough on which I had perched myself. The creatures in a short time ceased their trumpeting, but still remained walking slowly round and round the tree, looking up in a sagacious fashion to ascertain what had become of us. At last they appeared either to forget us, or to fancy that we were birds, and had flown away. The biggest elephant, which had so nearly caught Charley, then led the way down to the lake, the rest following him. It was with infinite satisfaction that we saw them go.

“Now, quick, quick! let us get our rifles, at all events, before they come back,” whispered Charley.

Aboh, seeing me about to descend, made a sign that he would go himself, and, with wonderful agility, he slipped down the tree, while Charley descended to the lowest bough to reach the rifles as he handed them up. I followed, keeping a little above my brother, that I might pass them on to Harry. I felt very thankful when Aboh handed up my rifle to Charley, who giving it to me, I passed it on to Harry. Aboh then, again slipping down, handed up Harry’s. To our infinite relief neither of them were injured, though the feet of the elephants must have trampled the ground on either side.

“Him go get massa officer’s rifle,” said Aboh, who was delighted to make use of some of the words with which he was best acquainted; and without waiting to obtain our sanction, he darted off in the direction from which Charley came.

“See if you can find Tom anywhere,” I shouted.

Aboh turned and made a sign to us to be silent, pointing at the same time towards the lake, where the elephants were drinking. I regretted having cried out, lest my voice should have attracted the creatures’ attention, and might cause them to return and look for us. Although Aboh probably thought that Tom was concealed somewhere in the neighbourhood, yet, knowing the importance of silence, he did not cry out to ascertain his position.

We watched him anxiously, for we feared that at any moment the elephants might come back before he could discover the rifle, which might take some time to find. We saw him hunting about, but Charley said that he thought the spot where he had thrown it away was much farther off. At length he was altogether hidden from our sight by the thick foliage.

“Harry, do you climb up and keep a look-out for the elephants, and Dick and I will stand by to help up Aboh when he comes back. If you see the beasts coming, send a shot into the head of the leader; if you don’t kill him, it will probably bring him to a standstill or turn him aside, and give the black more time to climb up the tree,” said Charley.

“Ay, ay!” answered Harry, taking his rifle; “I’ll do my best to stop the brutes coming this way, at all events.”

Charley and I waited on the lower branches, my brother being beneath me, watching for the return of Aboh. At last we saw him coming along with Charley’s rifle in his hand. At the same instant Harry shouted out—

“Here come the elephants with their trunks turned up, but they are walking leisurely along, as if they had forgotten all about us.”

“Don’t fire, then, unless they come close to the tree,” answered Charley, while he made signs to Aboh to hasten his steps, pointing as he did so towards the lake. Aboh sprang forward, but the quick ears and quick sight of the elephants had detected him, and sticking out their trunks, they begun trumpeting and moving rapidly forward. I scarcely thought it possible that Aboh could escape them. Just then we heard the report of Harry’s rifle over our heads. A shriek of rage escaped the leading elephant, and he had, we concluded, been hit. At the same moment Aboh stopped, and levelling his rifle, fired. The ball struck the animal, which, however, still came on, although at a slower pace than before, and Aboh, grasping the rifle, darted up the tree holding it above his head, so that Charley could stoop down and seize it by the barrel. Handing it to me, he was able to assist Aboh, who nimbly scrambled up.

We all then retreated to our former resting-places, out of the reach of the elephants’ trunks. The whole herd came on, the leader bleeding but still trumpeting furiously. We, however, had him in our power, and felt pretty sure that his trumpetings would soon be over. My weapon was still loaded, Charley asked me to let him have it, as he was in a better position for firing than I was. I handed it to him, and as the elephants came near he took aim at the leader, waiting until in his circuit round the tree his head presented a fair mark. He fired, the huge monster immediately sank down, and almost without a struggle was dead. We could not resist joining Aboh in the loud shout of triumph he raised as we saw our enemy destroyed. On the fall of their leader, the other elephants became alarmed, and uttering a few trumpetings, more of fear than anger, rushed off together into the forest, crushing down the shrubs and young trees as they went, making a good pathway towards the southward, which would have saved us much trouble to have followed had we wished to go in that direction. We now, feeling sure that they would not return, descended. Our first care on reaching the ground was to reload our rifles.

“I wish that we could carry off the tusks,” said Harry. “I’m sure they would be worth no small number of dollars if they were safe on board.”

“It is very certain that we cannot get them down to the sea at present, and probably before we can return to fetch them some other hunters will have carried them off,” observed Charley.

While we were discussing the subject, Aboh had got out his knife and was working away at one of the animal’s feet, which he succeeded in cleverly amputating.

“Him good eat,” said the black pointing to the foot he had just cut off.

Although we certainly could not agree with him, we did not contradict his assertion. He then cut some slices out of the back, which had not a more attractive appearance than the foot. The black, however, seemed to think that we had now an ample supply of food. We should have camped on the spot, as the shades of evening were already coming on, had we not been anxious to discover Tom.

“We must find him before nightfall,” I observed; “for even although the creatures may not have killed him, he may be injured and unable to rejoin us.”

“Certainly, unless he has got to a considerable distance, he must have heard our shouts,” remarked Harry.

Charley agreed with us, and we accordingly proceeded in the direction of the spot where Charley had left our companion. As we went on we shouted out his name, while we looked carefully on either side, dreading at any moment to discover his mangled remains. Aboh hunted about with great care, but for some distance the ground was so trampled by the elephants’ feet, and the trees and shrubs so torn, that any footsteps of a human being must effectually have been obliterated. Presently, however, we crossed the path formed by the herd as they had made their way towards us, and all traces of them ceased. A short time afterwards we saw Aboh examining the ground, then he pointed ahead and went on at a rapid rate, we following his footsteps. Again he stopped, and stooping down picked up a rifle. We recognised it as Tom’s. What had become of its owner? Still Aboh went on.

By this time the forest was so shrouded in the gloom of approaching night that we could with difficulty see anything before us. Again Aboh stopped and cried out, “Him here! him here!” We hurried forward. There was our poor friend stretched on the ground, his leg caught in a vine below a tall tree with branches coming close to the ground. The dreadful thought seized me that he was dead.

“Tom, Mr Tubbs, speak to me,” I cried out I heard a groan. At all events, he was alive. Stooping down, I rested his head on my knee. Charley and Harry quickly came up. We soon released poor Tom’s foot. On examining it, we feared that it was dislocated, or at all events severely sprained, and that probably he had fainted from the pain. Having water in our flasks, we poured some down his throat. By wetting his hands and chafing his arms we in a short time brought him to. He looked round him, evidently very much astonished.

“Where am I, mates? What has happened?” he asked at length. “I was dreaming that a shark or a tiger or some beast or other had bitten off my foot.”

“Not so bad as that,” said Charley, “although you have hurt it considerably, I fear.”

“Ah, now I recollect all about it. I was afraid, Mr Westerton, that you were caught by the elephants, and I was expecting to share the same fate. As I could not help you, I thought the wisest thing I could do was to run for my life. I confess it, I never was in such a fright before. I somehow dropped my gun, and then, just as I was about to climb up into that tree overhead, I found myself caught with a round turn about my leg, and down I came. The honest truth is, I don’t remember anything more of what happened after that.”

It would have been unjust to blame poor Tom for the very natural panic which had seized him on finding himself alone in the forest, and, as he supposed, with his companions killed. He had acted as most people would have done under similar circumstances, and endeavoured to save his life. We fortunately found not far off just such an open space as we were searching for. Our first business was to light a fire in the centre of it, after having cut away the surrounding grass.

“We must keep up a good blare, or we may have some unwelcome visits from wild beasts,” said Charley. “It will be necessary to keep an eye towards the lake, or one of those horrid crocodiles may be crawling up in search of some supper when the odour of the roasted elephant-meat reaches his nose.”

While Charley and I attended to poor Tom, Harry and Aboh made up the fire as proposed. We had brought an iron saucepan, with which Aboh intimated that he would go down to the lake to get some water, making a sign to Harry to accompany him with his gun.

“If big ting come out of de water, fire at him head,” he said, showing that he was fully alive to the danger of approaching the lake, especially of an evening, when the crocodiles are more active than at other times during the day.

We kept the fire blazing up brightly, so that it might scare any wild beasts prowling round about us. However, not trusting to that alone, Charley and I kept our rifles by our sides and our eyes about us, lest a lion or leopard might spring upon us unawares. Having got off Tom’s boot and sock, we examined his ankle. It looked blue and swollen, and when we touched it he complained that it pained him much. Still, as far as we could judge, no bone was broken.

“The only thing I can think of is to bind it up in a wet handkerchief,” observed Charley; “the inflammation may thus be allayed.”

While we were speaking we heard a shot from Harry’s gun, showing that we must not expect to obtain even a saucepan of water without trouble. Shortly afterwards Aboh returned with the water. Charley asked for some of it, and saturating a handkerchief, which he fortunately had in his pocket, he bound up Tom’s ankle. Harry told us that scarcely had Aboh dipped the saucepan into the water, than a crocodile poked its ugly head above the surface and made a dash at him.

“I was too quick, however, and firing, hit the creature in the throat, when it slid off again into deep water,” he added, “whether killed or not I cannot say, as it sank immediately.”

“You have done so well that we must get you to make another trip as soon as we have eaten our soup, which, I suppose, Aboh intends to make out of the elephant-meat, for I doubt if it will be palatable cooked in any other way,” said Charley.

We found that the black had brought several stones from the shores of the lake. He now, having placed them in the fire, dug a hole near at hand, into which he scraped some of the ashes, and then put in the stones with the elephant’s foot on the top of them. Above this having placed some thick leaves, he quickly filled up the hole.

“Him soon good eat,” he said.

Harry had in the meantime cut up some pieces of elephant-meat, which he put into the saucepan. Having placed it on the fire, he stuck some other slices on forked sticks as close as they could be placed to the flames.

“We shall have the opportunity of trying the comparative excellencies of three styles of cooking,” he observed, laughing.

“I have no great faith in Aboh’s mode of proceeding,” remarked Charley.

“Nor have I, except to produce any especially excellent soup,” said Harry.

Our patience was to be severely exercised. We were all so hungry that Charley consented to serve out a small piece of biscuit to each of us, just to stay our appetites; but that produced a very transient effect. At first I saw him tightening his waist-belt; then I had to tighten mine, as Harry did his. Poor Tom was suffering too much pain to care about eating, and Aboh was well accustomed to endure long hours of fasting.

“When is that mess of yours likely to be ready?” Charley and I kept crying out to Harry.

“I think that it is done to a turn now,” said Harry, and he produced five pieces of black-looking stuff.

“A very long turn,” said Charley as he took his share. “Why, it’s as hard and dry as shoe-leather, and quite as tough, I suspect.”

“Chew it, man, chew it,” answered Charley, laughing; “it’s better than that in the soup.”

We all cut off little bits, hunger making us in no way particular; but it was a difficult business to get down a mouthful. At last I took to scraping it with my knife, by which means I was able to swallow more than I otherwise could have done.

We next tried the soup. The warm liquid could at all events be swallowed, and it appeared to do good to poor Tom, to whom we gave several cupfuls. The meat, however, was scarcely an improvement upon the steaks. Aboh had been watching us all the time while he munched his share without showing a sign of dissatisfaction.

“As we shall want some more water for poor Tom’s foot, I wish you would go down, Harry, to the lake and fill the saucepan,” said Charley.

“I will go with Aboh willingly enough, provided he carries a torch, for otherwise the chances are that we shall not get off as easily as we did before,” answered Harry.

Aboh understood what was proposed, and taking a brand from the fire in one hand, and the saucepan in the other, he set off, Harry accompanying him with his rifle ready for instant use. Charley and I, in the meantime, got up and examined the forest around us. Strange noises were issuing from it; but our ears being unaccustomed to the sounds of an African wilderness, we could not distinguish either the animals or birds which produced them. Here and there we picked up sticks, which we carried to the heap prepared for keeping up the fire during the night. I was stooping down, expecting to take up a thin stick, when I saw it glide away. I had nearly caught hold of a snake by the body. It might have been harmless, but if venomous, I should have probably been fatally bitten. I sprang back, as may be supposed, and was very cautious after this to feel with the pole I carried in my hand before I picked up any other sticks. In a short time Harry and Aboh came back with the saucepan of water, from which we filled our mugs, for the tough elephant-meat made us thirsty. We were all suffering from hunger, and as we expected to find Aboh’s dish as unpalatable as ours, we had made up our minds to lie down, if not exactly supperless, as hungry almost as before.

“Now, massa, him ’tink foot ready,” said Aboh, and without more ado, he opened the hole and produced the foot hot and steaming. Just taking off the top, as if it had been a piece of piecrust, what was our surprise and very great satisfaction to find the interior full of a rich glutinous substance. We eagerly hooked it out with our knives, and it was pronounced excellent jelly, although somewhat strong tasted. The single foot contained more than we altogether could eat, although Aboh got through twice as much as either of the rest of us. We regretted that we had not brought along more of the elephant’s feet.

Instead of going supperless to bed, we thus had a more ample meal than we had eaten since we landed. As it was important that Tom should have a night’s rest, Charley, Harry, and I agreed to keep watch in turns. We did not ask Aboh, though he would, we felt sure, have proved trustworthy. I had the middle watch. As I walked round and round the camp, my ears were saluted by distant mutterings and the occasional roar of lions, the trumpetings of elephants, or the shrill agonised cry of some hapless deer on which a stealthy leopard had pounced, the shrieks of night birds, the chirp of insects, and the croaking of frogs. Every moment I expected to see some monster shove its nose out amid the dark foliage; but if any came near, the fire prevented them from springing on us. I occasionally stooped down and wetted Tom’s bandage, so that his leg was kept cool all the night. Charging Harry to do the same, I at length lay down, and in a moment was fast asleep. Next morning we found Tom better, but utterly unable to proceed. We, therefore, had to make up our minds to camp for another day at least, unless we could manage to find a canoe in which to cross the lake. Harry and I, as soon as we were on foot, took our guns, accompanied by Aboh, in search of game for breakfast. We soon came upon a number of ducks, and were fortunate in killing half a dozen in three shots, two being brought to the ground each time we fired. We did not forget the crocodiles, nor did Aboh, who was very wary when picking up the birds. As we made our way through the forest, I was especially struck by the variety and luxuriance of the trees and shrubs, the number of vines which hung from the branches in wreaths and festoons, the length of the leaves, some rising from the ground, others forming crowns on the summits of tall trees, surmounted by flowers of bright red or yellow or blue.

“Dere, massa, what you ’tink dat?” said Aboh, throwing himself on the ground as if to contemplate at his ease the magnificent tree before which we stood. “Him ’board ship worth many tusks.”

“What tree is it?” I asked.

It was certainly one of the finest and most graceful trees we had yet met with in the African forest. Its leaves were long, sharp-pointed, and dark green, hanging in large clusters. Its bark was also a dark green and very smooth. The trunk rose straight and clean to the height of sixty feet or more, from whence large leafy branches projected to a considerable distance. Aboh pointed to his own skin and then laughed.

“He means that it’s an ebony tree, and so I’m sure it is,” said Harry. “It is one of those articles we were to have procured.”

On examining the tree we found that it was hollow, and Aboh made us understand that the branches also were hollow. On cutting through the bark we came to some white wood, which at first puzzled us. We expected to have found it black, but Aboh made signs that we were to cut deeper into it, and we thus ascertained that the white wood was simply sap wood, and that farther in the wood was perfectly black. We found several others of the same description growing around; and we agreed that if we could fall in with some friendly natives, we would advise them to cut the trees down, and should any navigable river exist running out of the lake, to convey them to its mouth, where they could be embarked. We, however, had to hurry back to cook our ducks for breakfast. We continued keeping our poor companion’s ankle constantly wetted, but, to our disappointment, even the next day he was unable to do more than stand up. The moment he attempted to walk, the pain returned, and we had to make up our minds for a longer stay. Charley proposed that we should cut down a tree and scoop out a canoe in which to cross the lake. When he explained his intentions, however, to Aboh, the black replied that it would take us several weeks, if not months, to construct a canoe, and that we should get round the lake much faster by land.

“That may be the case,” said Charley; “but suppose Tom’s ankle is broken, or so injured that he is unable to walk, we shall have no alternative. We cannot leave him behind us in this wild forest, and we must try to find a village of friendly natives, where he can remain until he is recovered.”

“I’m sorry to keep you back, gentlemen, and if it was a matter of life or death, I’d say go on and leave me behind, but it would be a terrible thing if that were necessary; so I would rather say, let us build a canoe, or, if we cannot, a raft on which we can cross the lake. I don’t think it would take as long as Aboh supposes, if we could find a soft tree. He doesn’t know what our sharp axes can do; besides, we can clear out the inside with fire. Even if I hadn’t sprained my ankle, I again say, provided that we can find the right tree, let us build a canoe.”

Charley agreed with Tubbs, and Harry and I had no strong opinion the other way. We told Aboh we wished he would hunt about to find a big tree of soft wood.

Aboh agreed to do as we wished, at the same time he shook his head, saying, “Too long, too long.”

“No, no,” answered Tom; “we will build a handsome short craft with plenty of beam, so that we may turn her about in any of the narrow streams through which we may have to make our way.”

Chapter Nine.

Determined to overcome our difficulty, we decide on building a canoe, when unlooked-for help arrives, and Aboh finds a relative—A pleasant breakfast—Tom taken across the lake by the blacks—We prepare a present of game for the king—Looking out for the return of the canoe—The crocodile and its victim—We camp for the night—An unwelcome visitor—A fortunate shot—The leopard’s skin—Return of the canoe—We embark—Storm on the lake—Safe again with Tom Tubbs—A native doctor declares the king bewitched—We change the bowl of poison—Presented to King Quagomolo—The test of the “poison-cup” applied—The king’s quick recovery celebrated with rejoicings—Tom having perfectly recovered, we determine to recommence our journey—The king finds means to delay and detain us—I save the king’s child from a crocodile—Prisoners.

The very evening on which we had determined to form a canoe, we commenced our search for a tree suitable for the purpose. In vain, however, we hunted in the neighbourhood of the lake. Aboh pointed to the south. “Find him dere,” he said.

We were, however, unwilling to go to a distance from our companion, for we knew not to what dangers he might be exposed should he be left alone, even although he was able to sit up and handle his rifle, and might perhaps have hobbled to a short distance. Still he would have to do that at the risk of again injuring his ankle.

“I will remain with him if you and Charley like to set off with Aboh as a guide,” said Harry. “If you can find a tree at no great distance, you can cut it down and shape it where it falls, so that it will not give us much trouble to transport it to the lake.”

“More than you suspect, unless we can find a level path down to the water,” observed Charley.

Though I agreed with my brother, we notwithstanding made up our minds to start early the following morning, and should we find a tree suitable for a canoe within a mile or so, to cut it down; but if not, to give up the undertaking. We had cooked overnight some waterfowl for provisions, and Aboh, I should have said, had found some fruits, which were highly acceptable. We rose at daybreak, summoned by Harry, who had kept the morning watch, and at once set off, having determined not to wait for breakfast, as we wished to have the whole day before us. Charley and I directed our course to the shore of the lake, to which we had discovered a path, formed probably by elephants, leading directly to the water.

Just as we were approaching the lake, we caught sight through the bushes of a canoe paddled by a single rower skimming lightly over the surface towards us. Wishing to open a communication with the man in the canoe in order to obtain information from him as to the best course we could take to get to the northward, or perhaps to induce him to ferry us across, we hid behind the bushes. The stranger, by his movements, appeared not to be aware that any one was in the neighbourhood, and came on without hesitation to the shore, close to the spot where we were hid.

Aboh had remained behind to assist Tom in gathering sticks and lighting the fire, while Harry had settled to come a short distance with us. The black had on no other garment but the usual white cloth, showing that he belonged to one of the wild tribes to the west. He ran his canoe right up on the bank, and then without hesitation stepped out, carrying a spear in one hand, a quiver of arrows on his back, and a bow in the other. We allowed him to advance some distance, until suddenly he came in sight of Tom and Aboh engaged in making up the fire. Immediately stopping, he was about to fix an arrow in his bow, when Charley and I showed ourselves. On seeing us he retreated a few paces, and then fell to the ground overcome by terror. Charley and I, wishing to reassure him, advanced as Harry came up to him.

The black, seizing his foot, placed it on his neck in token of submission. So sudden was the movement that Harry, who could not prevent him from doing this, was nearly upset, and would have been so had not he supported himself by his rifle. On this I turned round and shouted to Aboh to come and interpret for us. As Aboh approached, Charley and I stooped down and lifted up the negro, who was still trembling with alarm, though we endeavoured by the tone of our voices and our gestures to reassure him.

“Come, Aboh, come; let him know that we are friends,” cried my brother.

Aboh hurried up. As he got near he stopped, gazing with astonished looks at the stranger, uttering a few words unintelligible to us. The stranger answered in the same language. Soon they began to speak more rapidly, stepping towards each other; then suddenly with loud exclamations of delight they sprang forward, and throwing themselves into each other’s arms, burst out into tears.

“Brodder! him brodder!” shouted out Aboh, turning round to us to signify that he had found a relative.

This was indeed satisfactory, as the stranger would be able to render us all the assistance we required. His canoe, however, was but a small one, and certainly would not convey all the party across the lake.

“We shall still have to build one, unless our friend here can find us another,” said Charley. “I think a better plan would be to get Aboh and his brother to ferry Tom across the lake while we march round and find our way to his village.”

On explaining our proposal to Aboh, he had a long palaver with his brother. The result was not satisfactory.

“Bad man dere,” he said, pointing to the eastern end of the lake.

“What do you advise, then?” asked Charley.

“Stay here; Shimbo him go and bring back big canoe,” was the answer. When we suggested that Aboh and Shimbo should take Tom across, they at once agreed to do so, Aboh observing that Shimbo’s canoe would easily carry three people, but that it would require two canoes of similar size to paddle us all across. Tom had no objection to accompany the blacks, and we were anxious that he should get under shelter as soon as possible. We ourselves proposed remaining where we were and hunting, so that we might carry a good supply of game with us as a present to our friends’ tribe.

Instead, therefore, of starting off to look for a tree to make a canoe as we had intended, we all repaired to the fire which Tom had been blowing into a blaze, and soon had a number of wildfowl roasting before it. As soon as he saw our pot on the fire, Shimbo ran off to his canoe and brought back some plantains, which he set to work to peel; he then carefully washed them, and cutting them in several pieces, put them into the saucepan. Then he half filled it with water and covered it over with leaves, on the top of which he placed the banana peelings. The vegetables were boiled by the time the ducks were roasted. He also roasted a few ground-nuts, both of which were very acceptable to us after not having tasted vegetables for so long a time. We thought the boiled plantains were rather insipid, until Shimbo produced a bag full of cayenne pepper, with which he sprinkled them as he hooked them out of the pot, and placed them on some broad leaves to serve as plates. Altogether, we had not had so satisfactory a meal for some time. We told Aboh that we hoped to have plenty of game for his friends, and urged him to come back as soon as possible. Tom looked rather grave as we lifted him into the canoe. Perhaps he was not so confident as we were that he would receive a friendly reception.

While watching the canoe as she skimmed over the calm surface of the lake urged by Aboh’s and Shimbo’s paddles, we could just see the blue outline of the opposite shore, with here and there what we supposed to be tall trees rising above those of the usual forest growth, but they might be hills or hillocks, so wide was the lake. It would evidently have taken us many a day’s march to get round the way we proposed. Then we might have been stopped by the bad people of whom Aboh spoke.

Our meditations on the subject were interrupted by the appearance of the snout of a crocodile, who, swimming by, had taken a fancy to have one of us for his lunch. We shouted loudly; he beat a retreat, looking out, while passing slowly on, for any unwary duck or other wildfowl floating calmly on the smooth water.

“We must keep our promise and get as many birds as we can,” said Charley; “so come along. It will be as well, however, not to separate, for we may fall in with a lion or leopard, or a herd of elephants. We ought to be ready to support each other.”

Harry and I of course agreed to this. We were very successful, and in the course of a couple of hours had shot three dozen ducks. Our difficulty, however, was to preserve them. Even though we hung them up on the boughs of trees, the ants would manage to get at them, or birds of prey were likely to carry them off, or, unless they were placed at a considerable distance from the ground, a leopard or other wild animal might do so; while it was necessary to look out for a shady spot, or they would have become uneatable before the following day. We accordingly set to work and made some baskets of vines, interwoven with thick leaves, which would protect them from all other creatures with the exception of the ants. This occupied us two hours or more, and we agreed that it would be useless to expend a further amount of powder. We then cooked a duck apiece, and the remainder of the roots and nuts which Shimbo had left us.

After dinner we went down to the lake to look out for the canoes, thinking that by this time Aboh might be returning; but none were to be seen as far as our eyes could reach over the surface of the water. We, therefore, walked along under the shade of the trees, though at a safe distance to avoid danger from the sudden rush of a crocodile. After we had gone some way, we caught sight of a beautiful deer gazing into the waters of the lake, apparently admiring itself, and occasionally stooping down to draw up a mouthful. Retiring behind the trees, we advanced cautiously, hoping to get a shot, and to add the creature to our larder. I was ahead, and having got well within distance, had just raised my rifle, and was on the point of drawing my trigger, when I was startled by seeing a huge crocodile literally leap out of the water, and then, like a flash of lightning, spring back again, holding the unfortunate deer struggling violently in its tremendous jaws. I fired, but my bullet glanced off the side of the scaly monster, which disappeared with its victim. It was much the same to the deer whether it was eaten by us or the crocodile, but we were greatly disappointed at losing it. However, the occurrence made us look out more carefully for deer, as we might hope to catch one or two, and venison we calculated would be highly prized by our friends. Besides which, we ourselves were getting somewhat tired of duck every day.

As we thought it very likely that another deer would come down during the afternoon to drink at the lake, we formed a screen of boughs, which served as a favourable look-out. While two of us kept watch for the deer, the third guarded the rear of our ambush lest a wild beast might carry off one of us for his supper, instead of our supping off deer as we hoped to do. It was very fortunate that we took these precautions. We had not occupied our posts more than a quarter of an hour when Harry, who was on the look-out, whispered—

“There’s a creature crawling along not a hundred yards off.”

Charley took a glance round. “It’s a leopard, and it evidently sees us; we must be ready to fire,” he whispered.

“But if we do, we shall frighten the deer; so don’t pull a trigger unless it comes nearer,” I observed.

The leopard slowly crept by, being apparently itself in search of prey. It soon disappeared, and although we kept a bright look-out, it did not return. After this we waited patiently for nearly an hour, when we saw a small herd of deer coming down the glade. So anxious were we, that we scarcely dared breathe lest we should alarm them. I remembered the leopard, and thought that it might possibly be on the look-out for the deer, and might put them to flight before they could come within shot. On they trotted, however, as if thoughtless of danger. We allowed the leader to reach the water. Charley signed to me to point out the one at which I intended to aim. We each selected one.

The cracks of our three rifles were heard almost at the same moment. Two of the deer fell killed. The third, at which Harry had aimed, attempted to escape, while the rest, looking about them with a startled glance, bounded off. Scarcely, however, had the leader gone a dozen yards than a leopard sprang out, and seizing the creature in its powerful jaws, carried it off through the forest.

“Load, quickly, load,” cried Charley.

We did so, and then rushed out to secure the deer we had killed, fearing that another leopard might have a feast off it. We were not, however, molested, and with infinite satisfaction we dragged the animals one by one up to the neighbourhood of our camp, where we commenced cutting them up, although, I must confess, we were not expert in that part of the huntsman’s art. By the time we had finished our task, and hung up the deer as near to our fire as possible, the sun had sunk below the horizon.

We again went down to the lake, and were much disappointed at not seeing the canoe Aboh had promised to bring us. As it was not likely, therefore, that he would arrive that night, we made up our minds to camp at the same spot as before. There was no time to lose, and so, collecting firewood, we prepared to pass the night. It might seem an easy task to get a supply of sticks, but it was a dangerous one. Not only did we run the risk of disturbing some venomous snake, but were nearly certain to find scorpions almost as deadly among the dried wood. Our plan, therefore, was to scrape together the sticks with a long staff, and turn them over before attempting to bind them up into faggots for conveying to the camp. I had not long been thus employed, when a big scorpion crept out from a mass of bark; I laid my stick, which it bit severely, on its back, striking its sting into the wood before I crushed it to death. Having collected a sufficient amount of fuel to last for the night, we put up a lean-to, under which we could shelter ourselves from the night dew, though it would afford but a slight protection against any hungry animal which might venture near, as leopards and lions might occasionally do. We filled our saucepan with water, and made every preparation for the night, not forgetting to cook as much venison as we could possibly eat. Having taken a plentiful supper we were about to lie down, when Charley said that he would first take a look round the camp. Not far off was the huge trunk of a fallen tree, over which bushes had already begun to grow. I saw Charley suddenly sink down behind it, and as I was following him, he made a sign to me to creep along under its shelter. I did so, and presently caught sight of a huge animal advancing in a stealthy fashion along the open ground. I at once knew it to be a leopard. Charley put up his hand, signing me to be cautious. The leopard approached, attracted, I have no doubt, by the smell of the venison, or by the remainder of the carcasses of the deer, which were not far off.

Whether or not it was the same leopard we had seen in the afternoon, I could not tell. The creature moved on in its cat-like fashion, looking cautiously around. Charley and I kept ourselves well concealed, still it apparently suspected that an enemy was near. It got directly in front of us. If Charley missed I must, I knew, take care to bring it down, for if not, it would make nothing of a bound over the tree, and would carry one of us off. Charley levelled his rifle; a sharp crack was heard ringing through the night air, answered by the chattering of numberless monkeys and the shrieks of flocks of parrots and other birds. The smoke for a moment prevented me seeing the leopard; the next instant, what was my horror to observe it approaching. In another instant it would have been upon us. I fired; it leapt high in the air, and rolled over close to the trunk of the tree.

“Well done, Dick!” cried Charley. “I hit it, but my bullet missed the vital part.”

The leopard was perfectly dead. We easily found the two bullet-holes. Charley’s bullet had struck the edge of a bone, and been slightly deflected. Had he been alone, the result might have been fatal to him. How thankful I felt that he had escaped! It was a lesson to us never to go out hunting singly, and we agreed that we would keep to that rule.

The leopard had fallen just under the bough of a tree, and as we were anxious to preserve its skin, and yet did not wish to spend time in flaying the animal that night, we resolved to try and hoist it up to the bough, where it would remain safe till the morning. We accordingly cut a number of vines which grew near, and under Charley’s directions formed a series of tackles, by means of which we succeeded, all hoisting together, in lifting it several feet off the ground. This done, we returned to our camp. While we had been thus engaged, we had run the risk, I suspect, of being attacked by another wild beast, either a leopard or lion, as when I was on watch I heard the mutterings of the last-named savage brutes in the distance. As I walked up and down in front of our fire while my brother and Harry were asleep, I watched the body of the leopard swinging in the air a few feet off, and kept my gun on the cock ready to fire should a lion approach, as I thought would very likely be the case, although I had no particular wish to have another battle that night. However, it so happened that we were left at rest. At early dawn we let down the carcase, and at once flayed it. Our object in doing so was to present the skin to the chief of the village we expected to visit, as we guessed it would be highly prized; besides which, the fact that we had killed the creature being known, would raise us in the estimation of the people. Having hung up the skin to dry, Harry and I went down to the lake, hoping to see the canoe of our friend, but we were again disappointed. Charley had, in the meantime, been preparing breakfast, roasting some more ducks, and the remainder of the ground-nuts left us by Shimbo. After this, we employed our time in scraping the inside of the leopard’s skin, which gave us enough to do; we then made a sort of lye from the ashes of our fire, which would have, we hoped, some effect in preserving the skin, though we were aware that the process we adopted was very rude and imperfect. As several hours had passed since Tubbs and the two blacks had left us, we became somewhat anxious about them. If the natives had proved treacherous, Tom would very likely be put to death or kept a prisoner, and we should see nothing more of him. About noon, Harry and I had gone down to the lake to get a saucepan of water, when we remarked a tiny speck on the broad shining expanse of the lake, where nothing previously had been visible.

“Hurrah! that must be the canoe at last,” he exclaimed.

I was of the same opinion. “If Charley were to have a look at it, he would be more certain about the matter,” I observed; and running back, I called my brother.

“Yes, there’s no doubt about it; that must be the canoe,” he said, after he had watched it attentively.

We now hoped that we should at length get away from the spot where we had spent so much time. After watching for several minutes, though it was still at a great distance, and appeared to be approaching very slowly, we could distinctly make out the canoe. We had gone back to eat our dinners, as we had become hungry, when Harry said that he would go down to the lake to see if the canoe was near the shore. Just as he reached the water, we heard him cry out, “Here they are! here they are!” Charley and I ran down to join him. The next minute Aboh and Shimbo, with two other blacks, stepped out of a good-sized canoe, capable of carrying us three in addition. It was formed very much like the one we had intended to make out of the trunk of a tree. Aboh seemed as delighted to see us as if he had been away for several weeks. Why he had not returned sooner, we could not exactly make out, but we understood that the king of the village, Quagomolo, was very ill, and as the only large canoes belonged to him, Aboh could not see him to obtain the one he wished for. Our friends had brought a supply of plantains and several other things—manioc, sugar-cane, and squashes. There were provisions enough for us and themselves for several days. Before commencing the return voyage, they insisted we should cook them and have a feast.

“We have already had our dinner,” said Charley.

“Bery good! but we,—we empty stomach. No good go sea without eat,” answered Aboh.

By which he let us understand that he and his companions required food, and were not entirely disinterested in pressing us to have a feast on the provisions they had brought. On seeing the deer and the ducks we had shot, their eyes brightened. Aboh and Shimbo were both very good cooks, and immediately set to work to dress both the venison and the vegetables. Their only regret was, that we had not some rum to give them, the taste of which they had acquired from the white traders who occasionally came up to their village. I should have said that Aboh gave us a good report of Tom, who was being well treated by the inhabitants of the village, by whom we also expected to be received in a friendly manner. Aboh and Shimbo were so long in preparing the viands, that by the time they announced that all were sufficiently cooked, we were perfectly ready to fall to. We enjoyed our meal, and as soon as it was over, Charley proposed that we should start without delay.

The ducks and the venison were carried down to the canoe, as well as the leopard skin. By the time we had taken our seats, it appeared to us greatly overloaded; still our black friends were unwilling to leave any provisions behind. Aboh, pointing to the leopard skin, exclaimed, “King, him like much;” so that we hoped our gift would be acceptable to his sable majesty. The day was pretty well advanced, but we hoped to get across the lake before nightfall. All being ready, our black crew seizing their paddles, the canoe began to glide across the lake. Charley took a fifth paddle with which to steer, but he soon found that the blacks could manage the canoe perfectly well without his assistance. The heat was so great on the water that we were all thankful to avoid any unnecessary exertion. The blacks as they paddled sang a low monotonous song, more like a dirge. What it was about we could not tell. By looking back we saw that we had got some distance from the land, although we appeared not to have approached nearer the opposite shore, which still remained as indistinct as before. After some time the blacks ceased their song, and I saw them gazing round at the sky, the appearance of which was rapidly changing. The sun suddenly disappeared behind a dark bank of cloud coming up from the west, and a leaden hue overspread the hitherto sparkling water, at the same time that a strong wind began to blow. This soon broke the hitherto tranquil lake into hissing wavelets, which continually toppled over into the canoe. Aboh, turning round, handed to each of us a bason formed from a gourd, and made signs that we should bale out the water as it came in. He and his companions then redoubled their efforts. I caught a glimpse of his countenance as he turned round; it showed that he was far from satisfied with the appearance of the weather. I asked Charley what he thought about the matter.

“I’m afraid that we are going to have a gale; and if so, a nasty sea will get up, and we shall be obliged to heave our cargo overboard, although we will not do so until it becomes absolutely necessary.”

Every instant the wind increased, and the blacks paddled harder and harder. At present it was on our beam, although, should it come ahead, we should make but little progress, or perhaps be compelled to run back to the place we had left. Notwithstanding the threatening aspect of the weather, Aboh and his companions seemed determined to continue their course. The water kept tumbling on board, but we continued baling it out as fast as we could.

“I’m afraid that we must heave the birds and venison overboard,” said Charley.

I made Aboh understand what we proposed doing.

“No, no,” was the answer; “dat all right.”

He and his companions paddled on bravely for another half hour. By this time it had become perfectly dark, and we could not discover the land ahead, but the black fellows seemed to guide their course by instinct, for I could see no welcoming beacon on the shore. To our satisfaction the wind did not increase, though the canoe tumbled about a good deal, and not for a moment were we able to cease baling. The blacks paddled on bravely through the pitchy darkness. Suddenly a flash of lightning burst from the clouds, followed by a tremendous roar of thunder. I could see the flame dancing along over the water, mercifully avoiding our canoe, leaving all in darkness beyond. The blacks for a moment ceased paddling.

“Go on, go on,” I cried out to Aboh; “this is no time to stop; the sooner we reach the shore the sooner we shall be in safety.”

Aboh repeated what I had said to his companions, and, thus encouraged, all hands paddled away as before. As no land was in sight, I could not make out how they managed to steer a straight course, but they seemed perfectly satisfied that they were going right. Probably they were guided by the wind on one side. Had it shifted, they would have been thrown out. This I greatly feared would be the case; and after all, might we be paddling up the lake instead of across it. Charley got out his pocket compass, but the wind prevented us striking a light, and it was consequently of no use. He kept it before him, however, in case another flash of lightning should enable him to see it. He had not long to wait. A vivid flash darted directly across the canoe.

“Hurrah!” he exclaimed; “we are all right; we are steering due north.”

We had no longer, after this, any doubt about the judgment of our African friends. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, and we continued to bale away as the water washed into the canoe. For some moments the lightning ceased, and we hoped the storm was over; but we were mistaken. Another flash darted from the sky, more vivid than its predecessors, with a loud hissing, crackling sound.

“Hurrah! I caught sight of some trees and a hut,” exclaimed Charley.

He was not mistaken, in less than a quarter of an hour after this, the canoe ran alongside the bank in a little bay, and our crew, jumping out, welcomed us on shore.

Their loud shouts brought a number of people out of the neighbouring huts, who quickly unloaded the canoe; while we were conducted by Aboh and Shimbo to a hut which they said was prepared for our reception. Within we found Tom seated on a couch formed of bamboos.

“Glad to see you, gentlemen, that I am,” he exclaimed. “To say the truth, I had begun to fear that you would never come at all, as I have had some doubts about the intentions of our friends here. They were very kind, howsomever, for they fed me well and tried their skill at doctoring my foot, but I cannot say that they have done it any good; so I hope, Mr Westerton, that you will again take me in hand.”

We were thankful to find that Tom was in such good spirits. Charley, on looking at his foot, said he hoped, as the swelling had greatly gone down, that in a few days it would be as strong as ever. As it was so late at night, we expected to go supperless to bed, but we had not been long in the hut when a bevy of damsels arrived carrying baskets on their heads, containing cooked provisions enough, including some of our venison, to feed a dozen people. We were not sorry to partake of them, as we had become very hungry; but as we had had but little rest the previous night, we begged our entertainers to leave us in quiet, which they did not appear disposed to do. At length Aboh and Shimbo making their appearance, at our request turned all our guests out and allowed us to sleep in quiet.

Next morning we were awakened by great shouting, and on inquiring the cause, ascertained that a famous doctor had come to cure the king, Quagomolo, of his disease, though what that was we could not ascertain. We went out to see this important personage, who presented a most fantastic appearance. His head was adorned with feathers, birds’ beaks, and claws of leopards, hyenas, and other savage brutes; half his body was painted red, the other half white, while his face was daubed with streaks of alternate black, white, and red. Round his neck he wore numerous chains and charms, which tinkled and rattled as he moved about.

After having paraded himself through the village to be admired by the inhabitants, he was introduced to the hut of the king, whom he had not yet seen. Finding no one to stop us, we shortly afterwards followed, when we saw the doctor seated on a low stool before a large earthenware pot, into which he was looking intently. This done, having seized a lighted torch smouldering by his side, he whirled it about his head till it burst into a flame. He then waved it over the pot, muttering some mysterious words. He continued this and similar performances for so long a time that we were getting weary of witnessing them, when suddenly a person rose from a couch at the further end of the room, whom we rightly supposed to be King Quagomolo.

“Sit down, your majesty, sit down,” exclaimed the doctor. “I’ll soon say what’s the matter with you.”

The king obeyed. Again the doctor waved his torch and gazed into the pot, and then declared that his majesty was bewitched.

“Who are the people who have bewitched me?” asked the king in a trembling voice.

“They are some men and women in your own kingdom, and not far off from this,” answered the doctor in a deep bass voice which could be heard outside the hut, where a number of persons were collected.

There was a general howl of alarm, for no one could tell who would be fixed on. The king, on hearing this, announced that the persons implicated must drink the poisoned water, usually given on such occasions. So we learned from Aboh, who had crept into the hut and squatted down beside us.

“We must try to defeat the old rascal,” whispered Charley. “Show us where the poison is to be concocted?”

The doctor had now a drum brought him by an attendant, on which he began to beat vehemently, when the king again sank down on his couch. We on this quietly made our exit, and, led by Aboh, entered another hut, where, by the light of a single torch, some old women were concocting the mysterious beverage. We watched them until they had finished, when, leaving the bowl covered up by a piece of matting, they crept out one by one, holding up their hands, taking long, slow strides, and looking truly like witches themselves, and, as Harry observed, “Very bad specimens too.”

As soon as they were gone, finding a jug of pure water near at hand, Charley poured out the mixture into a corner, and filled up the bowl again with the harmless liquid. Fortunately, we found a basketful of what was evidently colouring matter, and having mixed some of it in the water, we covered the bowl up again and left the hut. We then went back to our hut. Finding that the king, in spite of the lateness of the hour, was ready to receive us, taking our two black friends, Aboh to act as interpreter, we carried with us the leopard skin, some venison, and three strings of beads of various colours. His majesty was a tall, ungainly looking man, with as hideous a countenance as can well be imagined. His appearance was not improved by the glare of the torchlight and the terror under which he was suffering. Having presented the leopard skin and venison, Charley, who acted as spokesman, threw the string of beads round his neck.

“Tell him,” he said to Aboh, “that those are powerful charms, and will quickly restore him to health.”

After a short palaver we begged leave to retire, assuring his majesty that he would be quite well in the morning, and that we were very sure that none of his subjects had bewitched him, as would then be proved.

“If we succeed we shall have performed a very good work,” said Charley, laughing, as we returned to our hut.

Next morning the whole tribe was collected, and the accused persons brought forward. The bowl was handed round among them. No one to whom it was offered dared refuse to drink from it, although the distortions of their countenances showed the alarm under which they laboured. The king, who had been brought out to witness the ceremony on a litter, sat by watching them, and expecting, perhaps, to see some of them drop down dead.

To our surprise three or four of them appeared greatly agitated, writhing about and making hideous faces, but we felt very sure that this was the result of imagination; and even these soon recovered, while the rest remained standing, and doing their best to smile and convince the king and their friends of their innocence. The effect on King Quagomolo was almost instantaneous, and before evening he declared himself perfectly recovered. To prove this, he summoned his liege subjects to attend a dance in honour of the event. No great preparations were required, and that very evening was fixed for the event. The king’s wives, of whom he had no small number, and all the dames and damsels from far and wide, came trooping in, and arranged themselves in the large open space in the centre of the village. The men sat on the opposite side, with a line of musicians in front. These were mostly drummers, who beat their huge tom-toms with right good will, making the most fearful and deafening din. Others had brass kettles, and others hollow pieces of wood, which assisted greatly in the uproar; while at the same time both men and women sang, shouted, and shrieked, until we, who stood at a little distance off, could scarcely hear each other’s voices. The barbarous overture being brought to a conclusion, the king, who had been seated amongst his wives, rose, and springing into the centre of the circle, began snapping his fingers, twisting and turning in all sorts of attitudes, leaping from the ground, kicking up one leg, then another, and throwing his arms round until it appeared that he would swing them off.

“Here am I, my friends,” he shouted. “Once I was ill, now I am well; and if our white friends here will stay with us, I never expect to be ill again.”

He danced and shouted until we thought he would have dropped. Presently he managed to spring back, exhibiting the utmost agility to the last, until he sat down again in the midst of his better halves, who had been amongst the most demonstrative of his applauders. Several of his chiefs then followed his example, but took good care not to surpass the king either in the time they danced or the activity they displayed. Before they sat down, several women sprang up, who, not being influenced by the same motives as the courtiers, contrived to twist and turn themselves in a way which was neither creditable to their modesty, nor pleasant to look at. We had good reason to be satisfied with this commencement of our intercourse with King Quagomolo. He presented us with abundance of food, and the hut built for our accommodation was clean and comfortable.

In a short time, by careful treatment, Tom’s ankle completely regained its strength, and he declared himself ready to continue the journey to the northward. We arranged, therefore, to start immediately, but we calculated without our host. When we told Aboh of our intentions, and asked him to accompany us, he made a long face, and shaking his head, said, “King no let go, want fight;” by which we understood that Quagomolo intended to detain us in order that we might assist him in some predatory excursion he was meditating against a neighbouring tribe, we having firearms in good order, while he and his people had among them only a few old muskets, many of which were destitute of locks, and could only be fired by means of matches applied to the touch-holes. On obtaining this information, we agreed that it would not be wise to show any mistrust of the king, but quietly to take our departure, with or without his leave, whenever it might suit us to do so.

As we were well treated, we were in no hurry to get away, besides which we had abundance of sport in the neighbourhood, and seldom went out without bringing back eight or ten brace of ducks and other wildfowl. However, at length we thought it time to tell the king that we must be going.

We took the opportunity when he was in a good humour, having just quaffed a few bowls of a sort of palm-wine of which he was especially fond.

“Stay, my dear friends, stay a few days longer, and you shall go forth with honour, and each of you shall take a wife with you and a hundred attendants.”

Charley assured his majesty that we must decline the wives, and that our own rifles were the best attendants we desired, with the exception of one or two intelligent men to act as guides.

“You shall have your will, you shall have your will,” answered the king, “but stay one day longer, just one day.”

We accordingly, hoping to have no obstruction offered to our departure, agreed to stay, but when the evening arrived the king sent a messenger to say he wished to see us.

“What, my friends,” he began as we entered his hut—“do you want to go and leave me all forlorn, stay another day, stay another day.”

Such was the tenor of his address which Aboh translated to us.

“Tell him that to-morrow we must go,” said Charley.

The king smiled benignantly, so Harry declared, although he appeared to me to make a very hideous grimace.

The next day, early in the morning, we all four loaded our muskets, and asked Aboh if he was ready to accompany us.

“King, he give him leave, him go at once,” he answered.

No sooner did we quit our hut than we saw all the men of the village, fully armed, collected at the outlets, evidently resolved to stop us by force. Although we might have fought our way through them, we could not have done so without bloodshed. Again we resolved to make a virtue of necessity, and remain until we could find a favourable opportunity of escaping.

Several days passed by, and every morning, when we were prepared to set out, we found the village guarded as before. When, however, we left our packs behind us, we were allowed to ramble at perfect freedom. Besides Aboh and Shimbo we found a party always ready to accompany us and act as beaters.

Not wishing it to be supposed that we intended to leave that morning, we quietly returned to our hut, and undoing our knapsacks again went out, simply with our rifles in our hands, as if we intended to have a little shooting before breakfast. We had not gone far when we saw a woman near the shore of the lake apparently hunting about and calling out to some one in tones of distress.

“Who is she? and what is it all about?” I asked Aboh.

“She king’s wife. Go bathe, lose piccaninny.”

We hurried on until we met the poor woman. She then explained that while she was bathing in a sheltered pool she had left her little boy on the bank of the lake to play about and amuse himself, but when she came out of the water she could nowhere find him. Of course it at once occurred to us that a crocodile must have carried him off, but Aboh averred that if such was the case the mother would have heard him cry out. He might have slipped into the water and have been drowned, but that he might possibly be hiding from her, for the sake of playing a trick.

“In that case she will soon find him, I hope,” I observed.

Scarcely had I spoken than I saw a huge crocodile crawling out of the bank not twenty yards from us. The next instant, stooping down its head, it lifted up a little black boy by one of his legs.

At the sight the mother shrieked out, “My son, my son!”

The fate of the child seemed certain. As the huge creature turned to run, I saw that its neck was exposed. Fortunately, having loaded my rifle with ball, I fired. By a miracle it seemed, the crocodile let the child drop, and after making a faint attempt to recover it, gave a few convulsive struggles, and rolled off the bank perfectly dead, for we could see it lying on its back in shallow water.

The poor mother rushed forward and picked up the little boy, who, although fearfully bitten about the leg, was still alive. It had not before uttered a sound, but now it began to cry as it saw the blood streaming from the wounded limb. As far as I could judge, no vital part had been touched, and I told Aboh to say to the mother, that if she would let us doctor it we would do so, as I had hopes of its recovery. Having washed it then and there in cold water, we stopped the blood, bound up the wounds, and gave it to the mother to carry back. Quagomolo was, we found, especially fond of the child. It was six or seven years old, and, being in a healthy condition, by the evening appeared no worse. At the end of three days, as lock-jaw had not set in, and the wounds looked healthy, we assured the king of our belief that his son would in time get well. Quagomolo and his wife both appeared very grateful.

“Whatever you shall ask you shall have,” he said; “half my kingdom, half of my wives, or half of my children, or half of my people for slaves.”

“Tell his majesty that we are much obliged to him,” answered Charley; “but the only favour we ask is the loan of a couple of his faithful subjects, and permission to proceed on our journey to the northward, where we expect to fall in with some of our countrymen. We are friends to Africa and the Africans, and wish to do the people all the good we can, but that if he keeps us here, our plans will be defeated.”

The king replied “that he would consider the matter, but that perhaps he knew what was for our good as well as we did ourselves, and that if we wished to benefit the Africans we should remain and exercise our skill on him and his people.”

This answer was anything but satisfactory. We had accordingly, as before, to shrug our shoulders and submit for the present, not intending, however, much longer to comply with the fancies of the sable monarch.

Chapter Ten.

King Quagomolo will not let us go—He shows us his plantain grove—Schemes for escape—Start on an elephant hunt—Elephants caught by traps and nets—Two natives crushed to death—Part of an elephant cut off for the idols—A native dance—The king not such a fool as we take him for—Detained by rain—Enter an hostile country—Encamp and feast—Tobacco and palm-wine make his majesty wax valiant—We keep watch—A night attack—Captured by King Sanga Tanga—How can Tubbs rejoin us—Try to explain to the king—We go to get Tom—King Quagomolo’s surprise—Return with Tom and the knapsacks—Huge apes—The Nshiego’s house—Disturb domestic happiness—Separated from my companions—See a fire—A charming family—I retreat—Climb a tree—An unpleasant visitor—I go to sleep.

Day after day passed by, and still King Quagomolo made some excuse for not allowing us to proceed on our journey. He could well afford to support us, for, savage as were he and his people in most respects, they possessed an unusually large plantation of plantains, on a piece of level ground a short distance from the lake. He took special pride in it, and invited us to pay it a visit. We could not calculate how many trees there were, though there must have been upwards of twenty thousand. The trees stood about five feet apart, and the bunches of plantains which each tree produced weighed from thirty to fifty pounds, those from some of the larger trees much more. There were several varieties even in the same grove. The king informed us that some of these trees bear fruit six or seven months after the sprouts are planted, others, again, take two or three months longer before they bear fruit; and what we may consider the finer species do not begin to bear until about eighteen months after the sprouts are put into the ground, but these last bear by far the larger bunches. This plantain grove was one of the pleasantest sights we had witnessed since we had landed on the shores of Africa. No cereal on the same space of ground, however highly cultivated, could afford the same amount of food.

We complimented the king, through Aboh, on the beauty and size of his plantation, and the fruit it contained.

“Very good for eat, but no good for trade,” was the answer. His majesty had, it was evident, an eye to commerce, and we discovered that the article which he could obtain with the least difficulty, and sell at the highest price, were elephants’ tusks. His hunters, we found, frequently went in chase of the monsters for a twofold purpose,—to obtain ivory, and to keep them at a distance from the plantain grove, among which two or three elephants in a few hours might have committed immense damage. He had arranged a grand elephant hunt, not having taken part in one since his illness. He had made up his mind that we should accompany him, believing that our rifles would be the means of securing more ivory than could his own people with their darts and spears. We hoped that if we complied with his wishes, he would be more ready to allow us to take our departure. We accordingly agreed to accompany him. Tom wished to go also, but, although he was able to walk, Charley advised him not to run the risk of again spraining his ankle, feeling sure that great activity would be required from the experience we had already had in getting out of the way of elephants.

“But I’ve been thinking, sir, that we might have a chance of making our escape while we are out hunting. We could easily slip away from the natives, and push on fast in the direction we want to go.”

“There are two objections to that,” answered Charley. “In the first place, the natives can travel through the forest faster than we can, and would soon overtake us; then, as we could not go out hunting with our packs, we should have to leave them behind us; besides which, I would rather leave the king who has treated us so hospitably, in an open fashion, with his goodwill, instead of stealing off like deserters.”

“I dare say you are right, sir,” answered Tom, “but we shall look very foolish if the king, after all, insists on our stopping with him.”

“Should such be the case, we can but take up our packs and march off, and should any attempt be made to stop us, fight the black fellows.”

“That’s the sort of plain sailing I like,” said Tom.

We were surprised next morning at the extent of the preparations made for the hunt. We found nearly four hundred men, armed with spears and javelins, assembled in the great square of the village, a large number having come from the neighbouring hamlets. The king soon came out of his palace—for so I may call it, although it was but a rude hut, thickly thatched with palm-leaves. He was dressed far more elaborately than we had hitherto seen him, with a circle of feathers on his head, and a kilt of long grass round his waist secured by a belt, to which hung a number of fetishes or charms. The skin of a leopard hung over his shoulder, to which was suspended a gun, while he carried also a long spear, ornamented with a tuft of hair at the end. The rest of the huntsmen were attired as usual, in nothing but the waist cloth, which is worn by the most savage tribes.

The king divided his force into six different parties and desired us to accompany the one commanded by himself. He then gave the order to march. We all set out. Before long we reached the forest, through which we proceeded for several hours, occasionally having to cut our way where the thick vines which hung from all the trees impeded our progress. Towards evening we arrived at the spot where the king had determined to halt. His people immediately set about forming the camp, by collecting wood and putting up shelters, which consisted of lean-to’s. Two poles with forked ends were stuck in the ground, on the top of which rested an horizontal pole; against this a number of others were placed, when large palm or other leaves were secured above them, so that the hardest rain was turned off, the roof, of course, being placed on the side against which the wind blew. A large one was built for the king, who invited us to share it with him. It was of the same construction as that of the rest. In front a large fire was kindled. We had no reason to complain of our entertainment, for the king had brought an ample supply of venison as well as plantains, and other vegetables and food. We also slept securely, as we knew that the hunters would keep a look-out during the night for any savage animals which might come prowling round the camp.

At early dawn we were on foot, and the king marshalling his forces, sent them off in different directions, so that they might form a large circle and drive in any elephants to a common centre, where we were given to understand some pits had been dug especially for the purpose of entrapping them or any other wild beasts. In that part of the forest there also grew a vast number of strong climbing plants or vines, some extending to the very tops of the tallest trees, twisting and turning among the branches. With these also the natives formed traps for elephants, by weaving them in and out among the trunks in such a way that should an elephant once get in he would be unable to extricate himself before the hunters were upon him.

“Now,” said his majesty to us, through Aboh, who was kept by his side to act as interpreter, “we will start and show you what real sport is.” I don’t mean to say that Aboh used those very words, but he said something to that effect. We looked to our rifles and commenced our march, keeping close behind the sable monarch, whose spirits seemed to rise as he found himself once more in the midst of the wilds in which he had achieved renown as a hunter. No one uttered a word for fear of giving warning to any elephants who might be feeding near at hand, and who would break away should they hear our voices. Before long, however, we came upon traces of several animals; young saplings being trampled underfoot, bows torn down, and hanging vines dragged away. The king made a sign to us to proceed even more cautiously than before. We expected every moment to be in sight of a herd of the huge animals. Presently we heard a loud trumpeting, not fifty yards away from us.

“Be on the look-out, Dick,” cried Charley, “the beasts will be coming this way perhaps. Get up a tree, but don’t attempt to run.”

He remembered how very nearly he had been caught, indeed, Harry and I had not forgotten the fright the beasts had given us. The blacks, however, by their movements did not seem to expect the elephants to come that way, but advanced at a more rapid pace than before in the direction whence the sounds proceeded.

“Why, that trumpeting seems to be coming out of the earth,” cried Harry.

Just then the chief gave a flourish with his spear and rushed on. Presently we saw him dart his weapon with all his force, as it appeared to us, into the ground. On nearing the spot, we saw that he had hurled it into a pit at a huge elephant whose trunk was seen waving above the surface of the ground. The blacks now rushed on, each man holding a javelin in his hand, which he plunged into the back or side of the animal, now screaming with pain. Dart after dart was buried in its flesh. It was in a pit cleverly formed in the side of a hill, towards which it had been apparently making its way, the upper side much higher than it could reach even with its trunk, while the lower was of sufficient depth to prevent it scrambling out again—it was thus completely in the hunters’ power. The pit had been covered over with light branches and grass, so that the animal, as it rushed along, had not seen it.

As the savages came up they continued hurling their javelins or spears into the poor beast, which was soon covered over almost to resemble a huge porcupine. As the creature’s death was certain, we did not think it wise to spend powder and ball on it, indeed, we were likely to offend our fellow-hunters, as they had evidently gained a victory.

As we stood near the pit, keeping at a sufficient distance to avoid tumbling in, we watched the poor creature in its hopeless efforts to escape. While it continued on its feet, the savages in succession came rushing up and throwing their darts, each man of them seeming anxious to have a hand in its slaughter.

At length, much to our satisfaction, it sunk down on its knees, and soon afterwards rolled over on its side, dead. The blacks immediately jumped down, and began pulling out the darts, to be ready to attack a fresh elephant. We soon had an opportunity of seeing another way in which these monsters are caught. Leaving for the present the carcase of the animal we had taken, we advanced further into the forest; presently one of the scouts who had been sent ahead, came hurrying back, saying that there were three elephants not far off. The blacks now began to steal forward, keeping as much as possible under cover, and sometimes advancing on their hands and knees. We kept, by the king’s desire, a short distance behind. Presently we heard a tremendous shout, and we saw two elephants before us. They looked round evidently much frightened, and then dashed forward towards one of the barriers, which had been prepared in the neighbourhood. The natives advanced rapidly, until the elephants were suddenly entrapped in a network of vines. The terrified creatures endeavoured to tear them away with their trunks and feet, but the greater their efforts, the more fatally they surrounded themselves with the tough vines. From every side the natives now appeared, completely surrounding the struggling creatures, which they plied unceasingly with their spears. Some climbed up the neighbouring trees, an example which we followed, for it seemed to us that at any moment the beasts might break away and trample us to death before we could possibly escape. The poor creatures found the darts showered down on them from above, and from every side. The more daring hunters would occasionally rush in close behind them, and dart their spears deep into their flesh. While they were thus engaged, a third elephant, followed by another party of hunters, who had already wounded him, came tearing along. He, too, was caught in the meshes of the network. Several darts were hurled into him, but suddenly turning round, he broke away from them, and trumpeting fiercely, rushed towards a score of natives, who were still at a little distance. They endeavoured to fly on every side, but so unexpected was the attack of the beast, that all had not time to do so. Two unfortunate men were caught; in an instant they were beneath the elephant’s feet, who stamped upon them with all his mighty force. In another moment they were crushed, their skulls and all the bones in their bodies being broken, then seizing one in his trunk, the monster hurled it into the air, and rushed forward in an endeavour to make his escape. The whole party, on seeing this, excited by rage, pursued the animal, shouting and shrieking, grinding their teeth, and darting their spears and javelins with all their might. I saw that the elephant had not a chance of escape, indeed, in a short time, mighty as was his strength, he sank down exhausted, with the blood flowing from a hundred wounds, and after a few struggles was dead. On this the natives rushed forward, and began cutting away at the creature with their knives, uttering curses on it for having killed their friends. The noise they had made had scared away all the other elephants—however, they appeared pretty well satisfied with the four they had killed. They now assembled round the last elephant which had fallen, while one of their fetish-men, or priests, approached and cut off a portion which was carefully stowed away in a basket; this was intended, we understood, for an offering to their idols. A dance was now commenced, and was as savage as could well be imagined. They shrieked, they leaped, they whirled their lances above their heads, and twisted and turned their bodies about in the most fantastic manner, making at the same time the most hideous faces, until, exhausted with their exertions, they all squatted down on the ground. Once more at a sign they rose, when they repeated the same dance round the fetish basket. We were in hopes that the king would return home the next day, but the hunters brought word that there were still more elephants a short distance off, which had come to feed on the leaves of certain trees of which they are very fond. We tried to get off attending his majesty, and Charley suggested that if he made no objection we should return to the village, where, having rejoined Tom, and taken our packs, we might endeavour to make our way northward. Our friend, however, suspected the trick we intended to play him.

“King say ‘No good,’” observed Aboh, while his majesty put on a knowing look; and we had to yield to circumstances.

Next day it rained, and we were compelled to keep beneath the shelter of our lean-to’s, with nothing to do except to listen to the unintelligible jokes of the king, many of them we suspected at our expense, although Aboh was too polite to say so. It cleared up in the evening, but it was then too late to start. In the morning we proceeded, after a plentiful breakfast, to the north-east. We observed that the hunters advanced in a more cautious way than before, and we soon discovered that we were entering the territory of another sable monarch, who was not likely, should he discover it, to be well pleased with our proceeding. Having advanced all the day, we at length encamped, much in the same manner as before. Fires were lighted, and huge pieces of elephant flesh placed to cook before them. A party of carriers had followed us, bringing more delicate provisions, and among them some jugs of palm-wine, with which, after the feast, the king and his more special favourites regaled themselves.

We each of us had brought some tobacco, which we thought this a favourable occasion to produce, and great was the delight of the king and his courtiers when they observed it. Pipes were brought forth, which we filled as they were handed to us. All those thus favoured collected round one fire. There are few things an African hunter delights in more than sitting round a blazing fire at night with a pipe in his mouth, and narrating for the hundredth time, perhaps, his various exploits. We regretted not having a sufficient knowledge of the language to make out what was said, but, from the shouts of laughter uttered by our black friends, the yarns were highly amusing to themselves, if not edifying to us. The shades of evening were approaching, a few rays of the setting sun penetrating amid the trees, cast a bright light on the boughs above us. A portion of the hunters were engaged in collecting wood, and bringing in bundles in order to keep up the fires during the night. The king having imbibed a good quantity of palm-wine, waxed valiant, and seizing his spear, advanced in front of the camp, flourishing his weapon, and addressing in stentorian tones some fetish or spirit of the air in the forest. We of course could not make out what he said, nor would Aboh enlighten us. Perhaps he was merely praying for a successful hunt the following day. After the king had thus given vent to his feelings, whatever they were, he returned and seated himself near us at the fire, when he ordered another jug of palm-wine to be brought One of the courtiers suggested that his majesty was taking a little too much, on which the king, who was now certainly beyond the point at which discretion is retained, told him to mind his own business, and looking in his face, swallowed down another cup. He then insisted that we should join him, wishing to show us the highest possible mark of honour; we, to please him, took the bowls in our hands, but the moment his eyes were averted, we handed them to some of his courtiers, who had no objection to drink instead of us.

Night had now come on, but still the revels of the king and his courtiers continued. We had retired to a lean-to, hoping to find some rest, for we were all really tired after our day’s excursion.

“It seems strange that the king, who ought to remember that we are in the country of one of his enemies, should not take more care to guard against a surprise,” observed Charley. “I think we ought to keep watch, for very likely these African fellows will forget to do so, and even if they are not attacked by their enemies, a leopard may steal into the camp and carry one or more of them off.”

Harry and I fully agreed with this; and we drew lots, as we always did on such occasions, to settle the order in which we should keep watch. The first lot fell to me. I was on the point of arousing Harry, who was to keep the second watch, when I was startled by the most fearful shrieks bursting from every side around the camp. The next instant the whole space was filled with warriors, who leaped down into the midst of the sleeping hunters, clubbing some, piercing others with their lances, and throwing cords round the arms of others. There was no necessity to rouse up my companions, for they had started to their feet.

“Where shall we go? We are not going to fight for these drunken fellows,” cried Harry.

“Into the bush then behind us,” answered Charley.

Harry and I followed him as he sprung round our leafy bower; but we had not gone many yards when we found ourselves in the presence of a dozen or more savages. The light of the fire falling upon us, revealed to them that we were white men, and instead of knocking us over with their clubs, they leaped forward and grasped our arms. We literally had not a moment to defend ourselves—indeed, from the number of our enemies, we could scarcely have hoped to have fought our way through them. If we had done so without food, and with only a limited supply of ammunition, we could not have made our way far through the country. What became of the king and his courtiers, whether they escaped or were knocked on the head, we could not tell. We were at once unceremoniously hurried off by our captors, who seemed to consider us rich prizes. As we were led off we witnessed a horrible scene. One of our unfortunate companions had been struck down, but still breathed; when, a number of the savages rushing towards him, some seized his arms and legs, and others, drawing their long knives, plunged them in his body, taking care apparently to avoid wounding any vital part.

Several women who appeared on the scene were encouraging the men in their atrocious proceedings. The cries of the poor wretch reached our ears for some time afterwards, till, becoming fainter and fainter, they altogether ceased, and we were thankful to believe that his sufferings were over. They did not, however, deprive us of our rifles, nor were we in any way ill-treated, except that we were compelled to hurry on at a much faster rate than we liked. After travelling for several miles we saw lights ahead, and found that we were approaching the camp of the people who had captured us. Our guards uttered loud shouts, and a number of people came forth from a collection of leafy huts, which, it was evident from their slight structure, were mere temporary erections. The principal person of the crowd was a savage-looking fellow, about as ugly as King Quagomolo, and dressed much in the same fashion. His majesty, although so ugly, did not appear to have any evil intentions regarding us, but was evidently satisfied at having got us into his power. He invited us to join him at his camp-fire, and at once ordered some of his slaves to bring us food, of which we thought it prudent to partake, although we were not in reality very hungry. We had not been seated long before parties arrived, carrying the tusks of the elephants we had killed; and others followed, dragging along about thirty prisoners, among whom we recognised our friend Aboh. As soon as he saw us he shouted out to the king, who at once ordered him to be released, when he came up to us.

“Me say talkee for you,” he observed, by which we understood that he had informed the king that he was our interpreter. He then had a long palaver with his majesty, who seemed well satisfied with what he heard. The intentions of the king were, we found out from what Aboh said, to make us useful to fight his battles, to assist him in governing the country, and to perform any service which he considered white men capable of doing better than his own subjects. He, by some means or other, had been informed of our being in the country, and had made the attack on Quagomolo’s camp, expressly for the purpose of getting possession of us.

“What has become of your king and the rest of your people?” we asked of Aboh.

“Him no killee, me tinke run ’way,” he answered.

“Things are not so bad as they might have been, so we ought to be thankful,” observed Charley; “but still I am afraid that we are as little likely as before to be allowed to continue our journey.”

Our chief anxiety was about Tom Tubbs. We feared that King Quagomolo was not likely to set him at liberty, nor was it probable that he would deliver up our knapsacks, even should we send for them, for though he had hitherto behaved honestly towards us, we could scarcely expect that he would withstand the temptation of appropriating their contents under the uncertainty of our fate. Our first object then was to get Tom to rejoin us, and by some means or other to regain our property. Our knapsacks contained powder and shot, beads and trinkets, with which to pay our way, an extra pair of boots, and numerous other articles of the greatest value to us. We were already more than three days’ journey from King Quagomolo’s village, and so much on our way to the north. Before lying down to sleep, we consulted Aboh on the subject. “Berry bad, berry bad,” he answered, shaking his head, which he always did when he found a knotty point difficult to unravel. “Me say de King Sanga Tanga—me go get odder white man and him goods. Suppose let me go, what say King Quagomolo? when him come, cut off him head me tinkee.”

“We don’t want you to run that risk, Aboh,” said Charley, “but still we wish you to find some other way.”

“Me tinkee, me tinkee, now go sleep,” answered Aboh, by which we understood that he would consider the matter and let us know the result of his cogitations in the morning. We accordingly, as he advised, wrapt ourselves in our cloaks which we had on when we were captured, and, taking our positions as near the fire as we could, tried to sleep. I observed that our captors kept a far more watchful look-out than had our former friends—indeed, from the little I had seen of them, they appeared to me to be a far more sagacious and keen-witted set than those we had left. They had good reason also to be on the watch, for they might at any moment be attacked by the followers of King Quagomolo, the larger number of whom had escaped, and who would very likely rally and attempt to recover their friends and us, and revenge themselves for the sudden and unprovoked assault made on their camp. Charley expressed a hope that such might be the case, and that we should then regain out liberty.

“I should be sorry for the bloodshed which would ensue, for our captors would probably fight desperately to detain us, and many on both sides would be killed,” said Harry, who was always more anxious to obtain an object by peaceable means than by force.

“There is no use talking about the matter,” said Charley, “let us go to sleep and be prepared for whatever may occur. I’ll sleep with one eye open, and be ready to rouse you up should there be a chance of our escaping, only take care that the black fellows do not steal our rifles, which perhaps they may attempt to do while we sleep, although they evidently look upon them with awe, or they would have taken them from us before.”

Following Charley’s advice, we placed our guns by our sides, between us, with our hands upon them, so that we should be awakened should any one try to draw them away. I at length fell asleep, but I was continually fancying that something was going to occur; the camp, however, remained perfectly quiet, the only sounds heard within it being the snoring of the sleepers, and occasionally the shouts of the sentries as they called to each other.

Next morning at daybreak the whole camp was roused up by King Sanga Tanga, and the cooks set to work to dress the plantains which they had brought with them, and the elephant-meat which they had captured. A liberal portion was brought to us in a basket, but as the meat was already tainted, we preferred breakfasting on the plantains sprinkled with red pepper. We observed a dozen men or more with drawn swords standing near us as a guard to prevent our escape, though we were in no way molested. We looked about for Aboh, but he was nowhere to be seen, and without his aid we could not hope to make the king understand our wishes. I began to be afraid that he must have been removed from us, and carried away with the men of his village into slavery, or perhaps put to death.

“I don’t think there’s a chance of their killing him or any of the prisoners, when they can, by sending them down to the coast, obtain a good price for them,” observed Charley. “If the king wants to make use of us, he will not wish to deprive us of our interpreter.”

The king now shouted out to his followers, and they began to make preparations for the march, still Aboh did not appear. The farther off we got from King Quagomolo’s village, the less chance we should have, we thought, of recovering our property and getting Tom to rejoin us. Charley, therefore, eagerly addressed the king, who passed near where we were sitting, and tried to make him understand by signs what we wanted. He scratched his head, but evidently did not understand either our signs or words. At last he spoke to one of his attendants, who hurried off and soon returned with Aboh, dragging him along by a rope fastened round his wrists. Poor Aboh looked very downcast. “What’s the matter?” asked Charley.

“Me try run ’way, and king bind him hands with odder prisoners.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Charley, “it would have been better not to have attempted it. Now, we want you to ask the king to let us go back and get our knapsacks, and our companion and we will faithfully return to him as soon as we have done so.”

“Me tinkee king no trust him,” answered Aboh.

“What! not trust an officer in the navy, and two other English gentlemen,” exclaimed Charley indignantly. “Tell him then, that one of us will remain with him, while the other two, with a sufficient guard, go back, and say that we will return as soon as possible.”

“But ’spose King Quagomolo no let go,” suggested Aboh.

“Then let King Sanga Tanga say, that if we are detained, he will march a large army to liberate us.”

Aboh fully understood our wishes. He forthwith held a long palaver with the king. The result was more satisfactory even than we had expected. He consented to send back Charley and me with twenty men as a guard, keeping Harry as a hostage, allowing Aboh to accompany us, under the promise, however, of returning.

Thanking the king for agreeing to our proposal we begged that we might set out immediately.

“Good-bye,” said Harry, “I wish that we could have all gone together, but I know you will come back for me, and I do not see how it otherwise could have been arranged.”

We forthwith commenced our march. The party was under the command of Prince Ombay, the king’s son, a good-natured, merry fellow, with whom Aboh seemed on very good terms. Charley and I were by this time well immured to fatigue, and our companions lightly clad were able to perform long distances each day. We met with no very interesting adventures, although I shot a deer, and Charley was fortunate enough to kill a buffalo which afforded a supply of meat to our companions, and raised us greatly in their estimation. At length we reached the neighbourhood of King Quagomolo’s village, when Prince Ombay proposed encamping, and allowing Charley and me with Aboh to go forward and complete our negotiations with King Quagomolo.

We had done our best to impress upon Aboh that he must not attempt any act of treachery, and that everything must be carried on in a peaceable manner: to this he agreed, and we hoped that we could trust him. When we entered the village the people gazed at us in astonishment. Aboh did not think fit to enlighten them as to the cause of our return. We went straight to the residence of the king.

“There he is,” exclaimed Charley, as we approached the house, and we found him sleeping in the shade of the rude veranda in front of it. As we were anxious to ascertain how it fared with Tom, leaving the king to finish his nap, we hurried off to our own house. Tom saw us and hastened out to greet us.

“I had given you up for lost, gentlemen, it does my heart good to see you. What has become of Mr Harry?” he asked.

We told him in a few words the object of our visit. “I think the chances are the king will listen to you,” he answered; “he came back very much out of spirits at being taken by surprise, and at the loss of so many of his people. I don’t think he has any stomach for a war with the other black king.”

This was satisfactory. Accompanied by Tom we went back to Quagomolo’s house. His majesty was rubbing his eyes and stretching himself after his nap. He looked greatly astonished at seeing us stand before him.

“Now tell him what we want,” said Charley to Aboh; “just hint that if he doesn’t agree to King Sanga Tanga’s demands he may expect to have his plantain groves cut down, and his village burned, and himself and his people carried off and sold to the slave traders.”

“Berry good reason for not saying No,” observed Aboh.

He forthwith addressed the king in due form. His majesty scratched his head and sides and all parts of his body with much vehemence—a sign of great agitation within, if not irritation without, and replied in a long speech.

Aboh briefly translated it.

“Him no want fight, him say go when you like, but him ask before you away.”

“Tell the king we are very much obliged to him for so readily yielding to our request, and we will certainly give him a present, and if we get safe home we will send him another, as our means at present are limited.”

Whether Aboh understood this or not, I am not sure, but whatever he said made the king’s countenance brighten up. As we wished to rejoin Prince Ombay as soon as possible, and put him out of suspense, we begged Tom to get ready to march at once. Returning to our house, we took out four necklaces of beads, one as a present from each of us, and also some knives and trinkets which we presented to his majesty, telling Aboh to thank him again for the kind way in which he had treated us, though he had as a mark of his favour detained us longer than we desired.

We then, shouldering our packs, and taking our rifles in our hands, bade the king good-bye, and saluting the people as we passed through the streets of the village, hastened to the spot where we had left Prince Ombay and his party. No one had discovered them, and as he thought it prudent not to remain longer than necessary in the neighbourhood, we immediately commenced our march to the north-east. Our success had been far greater than we expected. Our bold bearing and the authoritative tone we had used, had, no doubt, considerable influence in inducing the black king to yield to our demands.

Prince Ombay was in high spirits at seeing us, and gave a hearty welcome to Tom. He proposed immediately to set out for his father’s town.

“We shall now conquer all our enemies; we shall succeed in all we undertake; with four good guns what enemy can stand against us? The wild beasts in the forest must succumb, we shall have game in plenty, and food. What feasts we shall enjoy, what bowls of palm-wine.”

It was very evident from this that although the prince wished to treat us kindly, he fully intended to keep us well employed in his father’s service. By this time we had picked up a good many words of the language of the people, and Aboh had also greatly improved in English, so that we were much better able to understand what was said. Prince Ombay was constantly describing to us the curious creatures of the country, and among others he mentioned some huge apes which he said were like wild men, and built houses for themselves in the trees, and were almost as big as men.

When I expressed doubt on the subject, Ombay said he would show us the houses, and the apes also. He called the animal “Nshiego.” They did not live in tribes, but generally in pairs, and that the male built a house for himself, and the female for herself, close on a neighbouring tree.

Next day as we were travelling along, through a thick part of the forest, we came upon some shrubs bearing a pretty sort of wild berry. Prince Ombay at once said we should find some Nshiegoes not far off. By going a short distance from the travelling path, he pointed out what looked like a huge umbrella fixed on a large bough, about twenty feet from the ground, and close to it another of similar character, both the trees being so far removed from each other that the boughs did not touch.

“There are the houses,” said the Prince. “But the Nshiegoes have either gone out hunting, or hearing us coming have hidden themselves, you see what wise fellows they are. No leopard or other savage beast can get up to them, nor could a serpent climb the trunk of that tree, as it is too large to be encircled by its body, while no boughs can fall from any neighbouring tree on their heads.”

Charley, who was very anxious to examine the roof, managed to throw some stout vines over the bough, above which it was placed, by this means we climbed up. No human beings could have made the roof more neatly. It was constructed of thick leafy branches, secured together by vines, so formed that it was capable of completely throwing off the rain. Ombay told us that the male is the actual builder, while the female gathers the boughs and vines, and brings them to him; and that he builds her nest as well as his own.

As we were soon after this to pitch our camp, Ombay promised to show us some of these apes at home. We gladly accepted his offer. As soon as we had pitched our camp and had had supper, Charley and I with Aboh accompanied Ombay and two of his best hunters, set off, and after going a short distance in the woods, they told us if we would remain quiet, we should certainly see a couple of Nshiegoes under their nests in two trees close at hand. We kept perfectly quiet, scarcely daring to breathe for nearly an hour, it seemed much longer, when out of the forest came a creature which in the gloom looked almost as big as a man; presently it began to cry out “hew, hew,” when another creature appeared of the same description. The first of these climbed up into one of the trees, where he sat with an arm clasped round the stem, while his feet rested on the lower branch, and his head reached quite up into the dome of the roof, so that it served as a night cap at the same time. The other Nshiego followed his example, and got into her abode, when, after exchanging a few cries, which seemed as if they were wishing good-night to each other, they both went to sleep. It seemed barbarous to interrupt so much domestic felicity, but the natives would have thought very little of us if we had not killed the Nshiegoes.

Accordingly Charley taking one, and I the other, we both fired, and both the animals fell at the same time, and the blacks taking them up, carried them back to the camp, where, by the light of the fire, we had an opportunity of examining them. We found them just about four feet high, with black skins. The back and shoulders had black hair two or three inches long, while the rest of the body was covered with short, thin, bluish hair, the top of the head being completely bald, the nose was flat, and ears remarkably large; the chin was somewhat round, some thin short hairs growing on it. As soon as we had done examining the creatures, our black escort cut them up, although, I must have been very hard pressed before I would have eaten any of the flesh.

“You think those big apes,” observed Ombay, as we were marching along. “If we keep a look-out, we may see some much larger. I must warn you if you do see them to keep out of their way, for they can kill a man in a moment.”

As our escort were in no hurry, having once reached their own country, we made but short journeys each day. Having hurried over our supper, we set out as we had done the previous evening. Charley advised that we should try and kill as much game as possible, to please our black companions, as well as to supply ourselves with food. I had kept on the extreme right of the party, Charley on the left, and Tom in the centre, so that we could communicate with each other. We had gone a mile or so from the camp, when I caught sight of a beautiful little deer bounding away up a glade. I followed without calling to my companions, expecting almost immediately to come up with it. It went trotting on, and feeding, and then bounding away in a playful manner, just keeping beyond the range of my gun. Now I lost sight of it, but soon again saw it before me. Thus I was led on further than I should have wished. How many turns I had made, I could not tell but I fancied that I had gone in a straight line. After all, just as I was about to fire, the deer took flight, either at me, or something else, and bounded away.

Much disappointed, I turned to rejoin my companions. Before long, however, I made the pleasing discovery that I had lost myself. I listened, expecting to hear their shouts, but no sound reached my ears. I had gone on, some way thinking that it was in the direction where I was most likely to find my friends, when I heard voices in the distance coming through the forest I at once endeavoured to make my way towards the spot from whence they appeared to proceed. As I advanced they sounded more strange. I kept on cautiously. They might be savages of a different tribe, for Ombay had told me of many strange people inhabiting that region. The shades of evening were already coming on. I caught the glimmer of a fire in an open glade before me, and what was my surprise on pushing aside the boughs, to see two enormous apes seated on the ground, and a couple of young ones near them.

One seated in a sort of arbour, formed by the thick foliage above the roots of the tree, appeared to be a patriarch, while just outside sat his wife caressing the youngest one, while in the front of her lay the other, warming himself before the fire. I could see the two adults were enormous creatures, as large—they appeared to me—as any ordinary human being, with huge chests and long arms. Had there been but one alone I should have felt very nervous lest he should attack me, but what would be my fate were both the creatures, aided by their infant progeny, to set upon me. I feared almost to breathe lest I should be discovered. Should I tread on a rotten branch, or brush by a bough too roughly, the noise might attract them, and they might come in chase of me. Before moving I examined my gun to see that it was ready for instant use. My hope was that I might kill one of the terrible creatures and so frighten the others and obtain time to reload. Even the young ones were no contemptible opponents, should they fly at my legs or seize me by the arms while I was engaged with their parents. This, however, they were not likely to do unless endowed with more sagacity than the ape tribe are generally supposed to possess. Still if their wisdom was in proportion to their size, they might attack me in a way which would give me very little chance of escaping in spite of my gun. I, however, felt much more confidence with that in my hand than I should have done without it. Never did thief creep away more carefully out of a house than did I from the bower of those terrific apes. I had not believed that such enormous creatures existed. Night was rapidly coming on, for what I could tell there might be others in the neighbourhood. To spend a night by myself in those wilds was anything but pleasant to contemplate. As soon as I could venture to move fast, without the risk of being heard by the huge apes, I retreated rapidly. I was not aware at the time that I had fallen in with a family of the largest existing specimens of the ape tribe since known as the terrible gorilla, although at that time I was ignorant of its name. I was only too soon to become in a terrible way better acquainted with the creature.

As I have described I was endeavouring to get as far off as possible from the fearful monsters, when the sun having set, it became almost immediately dark. The thick foliage overhead hid the stars from my sight so that I could not tell in what direction I was going, whether to the north or south, and although I occasionally got a glimpse of one amid the boughs, it could not thus seen serve as a guide to me. I pictured to myself the danger of thus wandering through the forest by myself, for although I might grope my way amid the trees, yet I might be pursued by a leopard or lion, or I might tread on some venomous snake or get into the presence unexpectedly of a herd of elephants. For some time I was afraid of shouting or firing my rifle, lest I might attract the attention of those monster apes. At length, thinking I had got sufficiently far off not to bring them down upon me, and that I might after all be in the neighbourhood of my friends, I began to exercise my lungs. After I had shouted several times, I fancied that I heard an answer, but still could not be certain that the cries which reached my ears were not uttered by the monster apes or some other creatures. Then I fired off my gun. Forthwith there came a loud chattering and shrieking from out of the forest, uttered by troops of monkeys and flights of parrots. I was afraid if I fired often I might exhaust my stock of powder, which I should require for my defence if attacked either by huge apes or four-footed monsters.

Finding no answer to any of my signals, I judged that I had got a long way off from my friends; I therefore thought it prudent at once to climb a tree, hoping not to find it occupied by any arboreous ape or other creature. I therefore threw a vine over one of the lower boughs, by which means I was able to climb onto the branch. I then drew up the vine, so that I might be tolerably secure. There was still sufficient light from the sky to enable me to find my way to a part of the tree where several boughs branched off; here I could lie down with my gun by my side, without any fear of falling to the ground. Before going to sleep, however, I thought it would be as well to give another shout, hoping that, perhaps, from my lofty position, my voice would reach my friends. I listened for an answer. Silence reigned through the forest, broken now and then by a roar so terrific, so superhuman, that I involuntarily trembled. It was not like that of a wild beast, nor of that proceeding from any human throat. It seemed to come from a spot at no great distance off. What if the creature should discover me and be able to climb the tree in which I had taken shelter! What hope would there be for me then? I regretted having shouted; it would have been more prudent had I kept silence. I could only pray that the creature might not find me out, if creature it was. I did not believe that evil spirits in bodily form walked the earth, or I might have supposed that the voice I heard was that of one, so awe-inspiring was it. I now peered down from among the boughs towards the ground near the trunk of the tree, dreading every instant to see the creature approach.

At length I saw a dark form moving along, but it went on all fours. Could it be the creature that had uttered the sound? Presently it approached a small tree and then reared itself, and I saw what looked like a man of gigantic form, with a huge head, and prodigiously long arms, holding on to the tree. He seemed to look about him as if to examine the surrounding trees; should he discover me, he evidently could with ease climb the tree on which I sat. I was afraid of moving, and yet I felt convinced that he might, with his sharp eyes, discover me looking through the boughs at him. I fortunately had the muzzle of my gun turned towards him, and could at any moment bring the butt to my shoulder. I could not expect to get a better mark than he now presented to me, but then, so human looked the creature, seen through the gloom of night, that I asked myself whether I was justified in shooting him. While these thoughts were passing through my mind, he let go the stem of the tree, and once more sank down, moving forward as before on his hands and feet. At first I thought he was coming up my tree. To my relief he turned aside, apparently satisfied that the being which had uttered the, to him, strange sounds, was not concealed among its branches. I breathed more freely. I was thankful that I had not fired, for I might only have wounded the creature, and he would then, inspired by rage, have climbed the tree to attack me. I waited, watching for an hour or more; at length, finding sleep overcoming me, I replaced my gun by my side, and stretched myself almost at my length, for which there was ample room. My eyes closed, possibly I might have been surprised by apes, snakes, or any other tree-climbing creatures without having time to rouse myself sufficiently to offer the slightest resistance, so sound was my sleep; and yet it was not untroubled, for all night long that fearful cry occasionally rang in my ears, and I heard other shrieks and noises. Whether they were really uttered by the denizen of the forest, or created by my imagination, is more than I can possibly say.

Chapter Eleven.

I travel north-east—Breakfast—A strange supper companion—Another day’s journey—Meet some girls—The princess carried off by an ape—I shoot him—Triumphant procession to the village—The maiden’s song alarms me—Am thanked by the king—The king’s weavers—My friends return—We are most handsomely treated—The princess and her grandfather—My alarm only too well founded—Charley comes to the rescue—Discuss our prospects.

A bright light streamed into my eyes—it was the sun, just rising, sending his rays darting through the boughs. I felt very unwilling to get up, and when I began to move I discovered that my limbs were somewhat stiff from the hardness of my couch. At length I rose, and, kneeling down, thanked Heaven for the protection which had been afforded me. I now began to feel the sensations of hunger. I hoped, however, that I might be able to find something with which to satisfy my appetite, and enable me to continue my search for my friends. It was important to lose no time; I accordingly descended, letting myself down by the vine. I could now, guided by the sun, steer a tolerably straight course. I judged that if I proceeded to the north-east I should in time, though I might miss my travelling companions, at all events reach King Sanga Tanga’s village. I looked about me, half expecting to see the monster who had passed by in the evening, walk out from behind some thick bushes which grew around. I stood close to the very tree by which I had seen the creature supporting itself, and although I hoped that it had gone on to a distance, I felt a disinclination to camp at that spot. I had, fortunately, some matches and a tinder-box in my pocket, so that I could light a fire as soon as I had something to cook at it. I had not gone far when a chorus of loud screams announced the approach of a flock of grey parrots, which were issuing forth from their resting-places in search of berries and nuts. Crouching down behind a bush, I allowed them to come so close to me that I shot a couple, and knocked down a third with the barrel of my gun before it had time to fly off. Slinging them over my shoulder, I trudged on until I came to the bank of a small stream. Going along it I found an open spot, in the centre of which I could kindle a fire without the risk of setting light to the neighbouring trees. I quickly had two of my parrots plucked, and by means of the usual wooden spit, soon had them roasting. Before sitting down, I looked carefully around to ascertain that no monster ape was near, likely to invite himself to the repast. I must own it, I was seized with a sort of horror of the monster apes, and as I went along I could not help every now and then looking over my shoulder, expecting to see one following. I dreaded the thought of an encounter with one of the creatures far more than I did with a leopard or lion. I hurried over my breakfast, and having taken a good draught from the bright stream, filled up my water bottle, and stowed a portion of the cooked parrot in my wallet that I might not be delayed by having to cook a mid-day meal, I pushed on. The forest in many places was more open than I expected to find it, and I made good progress.

I did not wish to expend my ammunition by firing signals, but I occasionally shouted at the top of my voice, hoping that my friends would hear me. I was disappointed, however, and another evening found me still in the forest. I was certain, by the course of the sun, which I had carefully noted, that I had kept a tolerably correct course, and I calculated that by the end of a couple of days at most, I should reach King Sanga Tanga’s town. My chief regret was, that my non-appearance would cause anxiety, and that Charley and Harry would be delayed in searching for me—still that could not be helped. Had I gone in any other direction, I might naturally have lost my way, whereas I now felt sure that they must ultimately come up with me. I have not described the various animals I met with. Now and then a buffalo passed at a distance, and several species of antelopes. Once I saw a leopard stealing by, but he did not see me, having some other game in view. There were also hyenas, but I had no reason to be afraid of them, as they seldom attack a human being unless they find them asleep. There were numerous small monkeys, as well as big apes of several species. The most curious monkey was a small frolicsome little animal which, whenever seen, indicated that water was not far off, as they have an especial fondness for water. They are great friends with a pretty bird, which is constantly found in their company. They are often seen playing together, whether it is that they are attracted by the same object, or really have a mutual affection, I am unable positively to determine.

The country teeming with animal life, and producing numerous berries as well as large fruits, I had no fear of suffering from hunger, provided my stock of ammunition should hold out. Without it, in the midst of abundance, I might have starved. Although I determined, as on the previous night, to sleep up a tree; I lit a big fire, at which I could cook my supper, on the ground near at hand. While the birds were roasting, I threw a vine over the bough, by climbing up which I could gain a place of safety. The birds I had shot being cooked, I was discussing my supper, washing it down with draughts from my water battle, when looking up, I saw the shadow of a creature moving some fifty yards off; a second glance convinced me that it was a leopard. The fire kept him at bay, but he stood gazing at me, and probably scenting the odour of the roasted birds from afar. I saw him creep nearer and nearer. I might have shot him, but might have missed, so considering discretion the better part of valour, I caught hold of one of the birds by the leg, and holding it in my mouth, I swarmed up to the bough, where I was in perfect safety. I had before this fixed on a spot where I could rest for the night, and at once made my way to it, intending to start at daybreak the next morning. However, I could not resist the temptation of watching the leopard. He walked round and round my fire, but as long as it blazed up was afraid of approaching. As, however, the flames sank down, and only the bright embers remained, he made a dash at the portion of the birds I had left behind, and gobbled them up in a moment. I then threw him the bones of the one which I had been gnawing. He looked up very much surprised, wondering where it came from. I was greatly inclined to shoot him, but there was no object in doing so, as I should very likely only have wounded him, and sent him off to die miserably. At last, finding there was nothing more to be got, and possibly forgetting all about me, the leopard took his departure. I slept as soundly up the tree as I did the previous night, and coming down in the morning, immediately pushed forward in the direction I had before been travelling. I was able to make good some eight or ten miles before the air had become heated with the sun. Another day passed so like the former, that I could scarcely distinguish one from the other. Another evening was coming on. I fully expected by this time to have reached my destination, but I had met with no plantations, or any other sign to show that I was approaching an inhabited spot, I therefore supposed that I must be still some way off.

I was travelling along when I heard the sound of voices—they were those of females, several with baskets on their heads, while others were busily employed in plucking wild fruits, which grew in abundance in an open glade in the forest. Some thick bushes sheltered me from view. I was thankful to see them, as I hoped that they belonged to the village of Sanga Tanga, and that my long solitary journey was now nearly over. Still I thought that should I appear among them suddenly I might alarm them—I was, therefore, determined to remain concealed, and to follow them when they should return homeward, being sure that they would lead me, if not to the village of which I was in search, to another where I might hope to be well received. The girls were all scattered about, plucking the fruit from the bushes, when I heard a fearful scream, and looking in the direction from whence it came, I saw one of those dreadful monsters which had for days haunted my imagination, approaching two of the girls. The creature was too far off to allow me to fire with a certainty of killing him, and should I merely wound him, I should probably only make him more savage; I therefore crept forward as rapidly as I could, hoping to get close enough to shoot him before he could seize either of the girls. One, overcome by terror, seemed scarcely able to fly, or make an effort to escape, the others fled shrieking away. Before I could get sufficiently close to make sure of my aim, the hideous monster seized the hapless girl round the waist with one of his long arms, and immediately began to make his way towards a neighbouring tree. I dashed forward. Should he once get to my height up the branches, nothing could save the girl, for even should I shoot him she might be killed by the fall. I knew that by firing I ran the risk of shooting her, but that risk must be run, her death was certain should he escape with her. He had reached the first branch of a tree, scarcely more than twelve feet from the ground, when I brought my rifle to bear on him, I fired, aiming at his breast. As the bullet struck him he uttered a terrific roar; but at the same moment opening his left arm, which had encircled the girl, he let her fall, fortunately on a bed of leaves. She was senseless. I was afraid that the monster would fall upon her, and if so in his struggles he might tear her with his teeth and claws, but he held fast to the bough, roaring loudly and striking his breast. Under other circumstances I think that I should have put a considerable distance between myself and the beast, but the life of a fellow-creature was at stake. Summoning all the coolness I could command, I reloaded and then shouted to the other girls to come back and take their companion away. They all seemed to dread approaching the monster. I was afraid that, should I go under the bough, he might spring on me, and that the only safe mode of proceeding was to keep him covered by my rifle, so that, should he make any movement, I might again shoot. Presently I saw him swaying backwards and forwards as if his strength was leaving him; still he growled as fiercely as before. I moved slightly, so as to get a better aim at him. He thought, perhaps, that I was about to fly, for he stepped onto another bough.

Now was my opportunity; I fired, and down he came with a crash, breaking away several rotten boughs, until he reached a quantity of dead wood, where he struggled in vain to rise. Having reloaded, I dashed forward, and, lifting the girl in my arms, bore her towards a party of her friends, who had stopped, gazing horror-stricken at what was taking place. They received her with loud cries of grief, supposing her to be dead. She, in a short time, began to breathe, and, opening her eyes, gazed round with a scared and terrified look, then she clung to her companion, shrieking out, as she caught sight of me standing by—“Save me, save me!” Apparently she for a moment supposed that I was the being who had carried her off. Her friends, however, were apparently doing their best to reassure her; and at length, pointing to me, they made her understand that I was the person who had saved her from the grasp of the monster ape, which they pointed out lying dead beneath the tree. They then all came round me, and I had no doubt from the signs they made and their looks, that they were expressing their gratitude for the service I had rendered them in saving the young girl.

I tried in return to make them understand how glad I was that I had done so. I was now able more particularly to remark the appearance of the damsel. She was young, and for a negress remarkably pretty. As she recovered she took my hand and placed it, on her head as a sign, I supposed, that she was much obliged to me for saving her. I tried to make out whether the girls belonged to King Sanga Tanga’s village. When I mentioned his name they all clapped their hands and pointed to the girl whom they called Iguma. In consequence of this action I began to hope that she was in some way related to him, perhaps his daughter, in which case my friends and I were likely to be better treated than we could otherwise have expected.

As far as I could judge from the signs the girls made, I understood that the village was not far off. Having picked up the baskets and refilled them with the fruit which had been strewn on the ground, they prepared to return. Four of them carried Iguma, who placed her arms round the necks of two, while the others supported her legs. Before setting off I was anxious to secure the skin of the huge ape—if ape it was, for it looked to me, as it lay stretched on the ground, more like some savage human being of the forest. I pointed it out to the girls, who, I believe, fancied that the creature had made its escape into the wood. As soon as they saw it and knew from the signs I made that it was dead, they began to advance cautiously in the direction where it lay. I went first, with my knife drawn ready to flay it. They now crept forward, two or three of the bolder ones in front of the rest, when they would stop and gaze at the creature, talking to each other, even now apparently having some doubt whether it was dead or not. Then, as I got nearer to it and at last gave it a kick or two with my foot, they came crowding around with more confidence, crying out loudly and chattering away to each other. I was about to begin to flay it when it struck me that they would perhaps be unwilling to carry the skin, and I certainly had no wish to bear it on my own shoulders all the way to the village, even although the distance might not be great. I tried to make them understand that if they would send some young men I should be very much obliged. They, after a little time, took in my meaning, and two of them, handing their baskets to their companions, set off running.

As I was not particularly anxious to skin the creature myself, remembering that if I did so I should not be in a very fit state to be presented to the king and the inhabitants of the village, I accepted the invitation of the girls to accompany them at once.

Leaving the dead ape to any fate which might befall it, I set off with my new friends, who now surrounding me, formed themselves into a sort of triumphal procession. First went Iguma and her supporters, then followed four of my attendants, then I came with two on either hand, the rest bringing up the rear, all shouting and singing impromptu verses in praise of me, for I could tell by certain words that such was the case. The words were to this effect—

“The king’s daughter with her maidens went out to pick berries, then came a huge ape, and they fled with fright. The monster seized the maiden, the pride of her father’s heart, and bore her off to a cruel death. Already he had reached a tree, the cries of her companions availed her not. In another moment she would have been beyond our reach, when a pale-faced stranger appeared with a wonderful thunder maker in his hand. He made thunder, and the ape, huge as it was, fell dead at his feet. The beautiful Iguma was saved. He who had saved her has won our hearts, we will do him honour, we will do all he asks of us. The king will rejoice, he will weep with joy over his child, and he will give her to the young stranger as a reward. He will become our prince and live with us, and lead our young men to battle. We will serve him gladly.”

As the meaning of these last expressions dawned upon me, I began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. I was very happy to have saved the young lady, but had no wish whatever to become the husband of a black beauty, however charming she might be in the eyes of her countrymen. I was puzzled to think how I might get out of the difficulty without offending her or her father, or her female companions, who had so unreservedly bestowed her on me without being asked. I could only hope that the maidens were indulging in poetical licence, and that they did not really mean that I should marry their mistress. At all events, I determined to put the best face on the matter I could, hoping that they might not insist on the event coming off immediately.

At last I caught sight of some magnificent palm trees, rising in the midst of a number of houses. In a short time we entered a broad street which led into the square, and in the middle were the palm trees I had just before observed. It struck me as an exceedingly picturesque place, and very neat. On each side of the square two other streets branched off. Every house had a veranda in front of it, and an open space between it and the road. I should have said as we approached we met a party of young men running at full speed, who, after exchanging a few words with the girls, hastened on in the direction whence we had come. On entering the town we saw a number of persons approaching, several playing on tom-toms and various musical instruments, and others shouting and singing. In their midst talked their king in full costume, which I suspect he had put on in a hurry, for his head dress was rather awry. Coming forward, he embraced his daughter, tears falling from his eyes as a mark of his paternal affection; then he came up to me, and saluted me in the same fashion, a ceremony I would gladly have avoided. He then poured out expressions which I took to signify how deeply grateful he was to me for saving his daughter from the huge ape. He then asked me what had become of my companions, and how it was that I was there all alone. I may have been wrong, but this, I believe, was what he said to me. I tried to explain by signs rather than words, how I had been separated from them while out hunting, that I had looked for them in vain, and then made my way towards his village, where I fortunately arrived in time to do the happy deed which I trusted would guild my humble name in the eyes of his majesty and his subjects. I do not know whether the king understood what I said, but as I put my hand to my heart and looked very much pleased, I was sure that he understood, at all events, that I wished to say something civil. From what I heard the girls say, I confess that I was somewhat afraid that his majesty would propose bestowing his daughter on me at once, and was greatly relieved when I found he had not in any way alluded to the subject. Having seen her carried into one of the huts by her attendants, the king took my hand and led me towards another hut on the opposite side of the square. It was a very well-constructed building, of fair size and height and look, remarkably neat and clean. Behind it was a plantain grove; a garden with lime and other trees, and shrubs of beautiful foliage, with an enclosure in which were a number of goats and fowls.

Many of the inhabitants were clothed in robes of bongo, a species of cloth made from the delicate cuticle of palm leaflets, which are stripped off and ornamented with feathers. These are woven very neatly, many of them are striped, and some made even with check pattern. The pieces of cloth are then stitched together in a regular way with needles, also manufactured by the natives. I saw in the town a number of men sitting at looms in the middle of a hut with a wood fire burning near them. The weavers were smoking their long pipes, the bowls of which rested on the ground, and shouting to each other as they worked merrily away. Some of the king’s attendants brought in cushions and mats, which they placed on the floor. He then, begging me to be seated, placed himself by my side, and tried to enter into conversation, but I must confess that I had great difficulty in making out what he said I tried, however, to look very wise, lest his majesty might lose patience, for there was something in his countenance which showed me that he might be apt to do so, as is often the case with persons who have been accustomed to have their own way.

We were still carrying on this somewhat unintelligible conversation, when loud shouts were heard, and the king and I going to the door of the hut saw the young men who had been sent to bring in the dead ape, four carrying the skin, with the head stuck on a pole, and the arms stretched out, and the rest bearing the body, cut up into portions. From the way the king licked his lips, I suspected that he intended to enjoy a feast on the flesh of the beast. I should as soon thought of eating a human being, so human did it look in many respects. They halted before us, and asked what they were to do with it. I, in reply, merely claimed the skin, at which they appeared well satisfied, and marched off with the remainder to the king’s house at the other side of the square. I hoped, by hanging up the skin, we might be able to clean it, and preserve it sufficiently to carry it with us to the coast, for I was sure that otherwise no one would believe that so enormous an ape existed. I managed to make the king understand what I wanted, and he, with several other persons whom he summoned, assisted me in hanging it up to a branch of a tree, my intention being to light a fire under it, and try to cure it by smoking. I was thus employed when I heard several shots. The king and his attendants rushed out to the front of the house, and I followed. They were evidently in a state of agitation, wondering what the shots could mean. Presently we heard shouts. In a short time a number of persons appeared at the further end of the town. As they drew near, to my great joy I recognised Charley and Harry with Tom Tubbs and Aboh, accompanied by Prince Ombay. On seeing me they all hurried forward, eager to know how I had been separated from them and found my way to the village. While I briefly narrated my adventures, Prince Ombay learned how I had rescued his sister. He now came forward and embraced me, telling me that I was his brother, that we should never part.

Calling Aboh, I begged him to say everything civil he could think of; but, at the same time, not to commit me by making any promises on my part. The king in his generosity would have appropriated a house to each of us, but we begged that we might be allowed to live together in the one he had fixed on for me, which was amply large enough for all of us. We could thus, we agreed, defend ourselves should the feelings of the people assume any unpleasant change towards us; or we could, if necessary, better arrange for making our escape should the king take it into his head to detain us. At present everything appeared at pleasant as we could desire.

Soon after we had taken possession of the house a number of girls appeared with baskets of provisions on their heads, and bowls of farina. There was flesh and fowl and fruits of all descriptions. We told Aboh that we should be very glad if he would bring us some big bowls of water in which we could wash our feet, and as he had before seen us perform that operation, he at once understood what we wanted. Hastening out, he quickly returned with a large gourd full of cool water, supplied by a spring which ran from a hill close to the village. We were about to perform our ablutions, when a damsel appeared carrying a basket of fruit on her head. She approached accompanied by a white-haired old gentleman clothed in one of the robes I have described. Looking up I recognised Iguma. I asked Aboh who the old gentleman was, suspecting that he had come with some object in view.

“That’s her grandfather,” he answered, looking very knowing. We, of course, rose to greet the young lady, and to receive and open the basket she had brought. The ebon damsel then said something, and stood with her hands clasped before her. What it was about I, of course, could not exactly make out, and Aboh did not appear inclined to translate it. Her venerable grandsire then made a long speech. It was even more unintelligible to us than were the words which had dropped from Iguma’s lips. At last we were obliged to apply to Aboh for information.

“Him say makee her wife,” said Aboh at length. It was certainly a great abridgment of what had been uttered by the old man, although probably it contained the pith of the matter.

“Tell him,” said Charley, pointing to me, “that I am his elder brother, that he cannot marry without my leave, and that I consider him far too young to think about taking upon himself the responsibilities of matrimony. That he must come home first then, if he gets our parents permission, that he will come back with chains and beads and looking-glasses, and ornaments of all sorts for the young lady, and guns, powder and shot, and a variety of other articles for her papa. Make this very clear, if you please, for I must have no misunderstanding on that point.”

Aboh, who understood the chief part of what Charley had said, immediately translated it to the old gentleman, with a good many additions of his own. Iguma pouted a little at the thought, I suppose, of having to wait so long, on which I told Aboh to remind her of the quantity of beads I was to bring when I got our father’s leave to marry a black wife. I must own I had my doubts how far we were justified in using this deceit, but our position was a difficult one and might become dangerous, and just then we did not consider the consequences which might result from the artifice we had resorted to. I tried to make Iguma understand how much I was obliged to her by eating some of the food she had brought, and assuring her how very nice I found it. At last she appeared tolerably well satisfied, and as it was getting late she and her grandfather took their departure. We were now left alone, with only Aboh and Shimbo to attend on us.

“Things have turned out much better than I expected, and we are very jolly here,” observed Charley; “but I wonder whether Mr Sanga Tanga will let us proceed on our journey.”

“To my mind I am afraid that, now he has got us, he intends to keep us,” observed Tom. “These nigger chiefs fancy that white men can do everything, and as we have arms and ammunition, the king will, I suspect, take it into his head to try and conquer all the country round him. King Quagomolo, as he calls himself, is evidently afraid of him, or he would not have given me and our traps up so easily.”

“We, however, must try and get away,” observed Harry; “we may be jolly enough, as Charley says, just now, but we shall soon get weary of the life.”

“We must first try fair means, and endeavour to persuade the king to let us go home to ask our father to allow Dick to marry Miss Iguma, as I propose,” said Charley; “that appears to me to be the safest plan to pursue.”

“But suppose the king says no, and insists on your brother marrying his daughter with or without your father’s leave, what’s to be done then?”

“We must cut and run,” I exclaimed; “I should be very sorry to treat the young lady ill, but if her father insists on my marrying her, I shall regret having been the means of saving her from the wild man of the woods. I certainly thought that he would be grateful to me for what I had done, but I confess that he exhibits his gratitude in a very awkward manner as far as I am concerned. However, there is no use talking about the matter any longer, I’m getting very sleepy, and should be glad to turn in and get a quiet snooze, after spending the last three nights up trees.”

My companions were ready enough to follow my advice, and we all wrapped ourselves up in the pieces of matting with which our new friends had supplied us, and went to sleep.

Chapter Twelve.

We find we are not to be idle—A Buffalo hunt—Two good shots—Again at the buffalo—A strange steed and rider—I shoot both, and save Ombay’s life—Much beautiful game—A commotion in the village—Our sleep disturbed—The ape skin destroyed by the ants—Tom’s plan of escape—Prince Ombay sees through it—A grand hunt—A novel use for a net—Kill thirty head of game—Will Tom take the Princess off my hands—A delightful surprise—The marriage—A noisy wedding breakfast—A barbarous dance—The native idols—Native superstitions—We determine to make our escape.

We were allowed a day to rest after our long journey, and were supplied with abundance of food, but we soon found that our entertainers had no intention that we should eat the bread of idleness. Prince Ombay, as we called him, came to see us early the second morning after our arrival, and began talking away at a great rate. We nodded our heads to show that we were listening, but as we could not understand more than every tenth word he uttered, Charley summoned Aboh.

“Him say go out hunting, kill big beast horns on head.”

“I suppose he means buffalo,” observed Charley.

“Or deer,” suggested Harry.

“Are the animals he speaks of big and hairy, or slight and thin, with very long horns?” I inquired of Aboh.

Aboh put his thumbs up above his head, and then with his hands described a fat animal with long hair, and made a bellowing noise.

“Ah, he means buffalo, there is no doubt about that,” observed Charley. “Tell our friend we shall be happy to accompany him, and if he can show us the buffalo, we will do our best to shoot them.”

Ombay, on this answer being interpreted to him, appeared well satisfied. Taking his departure, he in a short time returned accompanied by about twenty young men armed with spears and javelins—the prince and a few of his companions of more exalted rank having hangers, mostly rather the worse for wear. We got our guns ready, and a sufficient amount of ammunition for the day, and placing our knapsacks and other valuables under the charge of Shimbo, who promised that he would allow no one to steal them; we announced that we were ready to set off. Ombay kept Aboh by his side, that he might converse with us whenever he pleased. We had a long march before we stopped to dine, but the party had brought a good supply of provisions, and we had as much food as we required. We then again set out, and continued our way until near sunset; when we arrived at the edge of a wide prairie, bordered by the forest through which we had passed.

“Here big beast soon come,” observed Aboh.

According to the custom of the country, our companions immediately began to set up screens of branches, behind which we were to take our post. Harry and I were together, Charley and Tom were stationed behind another screen, at a little distance off. We had to wait there for some time, when I heard Aboh, who was with us, whisper something. Presently my ears caught the sound of the trampling of hoofs, and directly afterwards I saw by the light of the moon, just then rising, a herd of thirty or more magnificent animals emerging from the forest, and scattering themselves widely over the grassy plain in front of us. We were fortunately to leeward, or our shelter would have availed us nothing.

We had now to wait patiently until some of the herd might make their way to our screen. How soon they would do this it was impossible to say. At all events, there was a prospect of our patience being severely tried. We remained as silent as death. In a short time the buffalo, who seemed not to apprehend danger, began gambolling and sporting with each other. As there appeared no chance of their coming close to us, Ombay made a sign to Harry and me to accompany him, and showed us how we were to crawl along the grass until we got near enough to have a shot. We were prepared for this, and gladly undertook to do as he proposed. Just then the moon was obscured by a cloud, and taking advantage of this he set out. We followed close behind him, creeping along with our heads just raised above the grass. We stopped whenever he did, on seeing the buffalo look towards us. Presently we were close enough to obtain fair shots. I was afraid, should we attempt to get nearer, that the animals might take alarm and scamper off. I therefore signed to Harry to shoot one, while I aimed at another no great distance from us. Without waiting for a signal from Ombay, we rose to our knees and fired. The two animals at which we had aimed leapt into the air at the same moment, and fell over dead. Ombay, who had not expected us to make such excellent shots, on this shouted with delight. The rest of the herd of course galloped off, and were soon lost to sight amid the trunks of trees on the opposite side of the prairie. The hunters on seeing this rushed out, and instantly began flaying the animals, and cutting them up.

Each man having loaded himself with as much as he could carry, we returned to a spot inside the forest, previously chosen by our leader. Fires were lighted, and our companions were soon making merry over the buffalo meat. We found it fairly flavoured, but rather tough. Our camp was formed in the usual manner with lean-to’s, beneath which we sheltered ourselves, and fires in front of them, the smoke of which contributed to keep off the stinging insects which abounded, and the bright light was calculated to scare the savage animals of the forest. We had now become so familiarised to this sort of life, that we thought nothing of it. Early in the morning Ombay called us up and told us, through our interpreter, that buffalo were again likely to be feeding in the prairie, and that we might have a chance of killing two or three more. Of course we were ready for the sport,—indeed, the more animals we killed, the more likely we were to propitiate the chief and his son. We felt all the time that we were prisoners, although not actually in chains, and that our masters might, at any time, change their conduct and ill-treat us.

Jumping up from our bed of leaves, we shouldered our guns, and accompanied by Aboh, we attended the prince and his party—a few of the men only remaining to look after the camp and buffalo meat. As we were making our way through the forest, we got somewhat separated from the chief, of whom we caught a sight just as we were nearing the prairie. We were hastening to overtake him, when a rending and crashing sound reached our ears, followed by the most tremendous bellowing I ever heard. Then came a sharp bark—so it sounded—and a roar such as I had heard proceeding from the huge man ape I had encountered in the forest. The next instant a buffalo burst from the cover. To its back was clinging one of the monster creatures I have just mentioned. It clung on with its powerful legs and arms with a tenacity against which all the efforts of the buffalo to free itself were unavailing. Maddened with terror, on dashed the buffalo, which was making its way directly towards Ombay, who stood seemingly paralysed by fear or astonishment. No tree which he could possibly climb up was near at hand. I saw that in a few seconds the buffalo would be upon him, and that he would be either gored to death or trampled under foot by it; or that the ape, springing from its back, might, with its savage jaws and hands, tear him to pieces. I, for a moment, was doubtful whether to kill the buffalo, or the still more savage creature which bestrode it. I decided on aiming at the buffalo; I might stop it in its mad career, and, rolling over it might crush the creature on its back, or else I might have time to reload before the ape could reach me. I took good aim, the buffalo’s shoulder was presented to me, I fired, and the huge animal, after bounding forward three or four yards, came to the ground with a tremendous crash, catching the leg of the ape beneath it as it rolled over on its back. Without a moment’s loss of time I reloaded, for the ape was not likely to be much injured. Scarcely had I done so, when the monster, quickly extricating itself, and catching sight of Prince Ombay, with a terrific roar, striking its breast, made towards him. In another instant the young black would have received a blow from its tremendous paws, or have been seized by the fearful grinders which, giving a savage growl, it exhibited as it opened its mouth. I could not have imagined a creature with a more diabolical countenance. Human as it looked, I had no hesitation in killing it. I fired, and my bullet striking it in the breast, it fell flat on its face, emitting, as it did so, a hideous death-cry, half roar, half shriek, which echoed through the forest, and was repeated, it teemed to me, by others of the same species. Ombay, who had been fully aware of his danger, quickly recovered, and springing forward, dealt a blow with his hanger at the neck of the monster, which nearly severed the head from the body. He then, seeing me advancing, hastened forward to express his thanks, and I believe that he really was grateful to me for saving his life, although I fancy he wished to gain the credit of having killed his assailant himself. The uproar had frightened away all the other buffaloes, so, with the bodies of the one I had killed, and the ape, we forthwith returned to the camp to enjoy a hearty breakfast. The natives cut up the body of the ape, and ate it with as little compunction as they would have done mutton or beef. Charley and Harry, who were close behind me when I fired, declared that they had never seen better shots in their lives. “I felt that much depended on my taking good aim,” I replied. “I was anxious to save the life of a fellow-creature, besides which, I hope, that by rendering him a service, we may have a better chance of being allowed to proceed upon our journey.”

I wished that we had had our knapsacks and could have at once set off, without the pain of taking leave of King Sanga Tanga and the lovely Iguma.

We told Aboh that we should like to secure the skin of the ape, but he replied that none of the young men would like the trouble of carrying it. On our way back we met with several beautiful antelopes, and two or three kinds of gazelles, which bounded away before we could get near enough to obtain a shot at them. There was one of a bright orange colour with a chestnut patch between the horns and eyes, below which was a white crescent-shaped mark, while its body was completely covered with stripes from head to tail, of a lighter colour than the rest of the skin.

Although somewhat heavily built, it was graceful in its motions and exceedingly swift of foot, so that in little more than a minute the herd near to which we had got bounded out of sight. We saw two leopards, but they took good care not to come near us, they were certainly upwards of five feet in length. Tiger-cats, some of unusual size, abounded, and would have been dangerous to encounter unarmed. Charley shot an iguana, which, ugly as it looked, afforded us a pleasanter meal than the buffalo meat. As to the monkeys, they were innumerable.

On passing over a stream we caught sight of several beautiful little monkeys, not bigger than rats, frisking about among the boughs just as we had seen them on a previous occasion. Near them were some birds, which kept hopping to and fro on the same branches, apparently on the most intimate terms with these diminutive quadrumana. By putting up screens and waiting patiently, we managed to kill several antelopes and other animals, so that we returned to the village laden with meat. On entering, we found the inhabitants in a state of commotion in consequence of the arrival of a person of importance, who was then said to be having an audience with the king, but who he was, or what he had come about, we could not learn. By this time we had expended all our ammunition, and we hastened to our house to replenish our stock, in case, by any chance, we might have to use our arms. We felt that our position was critical, for at any moment our capricious masters might turn upon us, and we might have to fight for our lives. We had cause, however, to be grateful to Heaven for our preservation, and for the many dangers we had gone through safely, as also that we had been enabled to retain our health, which, in spite of the heat and fatigue we endured, was excellent. I suspect, however, that had we not been well supplied with wholesome food and pure water, the case would have been different. On arriving at our house, we found Shimbo keeping faithful watch and ward over our property. By his account more than one attempt had been made to steal it, but he had driven away the thieves, so he said, by presenting a stick at them, which they mistook for one of our guns. He could give us no information as to the visitor, nor could Aboh, who went out, learn more than his brother. There was some mystery about the matter, that was certain. We were tired and glad to take the supper which was brought to us already cooked, and consisted of plantains dressed in a variety of ways, and venison, one dish roasted and another stewed in lemon juice. Very excellent both were.

Rolling ourselves in our mats, we went to sleep. We had not closed our eyes long when I heard Charley, who was close to the door, cry out lustily. At the same instant I felt myself bitten by numberless creatures crawling over me. Harry and Tom were treated in the same manner. We all sprang to our feet, and, striking a light, discovered that the room was full of ants. They came in battle array, a numerous army pouring in through the door. We rushed out into the garden, where fortunately we found a spot free from them. Immediately lighting a fire, we formed it into a wide circle, in the middle of which we took up our posts. Then helping each other, we were able to relieve ourselves from our venomous assailants, and as we plucked them off we threw them into the flames. We soon found that the whole village was attacked, and that the inhabitants were turning out to defend themselves. They came not in thousands but in millions, covering the streets and forcing their way onwards. We saw that fires were lighted in all directions, but whenever there was no time to collect fuel and kindle it, the insects, marching onward, destroyed everything in their way. Although they fell by tens of thousands, others took their places. It was not until the morning that they disappeared, having destroyed in that short time a large portion of the provisions in the place. Fortunately they did not eat up the fruit nor the live animals, but among other things destroyed was the skin of the huge ape which we had intended to take to England to exhibit to naturalists, feeling sure it would create more surprise than anything else we could carry with us. The entire skin was devoured, and the head picked clean so that only a whitened skull remained. As we had been up all night fighting the ants, we were glad to lie down again and obtain some sleep in quiet.

We had just risen, rubbing our eyes and still feeling very drowsy, when Prince Ombay came in and invited us to accompany him on another hunt, observing that it was necessary to replenish the stock of provisions destroyed by the ants. We, of course, could not refuse.

“I would advise, gentlemen,” said Tom, when he heard through Aboh what the prince wished, “that we carry our knapsacks on our backs, and then, if we have the chance, we can take French leave of our friends. They would scarcely attempt to stop us by force; and one can make them understand that we must be off.”

“Tom’s advice is good,” said Charley. “Let us clap on our packs as a matter of course.”

We had a scanty breakfast, as the whole of the village was on short commons. We hoped before long to get some venison, on which we could feast before taking to flight. When, however, the prince saw what we were about, with a smiling countenance he said—

“Hang up your fetishes again, you can do without them when hunting, and when you come back you can worship at your leisure.”

From this we found that our knapsacks were looked upon as objects of worship, perhaps this accounted for their not having been stolen. Charley tried to persuade the prince that we should kill more game if we took them, but he either suspected our intentions, or thought that they were safer in our houses, and insisted that we should leave them behind us. We had let Aboh understand what we had been doing, for we knew we could trust him, but we thought it wise not to say anything to Shimbo until the moment had arrived, when Aboh would tell him of our intentions, feeling sure that he would be ready to accompany us.

In vain we tried to persuade Ombay that we should be more successful if we carried our knapsacks. He, putting on a knowing look, again refused, and we were finally compelled to set off without them.

“We must wait for another opportunity,” said Charley; “it will come some day or other, and it is very evident that we shall have to practise no small amount of patience.”

“I have been thinking seriously that I could make my way down to the coast alone,” said Tom, “and if I could fall in with an English vessel, I might form a party of men to help you. I know that there is some danger, but it matters very little if Tom Tubbs loses his life, although it would be a sad thing for you three young gentlemen to be kept prisoners by these black fellows for the rest of your lives.”

“No fear of that,” answered Charley. “We may find ourselves free sooner than you expect. There must be rivers to the north of us, and if we could once get to the banks of one of them, we could make our way down to the sea in a canoe. The longer we remain with King Sanga Tanga, the more confidence the people will have in us. At present we have only Hobson’s choice, stop here we must.”

On this occasion the prince was accompanied by three times as many hunters as before. We were expected to take an active part in the sport. We proceeded nearly a couple of days journey, when we formed a camp, and the hunters went out prepared to kill either elephants, buffaloes, deer, or wild pigs; indeed, for some object or other, they seemed anxious to accumulate a large supply of food. The first day they killed two elephants, much in the same manner as I have before described. The following day Charley, Harry, and I killed two buffaloes and three deer, while the natives were not nearly so successful. Parties arrived from the village to carry home the game we had already shot. We were shortly afterwards joined by a number of strangers, who came in, we found, from the different villages at a distance, though all under the government of King Sanga Tanga, each party bringing a large net, a similar net having arrived from our village. On examining them, we found that they were made from the fibre of the pine apple plant and that of other trees twisted into thick thread. Each net was about seventy feet long, and nearly five feet in height.

The villagers—I should have said—were accompanied by packs of little sharp-eared dogs, who gave vent to loud yelps. Accompanied by these dogs, about twenty men, taking between them one of the nets, of which there were altogether about a dozen, set off to a spot fixed on, where there was a clearing in the forest. Not a word was spoken as the men crept along, followed by the dogs, which were kept close together, and seemed to understand that they were not to bark. On reaching the ground, the hunters commenced stretching the nets, fastening them up to the lower branches of trees and shrubs, forming altogether a semi-circle, upwards of half a mile in length. A party was stationed at both ends of the nets thus arranged, armed with their spears and darts, to prevent any of the game escaping; the rest of the men, whom we accompanied, then extended themselves in another semi-circle on the concave side of the net, at the distance of a mile or more from it. Thus we advanced, the dogs barking, and the men shouting, while we held our guns ready to shoot, and the natives had their darts prepared for instant action. We might fall in with an elephant, or buffalo, or leopard, which would of course laugh at the nets, but the belief appeared to be that no such animals were likely to be found within the space we embraced. It was often difficult work making our way through the dense forest, and the natives had to hew paths for themselves with their hangers. Getting in sight of the nets, we saw, stopped by them, half a dozen gazelles, and antelopes of different species, two very large ones of the latter description, which I should have thought would have forced their way through the net had they made the attempt. We fired, and brought them down. Two gazelles were caught in the net, and others were knocked over by the natives. Altogether, the haul was considered a very good one. As soon as the animals were secured, the nets were collected, and the party moving off to another part of the forest, again spread them in the same way. Altogether, in the course of the day we killed thirty head of game of different species, when we returned in triumph to the capital of King Sanga Tanga, who came out to meet us, and was especially civil to us, his white guests, who had so greatly assisted in supplying him with this large amount of game. On coming back to our house we asked Aboh if he could explain why the king wished to obtain this large amount of game, as all the inhabitants together could not consume it.

Aboh looked very knowing. “Him daughter goin’ take husband,” he answered.

A feeling of dread came over me as he said this. What if the king intended to make me, nolens volens, marry his daughter. It seemed impossible. I expressed my fears to Charley.

“I wish that I could relieve your anxiety,” he answered. “But I tell you what, perhaps Tom would not mind so much. We may ask the king to take him instead of you.”

“But the young lady, she would object to that,” I said, in a tone which made Charley fancy that my vanity was wounded. He laughed heartily, and Harry joined him. “Perhaps you think Tom is too old for the young woman,” he added.

“Oh! no, no,” I answered, “he is heartily welcome to her for that matter.”

However, the next day the business was settled in a more satisfactory way than any of us expected, or supposed possible. It appeared that the prince, or the heir-apparent of a neighbouring kingdom considerably to the northward, had seen (I must not call her the “fair”) Iguma, and had fallen desperately in love with her. He had arrived during our previous absence with a large party of followers, bringing treasures of all sorts, elephants’ tasks, rolls of matting, and various other articles. The king having observed my unwillingness to become his son-in-law, and the young lady being piqued at my indifference, had accepted her black suitor. Indeed, the treasures he offered were far greater than any we possessed, which probably weighed chiefly with his majesty. We hitherto had not seen the happy bridegroom, Prince Kendo, who had been living since his arrival in a hut by himself. The ceremony was to take place that very day, when the various gifts, or the amount he was to pay for his bride, were to be openly presented in the square of the village. At the hour fixed on, the prince made his appearance at the door of the house, his head decked with coloured feathers, a panther robe over his shoulders, his hunting knife stuck in his belt, to which also was fastened a sort of kilt of coloured matting, ornamented with feathers, while his whole body was freshly oiled and painted. His attendants, who bore his goods, were habited in a somewhat similar manner. As soon as he appeared, the king came forth leading his daughter. I cannot say that she was over-encumbered by robes, but her arms and ankles were encircled by rings. Her head was decked with coloured beads, and a chain of beads and charms hung round her neck. Prince Kendo, ordering his attendants to place the goods he had brought in front of the king’s palace, advanced, carrying a big tusk, the last article of value which he had agreed to pay for his bride. On the king receiving it, the prince stretched out his hand and took that of the lady’s, when Sanga Tanga gave her his paternal blessing, and apparently a large amount of good advice, the only ceremony, as far as we could discover, performed on the occasion. She had now become the bride of the prince, and I must own that I breathed more freely when I saw him lead her away, and felt satisfied that the king would no longer insist on my becoming her husband. The ceremony, such as it was, being concluded, the people began to shriek and shout at the top of their voices, congratulating the prince on becoming the possessor of so lovely a bride. Tom-toms were heard beating in all directions, and horns sounding, and the whole capital was in an uproar. The feast then began, and the cooks, who had been busily employed all the morning in roasting, stewing, and boiling, produced the result of their labours in baskets and dishes, which were spread out in front of the king’s house, which was on this occasion to serve as a banquet hall. The guests quickly assembled, the bride and bridegroom taking, if not the head of the table, the post of honour, while King Sanga Tanga, the heir-apparent, and the old grandfather and other members of the family, placed themselves on either side. At first matters were conducted quietly enough, the guests eating to their heart’s content; but when the palm-wine began to circulate freely, they, like persons in more civilised communities under similar circumstances, became uproarious. The old grandfather tumbled not under the table, but at full length on the ground; King Sanga Tanga cried out that it was time to commence dancing, and he himself starting up, set the example, and the crowd forming a circle, he performed a series of eccentric evolutions, similar to those exhibited on a previous occasion by his brother monarch King Quagomolo; when at last, overcome by his exertions, he sank down on the ground close to the royal portion of the circle, the bride and bridegroom springing up went through a like performance. Their places were taken by a number of courtiers and the ladies, if I can so describe them of the royal household, but for obvious reasons I will not describe the style of their dancing. It was barbarism run mad, and our chief feeling was disgust that human beings should so degrade themselves.

“Abominable!” cried Charley. “It is wrong to sanction by our presence such doings, and if we retire to our house, and afterwards tell Sanga Tanga why we did so, it may perhaps open his eyes to the true character of what is going forward.”

“Well,” exclaimed Tom, “I’ve seen many a rum sight, but this beats even the worst I ever beheld in a seaport town in England, or elsewhere, and that’s saying a good deal.”

With these words Tom turned his back on the performers, and followed us to the house. So absorbed were the spectators in the dancing—if dancing it could be called—that they did not perceive our departure. We could hear the shrieks and shouts of laughter and applause, the drumming on tom-toms, and the sound of the horns until a late hour in the night. We had evidence of many barbarous customs of the natives, which I have not mentioned. I do not say that they are more savage, or rather fierce, than people of other parts of the world; indeed, in some respects they are less so, but their barbarism is the result of their ignorance and debased condition. They have no religion—properly so called—their only belief is in what we denote fetishism, which is a word taken from the Portuguese feticeira or witch. They have idols, but they can scarcely be said to worship these, and they believe that power resides in serpents and birds, as well as in inanimate objects, such as mountain peaks, in bones, and feathers, and they believe also that good and evil spirits exist, and that charms have a powerful influence, as likewise that dreams signify something, but in many of these respects they really do not differ materially from their white brethren of more civilised countries. The ignorant people of many European nations believe in charms. They bow down before statues, certainly more attractive in appearance than the African’s fetish god, but still things of stone. The people we met were certainly superstitious in the highest degree, but they nearly all differed in their ideas, as did even the people of the same tribe. As far as we could ascertain, they have no notion of the immortality of the soul, although they fancy that the spirit exists for a short time after it leaves the body. They dread such spirits more than they reverence them, and believe that they are rather inclined to do them harm than good. They therefore place offerings at their graves, for the sake of propitiating them, sometimes offering up a human sacrifice for the same purpose—some unfortunate slave who is of little value to them. In our village we saw a large idol in a house built expressly for the purpose. It was a hideous, ill-constructed monster, and it seemed scarcely possible, ignorant as the people were, that they could really worship such an object, but they did so if they wanted to gain benefit, either to obtain victory in war, or success in the chase. On such occasions we saw them presenting food, and then dancing and singing before it. Many of the people also had small family idols which they worshipped much in the same manner; but if they did not obtain what they wanted from the idol, they were very apt to send it away in disgrace. They have also a belief in the power of certain doctors or medicine men, who exorcise evil spirits, and concoct charms. In these charms they have more faith than anything else. They are generally done up in the skins of animals, and consist of bones, or feathers, or ashes, or the skins or bones of snakes. The manufacture of these charms brings a large revenue to the doctors, who constantly encourage their use, just as do the priests of certain white nations, who make their dupes pay for the trumpery leaden figures or images, which they persuade them to wear round their necks.

“On my word, I do not see much difference after all, between the belief of the ignorant Russians, or Spaniards, or Portuguese, or other European people, and these unhappy blacks,” exclaimed Harry one day when we were discussing the subject. The fearful curse of the country, however, is the belief in witchcraft. When a person is seized with illness, he always believes that some enemy has caused it, and is not satisfied until the witch or wizard is discovered, who is immediately compelled to swallow poison, or is barbarously put to death in some other way. I prefer thus giving a short account of the superstitions of the people, and the evil which results from them, to detailing the abominations and horrors, which on various occasions we witnessed during our wanderings through the country. That evening we came to the resolution of endeavouring to make our escape as soon as we possibly could. We believed that we could depend upon Aboh and his brother, and that they would influence several of their tribe who had been captured, but were allowed to go at liberty.

As we could not sleep, owing to the hideous noise going on in the village, so we sat up to a late hour, discussing our plans for the future.

Chapter Thirteen.

We are expected to go out hunting again—We complain to the king and demand our freedom—Remind him of our good services—His ingratitude—Neither bribery or threats affect him—Our condition becomes worse—Tom feigns illness—His howls arouse the village—He frightens the king—The king falls ill—We determine to escape with the other black prisoners—The medicine man the only weasel in the village—We are pursued—One of our men hit—We fire—Tom hit—We check the natives—We make for a defensive position—The enemy again come up with us—The morning is breaking—Two volleys disperse our pursuers—We rest—See a village—Sight a river—Our plans for descending it—Meet a hunting party—They seize us—Carried before the king—Our captor tells “one big lie”—We recover our guns—Sleep in a dirty hut—Eat the food in our knapsacks—The king surprised at our endurance—A welcome present from an unknown friend—Our confinement affects our health, and we prepare to fight for liberty—A startling recognition—Captain Roderick undertakes to obtain our release—An agreeable change of quarters—The general’s powerful fetish—Captain Roderick’s determination never to return to England—Patience in captivity.

The bride and bridegroom had taken their departure northwards. We tried to ascertain the exact position of their village in order that we might avoid it, rather than pay the young couple a visit. As soon as the game we had taken was exhausted, the king wanted us once more to start on a hunting expedition, but we had come to the resolution of going as seldom as possible, that we might avoid the expenditure of our ammunition. It was necessary to husband that, as we should certainly require it on our journey. Although we were apparently allowed our liberty, we were conscious that we were narrowly watched, and that, therefore, we should find great difficulty in making our escape by stealth. Tom Tubbs having completely recovered his strength, and we three being in good condition, we determined to go to the king and boldly request guides and an escort to the northward as far as his jurisdiction extended, at the same time, to demand the release of Aboh and Shimbo, who were willing to accompany us instead of returning to their own village.

Taking Aboh with us, when we knew the king was at home, we proceeded together to his palace. His majesty was seated under the veranda in front on a pile of matting, with a huge pipe in his mouth, attending to the affairs of state, for several of his counsellors were seated on either side of him. Harry, who had learned more of the language than either Charley or I, and looked considerably older than either of us, was deputed to be spokesman, having the aid of Aboh as an interpreter, should he come to a standstill for want of words on his part, or from not being able to comprehend the meaning of what the king said. He acquitted himself, as far as we could judge, wonderfully well. He pointed out that we had been made prisoners when travelling peaceably through the country, and been compelled to accompany his people, that we had since then enjoyed our liberty, and that we had made good use of it. In the first place, by saving his daughter from the wild man of the woods, then preserving his son from the charge of the buffalo, that we had killed enough game to support ourselves, and should have been ready to assist him in any other way in our power, but that we now desired to return to our own country. That we should be obliged to his majesty if he would furnish us with the means of proceeding on our journey. The king, who seemed to understand perfectly what was said—Aboh aiding with a few words here and there—gave a smile and replied—

“That he would consider the matter, that he esteemed us very much, that we were good hunters, and had brought peace and prosperity to the country, as no enemies would dare to attack his people while we remained with him. But, if you go away, what will become of me?” he asked.

“What shall I say to that?” asked Harry, turning round to Charley and me.

“Tell the king that he must manage as he did before we had the honour of making his acquaintance,” answered Charley; “that we are very glad to have been of service to him hitherto, still, that now our hearts are yearning for home, and that if he detains us against our will, our spirits will sink, and we shall no longer be able to help him.”

The king grinned horribly, and said something of which neither Harry nor any of us could make out the meaning.

“What did he say?” we inquired of Aboh.

“Him say, cut him head off,” answered Aboh; “me tinkee him mean it too.”

This was unpleasant information, but we thought it as well not to take notice of it, but it convinced us plainly that the king would not agree to our request. “Endeavour to bribe the king with promises of the things we will send him,” said Charley; “tell him we will pay him handsomely.”

“I’ll try,” replied Harry, and forthwith he began to pour out all the native words he could recollect. It is just possible that he put in two or three by mistake, which had a very contrary meaning, for the king looked sometimes surprised, then angry, then highly amused, but yet he would not give the permission we requested.

“Try again if he can’t be bribed,” said Charley. “Promise that we will send him all sorts of things from England, if he will tell us how they are to be transmitted.”

Harry did his best to carry out Charley’s wishes, Aboh interpreting the words of the king. He said that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, that if we got away we might forget the promise we had made, or that if we sent the things, they might be lost long before they could reach him.

“Now try him on the threatening tack,” said Charley; “tell him what a great man our king is, that ten of his soldiers would put to flight a whole army of his blacks, and that if he does not let us go, our king will send two or three hundred men, who will be landed from our ships, and march up the country to look for us.”

“They have not yet arrived,” said the king, with another of those sardonic grins in which he often indulged. “It will take them some time to get here, and when they do come, they will have to fight us if they come as enemies.”

“Tell the obstinate old fellow that they will come notwithstanding, and will blow him and his village up to the top of the mountains,” exclaimed Charley, who grew impatient at the king’s refusal.

Harry did not say this, however, for two reasons. In the first place, he thought it would be imprudent, and in the second, he could not find words to express himself. He said something equivalent to it, however, which had no apparent effect on the king’s mind. At last we were obliged to leave his majesty, determined notwithstanding, as Tom advised, to take French leave, and go on the first opportunity. Our condition after this became much worse than it had been before. We were compelled to go into the plantations, and to dig and hoe the ground. We at first refused, declaring that we were hunters and not cultivators of the soil. We expostulated again and again reminding the king how we had saved his daughter and son from death. He only answered “that his daughter did not now belong to him, and his son must answer for himself.”

This convinced us that the black king had not a spark of gratitude in his composition. We, however, addressed ourselves to Prince Ombay, who appeared more inclined to accede to our request than was his father, but he told us he dared not interfere with his authority.

Week after week went by, and we were kept in a state of vassalage. When we went out hunting, the king, suspecting that we might make our escape, always kept one of the party at home with our knapsacks. During the whole time, however, neither we, our knapsacks, or our guns were interfered with, the people evidently looking on them as fetishes, not daring to touch them. They also believed us to be something above the common, or we should not have been treated so civilly by them. At last we could bear it no longer.

“Come with me, we must fight our way out of this,” exclaimed Charley.

“That is more easily said than done. Although we might kill a few people we should be overwhelmed with numbers,” observed Tom.

“Let us try if we cannot deceive them by pretending to be reconciled to our lot,” said Harry; “or if one of us shams to be ill, they’ll think we cannot move under the circumstances; such a trick would be perfectly justifiable.”

“Of course it would,” said Tom, “and I’ll be the one to sham ill, you’ll see how I’ll howl and shriek, until the people will be glad to get rid of us for the sake of peace and quiet.”

The next evening Tom put his proposal into execution. No sooner had the villagers turned in than he began howling and shrieking in the most fearful manner.

“I think you are overdoing it,” observed Harry, “we shall not get any sleep either.”

“Never mind that for a few hours,” answered Tom, “I must howl on until they come and see what’s the matter.” He got some white earth with which he bedaubed his face, and which made it of an ashy paleness as he now lay covered up with mats on one side of the house.

The noise had been heard by the prince, who, with several other persons, came to know what was the matter. Tom made no answer, but howled and shrieked louder than ever, as if racked with pain.

Aboh, who had not, however, been let into the secret, informed the prince that the white man was very ill, and that he was afraid we should all catch the same complaint. This was an addition of his own that we had not thought of.

Just as he was speaking the king with a number of his wives came in to know what was the cause of the noise. When Aboh told him the same story he darted off with great speed, calling on his son and the rest of the people to beat a retreat from the infected place, and out they all rushed helter skelter, Tom hastening them by another series of shrieks and cries. After this we were left unmolested for the remainder of the night, although Tom once in each watch shrieked and shouted, as he said, “Just to keep the people from forgetting us.”

Though no one came into the house for several days after this, Aboh was allowed to go out and purchase provisions for us, which we were frequently able to do, with some of the beads and trinkets we possessed.

At length one day he came back, looking very much alarmed, saying that the king himself was taken ill, and having declared that some one had bewitched him, had sent for the witch-doctor to find out who it was, and if the rascally doctor fixed on one of us we should have to drink the Mboundow poison.

Of course we all declared that we would do no such thing, and laughed at Aboh.

“But, I tell you what, perhaps they’ll make you or your brother, or one of the rest of your people do so,” observed Charley, “the wisest thing you can do is for you all to come to us to-night and we will fight our way out of the village.”

Aboh agreed, fully believing what Charley said; indeed, there was every probability that he or some of his people would be fixed on by the witch-doctor, when they would to a certainty be put to death.

“I’ll make them suppose that I’m as bad as the king, or worse,” said Tom.

As soon as it was evening Tom repeated his howls and shrieks, with even more vehemence, if possible, than before. Just about midnight, when all the people were in bed, Aboh sallied forth. We anxiously waited his return. At last he came back with Shimbo, followed by a dozen of his tribe, who had managed to possess themselves not only of bows and arrows, but of spears and hangers, and were altogether very well armed. Not a moment was to be lost. We had strapped on our knapsacks, and shouldering our muskets we sallied forth as noiselessly as possible. Fortunately no dogs barked, nor, as far as we could tell, had any of the inhabitants heard us. Not a light was burning in any of the houses. The king and his witch-doctor were probably also asleep. Had an enemy attacked the village, the whole of the inhabitants might have been slaughtered before they had time to unite and offer the slightest resistance.

We began to congratulate ourselves that we should get a good distance from the village before our flight was discovered. Already we had reached the north end of the high street, and were about to emerge into the open country, when we heard a shout uttered by a single voice.

“Who speaks?” I asked of Aboh, who was near me.

“Him doctor,” said Aboh, “sleep one eye open.”

“Don’t answer him,” said Charley, “push on; if we get a good start, they are not likely to follow us in the dark.”

Fearing that our native allies might be ready to yield, we told them to go on, while Tom and I dropped to the rear to defend them should we be attacked. We now heard several other voices. In a short time the whole village was in an uproar, men shouting, dogs barking, women screaming, fancying, perhaps, that the place was attacked. We feared, of course, that the true state of the case would soon be discovered, and that we should be followed. Whether Ombay and his people would venture to molest us was the question. We marched on steadily, but we had not gone far when we knew, by the increasing noise, that some of the people were on our track. Charley advised us not to fire unless it should become absolutely necessary. The shouts and angry cries of the savages drew nearer and nearer. It was evident that they were rushing on pell mell, still, as long as no arrows were shot at us, we were resolved not to fire. Just then the moon, though waning, rose above the horizon, and showed us a mass of dark forms, waving their weapons, shouting and howling, not a hundred yards off. Tom and I turned round and presented our rifles, shouting loudly to them to keep back. The moonbeams gleaming on the barrels showed the blacks what we were about, and the mob halting we rejoined our companions; again we pushed on. The number of our pursuers increased, we had, however, made up our minds not to yield and not to return; as soon as they saw us again moving on, they began to scamper towards us, shouting as before.

“They beat me at that,” observed Tom, “but if they don’t look out, I’ll give them some cause to shriek.”

Soon after he had spoken an arrow flew near our ears, but fortunately did not strike any of the people ahead of us, another and another followed, at last one of the blacks was hit, as we knew by the cry of pain he uttered.

“If that’s your game, my lads, you shall have enough of it,” exclaimed Tom, turning round and firing a shot into the midst of the savages. Who was struck we could not tell, but they all immediately stopped, though they continued shouting as before. Tom reloading, we ran on.

“The next time we must both of us stop and fire,” he said.

For several minutes we began to hope that the savages had given up the pursuit, but as we could not long keep up the pace at which we were going, we began to slacken our speed. They again overtook us, and shooting a flight of arrows, Tom was hit in the leg, and another black man in the back.

“It’s your own fault,” cried Tom, facing about, when we both fired with evident effect, for we could see the savages rushing back instead of pursuing, well knowing that we had two more muskets amongst us. In consequence of having so frequently gone out on hunting excursions, we all knew the road well. In some places it was rather winding, and we were afraid that the blacks, by cutting off angles, might get on our flanks. However, that could not be helped, and we kept our eyes open to be ready for them at any moment they might appear. Fortunately, Tom’s was merely a flesh wound, and it did not occur to us that the arrow was poisoned. The wound bled pretty freely, but there was no time to stop and bind it up. Our pursuers seemed to think that they might have to pay too dearly for the attempt to recover us, and we were now allowed to go on without molestation, we could still hear them, however, shouting in our rear. This only served to make us increase our speed, until our poor slave companions, who well knew that they would in all probability be put to death if we were overtaken—though the people might be afraid to kill us—were on the point of sinking from fatigue. At last, finding that Tom appeared to be suffering from loss of blood, we shouted to Charley and Harry to halt. They were glad enough to do so, both of them coming to assist me in binding up Tom’s wound.

“I don’t think it’s anything, and it doesn’t hurt me much, if I can keep moving I don’t mind,” remarked Tom, as we finished the operation.

As we were all very tired with our run, which must have carried us six or seven miles, we were proposing to rest, when again we heard the cries in our rear. This made us jump to our feet and push on as before. We remembered a spot on some hilly ground, where the rocks cropped up in a curious fashion, and Charley had observed to me at the time that it was very like a fortress. It was still some miles off, but we determined to make for it as fast as we could go, and there take up our position. Listening attentively, we could occasionally catch the sound of our pursuers’ voices coming from a considerable distance, showing that we had got a good way ahead of them, while the light of the moon enabled us to see our way. It was very rugged, now up hills, now down into valleys, though generally through thick woods, when the darkness rendered our progress still more difficult. All the time we dreaded lest some of the more nimble of our enemies might, by cutting across the country, get on our flanks and attack us with their spears, or send a flight of arrows amongst us from behind the trees. There was a chance, too, of our meeting with elephants, which might obstruct the road, or a leopard might spring out upon us. We were all well aware of the dangers to be encountered, but no less resolved were we to face them boldly. Charley and Harry kept calling to me every now and then, to ascertain that we were keeping up with them. The way in which we marched encouraged our black companions, and prevented any of the more faint-hearted among them from deserting. Indeed, it would have been folly in them had they done so, for they would to a certainty have been discovered and slaughtered.

At length we reached the hill where we had determined to make a stand, for we were so knocked up by this time, that we could not have proceeded further without rest. It was exactly the sort of place we had expected to find, a collection of rocks forming almost a circle, somewhat resembling the remains of Druidical temples in England. The space where there was no rock was occupied by trees, which would serve as shelter should we be surrounded. We hurried in among the rocks. Our first care was to examine the opening, and the spot where each of us should stand, and then to place our black allies between us. This done, we looked about to try and discover any broken pieces of timber or loose rock, with which we might still further fortify our position. Neither Sanga Tanga nor Ombay were likely to be thirsting for our blood—whatever some of their people might do, whose friends we had killed—their object being rather to recover us and keep us in slavery, to answer their purpose of frightening their enemies, by the idea that having white men among them they were invincible. Should we, therefore, be able to make a bold stand, we hoped to sicken them of the attempt to recover us.

“Reserve your fire lads,” cried Charley, “don’t pull a trigger until you are certain of your man. If we can manage to knock over half a dozen or so, before they get close up to our fortification, the rest will probably run away and give up the pursuit.”

We were still engaged in stopping up gaps here and there, when we caught sight through the gloom, for day had not yet broken, of a dozen or more dark figures at the foot of the hill. They were apparently looking about to ascertain what had become of us. They seemed to suspect where we were, but were still uncertain. Some then went on ahead to see if we had gone in that direction, while the rest remained where we first discovered them. We might have shot four of the first party, as they were full in our view; but Charley told us in a whisper to refrain from firing, as they were not actually attacking us, and might, it was possible, be peaceably disposed. We could see them clearly enough in the open, although they could not perceive us, sheltered as we were, by the rocks and brushwood. The sky was now becoming brighter towards the east, and in a short time the sun would rise, and we should probably be seen. Just then the men who had gone on returned, and shouting to their companions told them that we were not ahead. Others were also coming up from the southward, we could count nearly fifty of them, while further reinforcements could be perceived in the distance. It was evident that they were resolved on an attack. Bending their bows, they sent a flight of arrows against the rock. We received it with a well-directed fire, which killed four of our opponents, whom we saw tumbling down the hill. This checked the advance, but others who had hitherto been in the rear, pushed on with loud shouts and cries, urging on the van to a renewed attack. We had quickly reloaded behind the rock, and waiting until another flight of arrows had been harmlessly showered on it, we jumped up, and again we all fired together with the same effect as before. Without stopping to see who was killed, our enemies rushed pell mell down the hill, tumbling over each other, while the more prudent ones, who had kept in the rear, also turned and took to flight.

“Give them another volley,” cried Charley; and having again reloaded, we fired into the retreating masses. It had the desired effect of expediting their flight. Away they went howling and shrieking, and we, our own blacks joining us, uttered a loud shout of triumph.

“They’ll not come back again,” said Charley, who had been watching them from the top of the rock. “I don’t believe Sanga Tanga or his precious son are with them, and although he may despatch them again when they get back to the village, it will be a hard matter for them to overtake us. We must have some breakfast and a couple of hours’ rest, and then make our way onwards, until we can find another secure place for a camp.”

We had brought some provisions I should have said, and not far off was a stream of water issuing from the hill. Having despatched our meal, three of us lay down, with all the blacks except Aboh, who undertook to keep watch with me for a portion of the time. I was then to call up Harry, who was to be succeeded by Charley. We agreed that Tom, who was suffering from his wound, should be allowed the full period to rest. Shimbo was to succeed his brother, for we did not wish to trust any of the other blacks. The moment my watch was over, and Harry had taken my place, I was fast asleep. No one came near us, and at the time agreed on we recommenced our march. Our chief anxiety now was about Tom’s wound. The poison, if poison there had been, we hoped had been scraped off by the arrow going through his clothes, while the blood which flowed from the wound yet further prevented any dangerous effects. We had gone on for some hours, when having got beyond king Sanga Tanga’s country, we came in sight of a village. We could not tell whether the inhabitants might prove friendly. Not to run any risk, we turned off to the right through a thick part of the forest, until we reached a small open space. Here we determined to wait until dark before passing the village. The provisions we had brought with us were nearly exhausted, but we had sufficient for another meal, and we hoped to be able to provide for the next day by our guns, when we should be at such a distance from human habitations that we might kill some game without the fear of the report of our firearms being heard.

The rest was very acceptable. It enabled Tom, especially, to regain some of the strength he had lost. As soon as we calculated that the people in the village would be asleep, we decided again to make our way onward. The moon gave us sufficient light to discover the path, and also guide us in the right direction. Next morning Charley fortunately killed a deer, which gave us an abundant supply of food for that day, while our native allies found a number of berries and other fruits. As they ate them readily, we gladly followed their example, for a meat diet, especially under the burning sun of Africa, is far from satisfactory. Thus for several days we went on, occasionally seeing natives, but keeping out of their sight, and avoiding the villages in which we were more likely to find enemies than friends. We were mounting a high hill, when Harry, who had just reached the top, cried out—

“Hurrah, there’s a river, I caught sight of the bright stream between the trees.”

We hurried forward, and could see here and there among the dark foliage the glitter of water in little patches, which extended a considerable distance to the westward. We had great hopes that this really was a river by which we might reach the sea. The scene was a beautiful one. Although the country was chiefly occupied by forests, there were open spaces visible, looking like green meadows, and to the right, downs which reminded us of our own dear England. While we were gazing at it a herd of graceful deer bounded across one of the nearest meadows. In another open space I could see a couple of elephants plucking the leaves with their huge trunks from the trees, and a small baby elephant frolicking near them. As far as we could ascertain, there were no human habitations, but they might be concealed by the forest, and the distance to the river, where villages were likely to be found, was considerable. Our great object now was to secure two or three canoes, in which we might make our way down the river to the sea. We were, we calculated, a couple of hundred miles at least from the mouth, and with the windings the stream probably took it might be half as much again, still, as we should have the current with us, the navigation might be easily performed. Our chief danger of interruption would arise from the inhabitants of any of the villages on the banks, who might take it into their heads to stop us. However, we hoped by running past these at night, we might avoid them without having to fight our way.

Ten days had passed since leaving Sanga Tanga’s village. Our shoes and clothing were, as may be supposed, in a slightly dilapidated condition, but we were all in good health, and Tom had recovered from his wound. On descending the hill, we made our way through the forest towards the nearest point where we saw water. We had still some beads and trinkets left, and we hoped, should we meet any natives to purchase canoes from them. If not we agreed to try and build them, as Aboh told us that he and his companions were well able to do so. We were in high spirits at the thought of so soon terminating our journey, forgetting that months might elapse after we reached the coast before a vessel made her appearance.

We were pushing eagerly on through the forest, with less caution than usual, when we came suddenly upon a large body of armed blacks, who were out evidently on a hunting expedition. Among them was a chief who, by his dress, we saw was a person of importance. It would have been useless to have attempted to escape them, so, telling our blacks to keep behind us, with the exception of Aboh, who came as interpreter, we all advanced towards the chief. Neither Quagomolo or Sanga Tanga were beauties, but this fellow was about the ugliest black we had yet come across, with a most savage expression of countenance. He was very tall and big, with a wonderful muscular development. He inquired who we were, where we had come from, and whither we were going. Harry, who always acted as spokesman, replied that “we had been shipwrecked, and were travelling through the country towards the mouth of the river, where we expected to find a ship to carry us back to England. We wished to be friends, and begged him to assist us with canoes, as we desired to prosecute our journey without delay.”

Whether or not he understood what Harry said was uncertain. He uttered a loud hoarse laugh, as if he thought that it was a very good joke. We waited some time for a further reply, but the savage did not deign to say anything. At last he exclaimed in a harsh voice, “You must come along with me.”

“We must have some guarantee that our liberty is not interfered with if we do that,” said Harry.

I do not remember the exact terms Harry used to express himself, but the savage only grinned.

“We must keep clear of this fellow,” said Charley; “fall back on our men, he intends mischief.”

Before, however, we had time to follow his advice, the savage, springing on him, wrenched his gun out of his hand, while the black fellows pressing round us prevented us from using our weapons. Aboh, Shimbo, and the other blacks, seeing that we were overcome, were about to take to flight, but they were immediately surrounded by a large body of enemies, our whole party thus being made prisoners. We were at once hurried unceremoniously along until we reached a large village not far from the bank of the river which we could see flowing tantalisingly by us. We had no time to exchange remarks with each other, or to speculate as to what was to be our fate. At first we fancied that the ugly black was the king of the place, but this we soon discovered was not the case, for, as we were dragged up the main street, we saw issuing from a house of more pretentions than its neighbours another black wearing a red regimental coat on his back with huge epaulets, and a round hat, battered and otherwise the worse for wear, on his head, the insignia of royalty, as we well knew.

Our captor made a speech and described to the king how he had taken us prisoners.

“Him tell big lie,” whispered Aboh, who stood near me. “Him say great fight, we run ’way, him kill us.”

“What’s the fellow’s name?” I asked, meaning that of our first captor.

“Him callee Mundungo.”

“And the King?”

“Him King Kickubaroo.”

His majesty seemed perfectly satisfied with his general’s statement. It tickled his vanity that his forces should have conquered four white men and an army of blacks, as was the description given of our attendants. In vain Harry tried to explain who we were, and how the affair had happened. The general, on hearing him speak, began vociferating so loudly as to drown his voice. All the efforts we made were fruitless. The louder Harry spoke, the louder Mundungo and his followers shouted. At last the king issued an order, and we were once more surrounded by guards and marched away to a house on the other side of the square, into which we were unceremoniously thrust.

“I wonder what these fellows are going to do with us,” said Tom. “I say, old fellow,” he exclaimed, “give me back that rifle,” and he made a spring at one of the men who had possession of his weapon, and snatched it out of his hands. “Tell them that they are fetishes, Mr Harry,” cried Tom, “they’ll not dare to keep them.”

Harry shouted out as advised, and we made a simultaneous dash at the men who had possession of our guns. So unexpected was our onslaught, that we were enabled to wrench them from their hands. Before they could regain them we had sprung back into the house. Though the guns were all loaded, they fortunately did not go off in the struggle. From the easy way in which they delivered them up it was very evident they were not acquainted with their use.

“Shall we attempt to fight our way out and reach the river?” exclaimed Charley; “perhaps we may find a canoe there. Before these fellows have recovered from their astonishment we may be able to get beyond their reach.”

“No, no!” cried Harry; “we should to a certainty lose our lives, though we might kill a few of them, and very probably, on reaching the river, we should find no canoe, when we should have to yield at discretion. Since we have recovered out weapons, it will be wiser to remain quiet, and watch for a favourable opportunity. Something or other may turn up, or when the people are off their guard, we can steal away as we did from Sanga Tanga’s village.”

Charley saw the soundness of Harry’s advice. We therefore, without making further demonstration, allowed the door to be closed on us. By this time the people outside were shouting and howling and rejoicing over the mighty victory they had gained.

“I am sure we acted for the best,” said Harry, when we found ourselves alone. “Probably the ugly fellow in the round hat will find out soon that there is no use in keeping us prisoners, and will let us go.”

“Can’t say I agree with you quite,” observed Tom. “I don’t trust these niggers. They may take it into their heads to cut off ours, or offer us up before one of their abominable fetish gods. The sooner we can get away the better.”

Aboh, who had been shut up with us, looked very much cast down, and he seemed fully to agree in the fears expressed by Tom. The hut consisted of a single room about twelve feet square, without windows, the light being let in through openings between the walls and the eaves. This served also the purpose of ventilation. There was no furniture, not even a mat, and the floor was anything but clean. As we were tired, we were anxious to lie down, but hesitated to stretch ourselves on the dirty earthen floor. On looking round the room, we, however, discovered two pieces of board, or rather what are called shingles, being portions of a log of wood split by a wedge. Using these as spades, we managed, with considerable trouble, to scrape a space clear of dirt, of sufficient size to enable us all to sit on the ground. We were going to place our backs against the wall, but Aboh warned us that some ill-disposed fellow might thrust his spear through it, and that it would be much safer to take up a position near the centre. Our knapsacks had not been taken away, as our captors possibly suspected that they were part of ourselves; fortunately within them we had stored the remainder of the deer and several birds we had shot the previous days, and which we had cooked for breakfast; we therefore had abundance of food. This was indeed providential, for no provisions were brought us; we had also enough water in our leathern bottles to quench our thirst. We waited until it was dark before we attacked our meal, that the natives might not discover that we had eaten, and would give us credit for a wonderful power of endurance. By economising the food we were able to save enough for breakfast the next morning. At last we lay down to sleep, keeping our rifles by our sides ready for use. We all resolved that should we be attacked to fight to the last. To avoid being surprised, one of us, as usual, kept awake as if we were in camp. Until a late hour we heard the people outside shouting and making a great noise, for a dance was being given in honour of the victory obtained over us.

We were left alone during the whole night, and as soon as it was daylight we sat up and ate the remainder of our food, waiting for anything that might occur. It was past noon when the door opened, and the king appeared.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, with a grin on his countenance, for he expected to find that we were starving.

“Not particularly,” answered Harry. “We should not object to a dish of plantains, or some goat’s milk, if you will be good enough to send them to us.”

“You are wonderful men, you don’t look as if you could easily be exhausted,” observed the king. “My general Mundungo must be a brave warrior to have overcome you.”

“He’s a big knave, at all events,” answered Harry. “But that’s not to the point at present, what we want now are some plantains and milk, or venison.”

I don’t mean to say that Harry used these exact words, but with the aid of Aboh he thus signified our wishes.

After some further conversation, the object for which the king had come being gained, he left us again to ourselves.

It was not until near evening that the door opened, and two damsels appeared with baskets on their heads. They placed them on the ground before us, when, much to our satisfaction, we discovered a quantity of plantains, some roast venison, and yams, and also a couple of large gourds, the one containing goat’s milk, the other water.

“We are much obliged to you for bringing these,” said Harry. “And who may I ask, sent them.”

“A friend,” answered one of the girls. “But we were forbidden to tell you who she is. Eat and be satisfied.” On this, the girls evidently acting as they had been directed, left the hut, and the door was immediately closed.

“I thought, when I saw the baskets, some young woman must have sent the food,” observed Tom. “They’re alike all the world over, to my mind, the same sort of heart beats inside a black skin as a white one. Things don’t look so bad after all.”

We had provisions enough to last us—if they would keep good—for several days. We agreed to husband them, not knowing when more might be brought us. To prevent any creatures getting into them, we hung them up to the rafters of the roof. Next day we were left entirely alone. We were, as may be supposed, getting impatient, and had good reason to dread what might next happen. Observing the light coming through under the roof, we concluded that we might get a look through the opening, to see what was going forward outside. Towards the back, and one of the sides, the walls of other houses prevented us obtaining any view, but on the other we found that we could look right down the street.

I must pass over several days, during which we were kept in confinement. Only once in three days was any food brought us, our benefactor, or benefactress, who sent it, probably not having opportunities for doing so oftener. We could gain no information from the slaves who brought the baskets, nor could we learn anything from the people who were, occasionally sent in to clean out our hut. We were now growing very anxious—moreover, our health was suffering. All sort of dreadful ideas occurred to us, and we fancied that the king was reserving us for some great festival, when he might, as Tom had suggested—sacrifice us to his fetish gods. At last we agreed that, to save ourselves from a worse fate, we would run the risk of breaking out, and fighting our way down to the river.

We had been imprisoned for nearly a month, and had settled one evening, that the very next night we would make the attempt. The following day we expected to receive our usual supply of provisions, which we intended to carry with us. Early next morning, as the first gleam of light stole into the room, I climbed up as usual to have a look out, and ascertain whether anything was occurring in the village, when, what was my surprise to see a white man with a gun on his shoulder, and holding by a chain in his left hand a bull dog. Another glance at the dog, and I recognised him as Growler, while the man bore a strong resemblance to Captain Roderick. He had then escaped with his life. I could scarcely suppose that, bad as he was, he would refuse to assist in setting us free. He was evidently at liberty himself, or he would not have walked along in the independent manner he was doing. Guessing that Growler would recognise me, I whistled. The dog immediately pricked up his ears, and began to look about him. Captain Roderick started.

“What is it, Growler,” I heard him ask.

I again whistled, and called to my companions. They started to their feet.

“Captain Roderick,” I shouted out, “will you assist some of your countrymen in getting away from these black fellows who have imprisoned them?”

“Who is that who calls me by my name?” asked the captain in a tone of astonishment, looking up to the place from which my voice proceeded, although he could not distinguish my features under the eaves of the house. Coming to the door, he without further ceremony withdrew the bars which secured it.

“Who are you?” he exclaimed, with a look of astonishment, as he saw us ready to rush out. “Don’t you remember us, Captain Roderick?” I asked. “I don’t wish to claim it as a merit, but we set you at liberty when your ship was wrecked, and enabled you to save your life.”

“I wish that I had lost it,” answered the captain with a gloomy look.

“Perhaps you may live to be thankful it was preserved. At all events, we acted desiring to do you a good service, and all we beg is, that if you have the power you will assist us in making our escape from this village, in which for some reason the king seems inclined to keep us prisoners. Why he does so I cannot ascertain.”

“I can solve the mystery then,” he answered; “I confess that I have been the cause of your detention. I have been living with the chief almost ever since I got on shore, having made my way up here immediately, and I am in high favour with him. Two rascals, former followers of mine, while I was out hunting came to the village—intending to remain here, I conclude—but finding by some chance that I had made it my headquarters, they bolted. As I had no wish to have them prying into my proceedings, I charged the king to keep them until my return, as I was on the point of starting up the country on a trading expedition.”

“That of course accounts for our being kept here,” exclaimed Charley.

From the description of the men given by Captain Roderick we had no doubt that they were the two pirates who had escaped when we were recaptured.

“Now, Captain Roderick,” said Charley, “if you will facilitate our return to the coast, we will report favourably of the service you have rendered us, and it may be of some use to you should you ever wish to go back to England and any accusation be brought against you.”

“As to that, sir, I have no intention of ever returning to my native land,” answered the captain in a gloomy tone, “but as I have no grudge against you, I will help you to make your escape, although the rascal who calls himself king here is an eccentric character, and it may not be so easy as you suppose. He gets drunk for six days in the week whenever palm-wine is to be procured, and the seventh amuses himself by cutting off the heads of his faithful subjects and playing other vagaries. Still I have taught him to respect me, and as I have been the means of supplying his treasury, I do not doubt but that he will be ready to do what I ask him in the hopes of retaining my services. I now intend, if he is not too drunk, to rouse him up and tell him to supply you with a better house, and ample food, and a supply of water that you may wash yourselves, for you look remarkably dirty.”

This I have no doubt we did. Charley thanked the captain in the name of us all. Captain Roderick then told us to remain in the prison while he went on to the king and obtained our release in a formal manner; it would be better, he said, than running the risk of offending the king, who would probably be displeased should we walk out without his permission.

We accordingly returned and sat ourselves down to wait the arrival of the pirate captain and the king’s officers. Strange to say, all this time Captain Roderick had not recognised Harry, nor had he me as the clerk who had overheard the accusation brought against him by Captain Magor. Perhaps had he done so his conduct might have been different. We were all getting very hungry, having eaten nothing since noon the previous day; we were also becoming more and more impatient, when we heard footsteps approaching, and Captain Roderick, accompanied by the king himself and several of his attendants, opened the door. The king made a speech, intending, as we supposed, to apologise to us. He then led the way to another house, far superior to the hut we had occupied. It was clean and airy, with a veranda in front and a garden full of fruit trees and vegetables behind. Shortly afterwards an ample supply of all sorts of provisions was brought to us, and what we valued in no less degree, some huge bowls of water. I shall not forget in a hurry the satisfaction of washing, though we each of us had only a pocket handkerchief with which to dry ourselves, and that none of the cleanest. After breakfast, we summoned the slaves who had brought us the water to procure a further supply, in which we washed our under garments, hanging them up afterwards to dry in the garden. This they did in a very few minutes, for the sun in that latitude does its work with marvellous rapidity.

In consequence of meeting with Captain Roderick we abandoned our idea of attempting to get off by stealth, thinking that it would be wiser to take our departure openly with the leave of the king. We had not been long in the house when Captain Roderick, accompanied as he always was by Growler, came to see us and advised that we should remain indoors. “I have a rival here in that ugly rascal Mundungo. He is jealous of the favour shown to me by the king, to whom I have recounted the true history of your capture, and I told his majesty that, instead of being taken after a tremendous fight, you were surprised and surrounded before you had time to defend yourselves. Mundungo has found that I have told the king the truth, and he is exceedingly indignant, although he is too much afraid of me to say anything. He will not, however, scruple to injure you if he has the opportunity.”

While he was speaking, Mundungo himself appeared, his countenance exhibiting the hatred which raged in his bosom.

“Beware what you are about,” he exclaimed. “You have attempted to malign me to the king. Remember I possess the most powerful fetish in the world.”

“A fig for your fetish!” exclaimed the captain, drawing his huge dagger. “I possess a more potent fetish than you do. Look at that, and then look at this animal. What do you think of him? In two minutes, if I were to tell him, he would tear you limb from limb, and your wretched fetish could not help you. Now go and talk to your silly countrymen about your fetish, but don’t come and attempt to impose such nonsense on me,” and the captain turned aside with a haughty air.

Mundungo was defeated. Muttering and growling he walked away along the street towards his own residence. The captain set up a loud laugh in which we could not help joining, while Growler uttered one of his terrific barks, which made the brave general take to his heels and scamper away as hard as he could go.

Captain Roderick again burst into a loud laugh. “I have settled the fellow for the present, but depend upon it, if he can he will do you and me harm, we must guard against that I have hitherto, since I came among these people, kept the upper hand, partly by my independent bearing, and partly owing to the fears they entertain of Growler; who, on several occasions, has given me timely warning when Mundungo and his supporters have attempted to murder me, which they have still a strong desire to do. Although I have obtained your liberty, I cannot answer for your safety. If they fail to shoot you with their arrows, or to spear you, they may try the effects of poison, and against that you must be specially on your guard. Fortunately, they are no great adepts in the art, but it will be safer to take only such food as it cannot be mixed with, such as eggs, birds, and plantains, and fruit, and joints of meat.”

We thanked Captain Roderick for his advice, which we promised to follow as long as we remained in the place.

“But,” continued Charley, “as you may suppose, we are very anxious to get away as soon as possible. We believe that if we could obtain a good-sized canoe, we could easily navigate her down the river.”

“You may depend upon it, gentlemen, that I will do what I can to persuade the king to allow you to go, and I have no wish to have any one interfering with my proceedings here, which you probably might be tempted to do were you to remain.”

“But we have no wish to interfere with you, Captain Roderick,” said Charley; “we are grateful for the service you have already rendered us, and should be very glad if you would accompany us down the river, for I am very sure you will soon get tired of living among these savages.”

“I shall never return to civilised life, at all events in my own land,” answered Captain Roderick gloomily. “Do not mention the subject to me again. I will help you more on my own account than on yours, for I would rather be alone with these black fellows than herding with white men. Let me advise you to remain in your house at present, until I have time to talk with the king, who is at present too drunk to understand me. I cannot promise that you will immediately obtain leave to go, or be furnished with a canoe for the purpose, but it will not be my fault if, in the meantime, you are not well treated.”

As we agreed that it would be wise to follow the pirate’s advice, we re-entered our house, intending to remain there until summoned by him to pay our respects to the king, when his majesty had recovered sufficiently to give us an audience. Behind the house was a garden of sufficient size to enable us to enjoy some fresh air under the trees without the risk of being molested by the natives.

Chapter Fourteen.

The king proposes to send us out on a hunting expedition—Captain Roderick recognises Harry and me in our true characters—The start for the chase—A pleasant surprise—We meet Prince Kendo who has command of the party—A successful day—Charley as a hunter—The return—Captain Roderick’s mysterious warning—His sorrow at his own wasted life—The loss of Growler—Illness of the queen—The witch-doctor sent for—We are again forced to go hunting—Strange arrival in camp of the two pirates—A dangerous man—Murder of Captain Roderick—Effect of his death on the blacks—The solitary grave—Continuation of the hunt—Encounter with a wild man of the woods—Return to the village with a quantity of game.

We had now been six months in Africa, and, wonderful to relate, none of us had been ill or even hurt, with the exception of Tom. We, however, often felt sad, not on our own account, but on that of the loved ones at home, who, we knew, would be suffering intense anxiety about us, even if they did not suppose that we had lost our lives. As Tom remarked, we knew very well where we were and what we hoped to be able to do, but those at home knew nothing, but that ship after ship arrived and no tidings of us reached them.

A thick, black wall, as it were, intervened between them and us, through which their loving eyes could not penetrate. How we longed for some bird of rapid wing to carry home a message for us.

Captain Roderick did not come near us for the remainder of the day. The following morning, however, he appeared, saying that the king would not hear of our going away, as he wanted to employ us for elephant hunting, under the belief that with our rifles we should obtain a far greater number of tusks than could his own people.

“You will be well-fed, and as the sport is highly exciting, I don’t think you have any cause to complain,” said the Captain.

“That may depend upon circumstances,” observed Charley. “When are we to set out?”

“To-morrow, or perhaps the next day; as soon as the hunters are ready. They only returned from an expedition a few days ago and require time to rest.”

While the Captain was speaking, I saw him eyeing Harry and me in a far more searching manner than he had done before. Suddenly he asked me my name. I told him without hesitation,—indeed, I supposed all along that he must have known it. He then turned to Harry, and I saw his countenance change as Harry replied, “My name is Bracewell.”

The Captain started as Harry spoke, and as he looked at him a frown gathered on his brow.

“I might have known you before, but your dress and sunburnt countenances deceived me. When I first saw you on board the ‘Arrow’—”

“Captain Roderick, let bygones be bygones!” exclaimed Charley, who had heard from me all that had happened in England between Captain Roderick and my friend—“Do not let us refer to the past. Here we are, five Englishmen together among savages. If we quarrel our destruction is certain. We can help you and you can help us.”

The captain’s features resumed their usual look, showing that he was somewhat moved by this address.

“I have no quarrel with any of you, and have already shown you my readiness to render you assistance. I have told you that I will exert my influence with the king to procure your release, and I intend to keep my promise.”

Captain Roderick did not long remain with us; he went away, as he said, to have a talk with the king.

“My idea is, that that fellow wants us to stop and hunt for him,” observed Charley. “Depend upon it he would take possession of the tusks of the elephants we killed. It may be wise in us, however, to do so for the sake of procuring our liberty.”

“He has got a hand over us at present, and as we cannot help ourselves, we had better make the best of a bad job,” observed Tom.

Accordingly, the next morning, when we saw a number of people collecting in the square, armed for the chase, we agreed that, if invited, we would accompany them without showing any objection. We had just taken our breakfast, when we saw a young man approaching, who by the ornaments he wore on his arms and ankles, the chain round his neck, and the circlet of feathers on his head, we knew to be a person of consequence.

“Why, I believe he’s no other than the young fellow who married Miss Iguma,” said Tom; “and if so, he ought to help us, for if it hadn’t been for you, Mr Westerton, the young lady would have lost her life.”

Prince Kendo at once knew us, indeed, I suspect he was well aware of our being in the village, but had kept out of the way, supposing that we were enemies of Captain Roderick’s, and not wishing to offend him. He now, however, came forward in a friendly manner, and invited us to accompany him on the hunting expedition of which he was to be the leader.

As agreed, we accepted it and joined his party of about fifty men. Soon after leaving the village a couple of hundred more, coming from various quarters, united with us, until we formed quite a little army. We marched along for a whole day, however, without seeing any elephants, although we came upon smaller game, of which, for the sake of the meat, we killed several. Charley was fortunate enough to knock over a buffalo, and Harry and I each killed a deer. Tom shot two hogs—curious-looking creatures, the most active of the pig species. Those which made their escape leapt over the trunks of trees several feet high, and a stream five or six yards broad. They were enormous creatures, having red bodies and white faces, on which were several lumps between the nose and the eyes, which latter were surrounded by long bristles, while their ears were exceedingly long, having at their tips tufts of coarse hair. We knocked over several monkeys, and a huge ape, just as it was about to strike a man who had approached and had had his spear snatched out of his hand.

Prince Kendo complimented us, and evidently looked upon us as great hunters. After encamping for the night, as was usual, we again set out, and just as we reached the edge of the forest, beyond which was a plain, we caught sight of a huge elephant standing by himself, while he kept flapping his ears and whisking round his tail. As we watched him the trees around him looked like mere shrubs, so vast was his size. Charley insisted on shooting him. Kendo, as he looked at the animal, whispered that he was afraid that he would make for the open plain should his own men attempt to kill him. On this Charley volunteered to shoot the huge creature. I felt very anxious about it, but he said that he was confident, unless his rifle failed him, that he should kill the beast. Having ascertained the way the wind was blowing, we made a slight round so as to get to leeward. We got behind some trees, while Charley, imitating the native way of approaching the enormous creatures, stooped down among the grass, and began to creep up slowly towards the elephant, keeping himself entirely concealed, while only occasionally could we get a glimpse of him to assure us that he was moving on. I regretted that I had not insisted on accompanying him, to fire in case he should miss, though he himself had no apprehensions on that score. For several minutes we could perceive no motion in the long grass. Not a word was spoken. No sound came from any part of the forest, except that we fancied we could hear the flapping of the elephant’s ears. For a few seconds even that ceased, and then there came a sharp report, ringing through the forest and across the plain. I dashed forward and saw the elephant raise its trunk in the air, and move on as if about to destroy its enemy, but the instant afterwards the trunk dropped, the huge animal staggered, and down it came with a crash on the shrubs and rotten wood beneath the trees. Charley started up scarcely three yards from where the creature fell. Numbers of monkeys and birds shrieking and screaming clambered chattering away amid the branches, or flew off across the plain at the report of Charley’s rifle, while the blacks came rushing forward, shouting and congratulating him and us on the success of his shot. Never had they seen an animal brought down so suddenly. This was the first elephant we had killed on the expedition. Charley killed two others from the ground, while Harry and I each shot one while we were perched on a tree, a far safer, if not so honourable a position. All the natives together had, in the meantime, only killed three, by piercing them with their spears, and they had lost two men crushed by the monsters’ feet. Altogether, Kendo acknowledged that it was the most successful hunting expedition he had ever engaged in, while our success raised us greatly in the estimation of the blacks, but also made them more anxious than ever to retain us. We were well aware of this, and came to the conclusion that if we were to get away, it must be by stealth, as we had escaped from the other savages. On approaching the village, we were met by some women howling and wailing, and on inquiring the reason, we were informed that queen Hugga Mugga, the favourite wife of the king, was desperately ill, and had been bewitched, and that the king had sent for a learned sorcerer to discover the guilty persons. On inquiring for Captain Roderick we found also that he, during our absence, had been away. We saw him, however, coming along the street. Charley and I went out to meet him, advising Harry to keep in the house. He appeared to be in a very different humour to that in which we had before seen him. He appeared greatly out of spirits. Seating himself in our veranda, without attempting to enter the house, he turned to Charley.

“You have been more successful even than I expected,” he said, “and I have to compliment you on your skilful hunting. You might remain out here and make your fortunes in a very short time, but I suspect that your lives would not be safe in this place. You have already excited the jealousy and hatred of Mundungo, and he is, I have discovered, a friend or relative of the fetish doctor who has been sent for, and will probably accuse you of causing, by your incantations, the illness of Kickubaroo’s wife. Come here,” and he approached a palm tree which grew on one side of the house, from which he cut a long branch. “If I ascertain that you are in danger, I will find means to send you a similar branch to this, in the basket with your provisions, in which case do not leave the house until nightfall, then, as soon as the people have gone to their houses, and are asleep, make your way directly to the bank of the river, where I will cause two canoes to be prepared with paddles and food in them. Embark at once, and make your way down the stream. You must not ask why I did not long ago follow the course I advise you to take.”

I was struck by the man’s melancholy countenance and the mournful tone in which he spoke, so different to his usual overbearing confident language.

Charley and I expressed our thanks, feeling more pity for him than we had ever done before. Keeping the palm branch in his hand, he resumed his seat in the veranda, then turning to me he said—

“If you ever reach home, tell my brother that you met me, and that I asked his forgiveness for my conduct towards him. I do not suppose that he will withhold it, when he knows that I intend never again to resume my former mode of life. I wish I could feel as certain that all my sins are forgiven.”

I pointed out to him the only way by which man’s sins can be forgiven. He turned his head from me, and said abruptly to Charley—

“You must be surprised at the change you perceive has come over me.”

“For some reasons I am glad of it,” answered Charley, “although I hope it is not because you feel yourself suffering from illness.”

“No,” answered Captain Roderick, “I am as well as ever, still I believe that my days are numbered. My enemies here have succeeded in destroying my faithful dog Growler. While you were away I missed him while out shooting, and after some time he crawled back to me with a poisoned arrow sticking in his ribs. I drew it out, hoping that the flow of blood would prevent the poison taking effect. In less than ten minutes he was seized with violent convulsions, between the paroxysms of which he endeavoured to lick my hand, and gasped out his last breath in the attempt. He was the only friend I ever had in the world in whom I could truly trust.”

After sitting some time, Captain Roderick took up his gun and hat, which he had placed by his side while enjoying the shade of the veranda, and proceeded towards the house he inhabited, close to that occupied by the king. Going in we told Harry what Captain Roderick had said.

“He exhibits very little true remorse and sorrow for his misdeeds,” said Harry; “like many men with fierce, ill-regulated minds, he is overcome with superstitious fears, and probably his present temper will not last very long. I only hope he will give us warning in due time, and enable us to make our escape, we shall then have good reason to thank him.”

We were now expecting the arrival of the witch-doctor, who, however, we discovered lived at a considerable distance, and might not make his appearance for two or three days. We scarcely supposed, however, that he would accuse us of bewitching the queen. We felt, indeed, rather a curiosity to see how he would proceed, than any fear of bad consequences to ourselves. Soon after Captain Roderick’s visit, Prince Kendo appeared, and invited us to accompany him that evening on another shooting expedition. Some elephants, he said, had been seen a short distance off up the river, and as there was plenty of the food they liked thereabouts they would not probably have gone away. As we were glad of something to do, we accepted the offer, and all four of us, with Aboh and Shimbo, set out with the party the prince had already collected, and who were waiting at the outskirts of the village. It was too dark, however, by the time we reached the part of the forest where the elephants had been seen to go in search of them. We therefore encamped, and lighted a fire to cook the provisions we had brought with us. Soon after we had begun supper, two figures appeared from amidst the brushwood surrounding the open spot we had selected for our camp. The gleam of the fire fell upon them. We saw by their dress and faces that they were white men. Their haggard countenances showed that they were suffering from hunger. Tom Tubbs, who had started to his feet, advanced a few paces towards them—

“Why, as I live,” he exclaimed, “I think I know you fellows.”

“Like enough you do, mate,” answered one of the men, “like enough you do, but before you have any palaver, just hand us out some of that grub, and a drink of water or anything stronger if you’ve got it, for we are well-nigh famished.”

“So you look,” said Tom; “sit down, the gentlemen here will be glad enough to share their provisions with you, so will this nigger prince, and after that we will hear what you have got to tell about yourselves.”

The men without uttering another word sat down close to the fire, and eagerly seizing the food we offered them, began munching away in a style which fully confirmed the account they had given of their famished state.

Looking at their countenances more narrowly, I at once recognised the two seamen, Caspar Caper and Herman Jansen, who had escaped during the massacre of the Frenchmen.

The two men exhibited a marked contrast, and it seemed surprising that they should have associated together. Caspar seemed a good-natured, honest fellow, and as soon as he had satisfied his hunger, he began to laugh and joke with Tom, and to describe the adventures they had gone through, while Jansen sat moody and silent, a frown on his brow, and his looks averted from us. Even when Tom spoke to him he answered only in monosyllables, or did not answer at all, holding out the gourd which had been given him for a further supply of palm-wine.

“I shouldn’t like to meet that fellow by myself were I unarmed in a dark place, he looks as if he would attempt to kill a man merely for the satisfaction of committing murder,” whispered Charley to me; “I wonder he has not before now shot his companion, and I suspect that only the desire of self-preservation has restrained him.”

I fully agreed with my brother, and we settled that we would not allow him to associate with us more than we could help. At present common humanity demanded that we should give him food, and such protection as we might be able to afford against the savages. After eating and drinking as much as he required, he got up and strolled away from the camp towards the lake, the shore of which was at no great distance.

We now spoke more freely about him. Harry suggested that hunger and privation had given him the expression we remarked in his features, and that he might notwithstanding be a useful addition to our party, and assist us, should we make our escape, in navigating our canoe down the river.

“What’s the matter with your friend?” I asked, turning to Caspar.

“He’s in one of his sulks,” was the answer; “he is often like that, and I have been in fear of my life over and over again, but I have kept an eye upon him, and generally managed to get hold of his long sheath knife, and to hide it until he got better again. Lately he has become worse, and I would have left him had I been able to do so. My idea is, that he’ll do some harm to himself, or he will try to kill some one else, and if he had a gun I should not think any one of us was safe sitting down here.”

“Should there be a chance of his injuring himself, it is our duty to try and prevent him,” observed Harry, “we must deprive him of his weapon, and watch him narrowly. Perhaps after he has been well-fed for a few days he may recover his temper. I think it would be as well now to go and watch him, and see that he doesn’t throw himself into the lake.”

I agreed with Harry, and both getting up accompanied by Caspar, we walked on in the direction Jansen had taken.

The moon which had just risen, afforded us light sufficient to make our way through the forest, which was here not so thick as in most places. We had gone some little way, when we reached an open spot or glade close to the lake.

“Stop here,” said Caspar, “I think I see him coming along, it is as well he should not discover us.”

We concealed ourselves behind some bushes. We could hear approaching footsteps, and thought that Jansen, having gone on some way, had turned back and intended to rejoin us at the camp. Just then I saw that the figure of the person approaching was not that of Herman Jansen, but of Captain Roderick. I concluded that he had followed us intending to treat with Prince Kendo for the ivory we had procured, or else that he had come to warn us of some danger to which we might be exposed, should we return to the village. I was on the point of stepping out of our place of concealment to go and meet him, when another person sprang up from behind a bank where he had been concealed, with a large knife in his hand, and before I could cry out to warn the captain, the other had plunged the weapon into his breast. With one piercing cry Captain Roderick fell back, while his assailant having driven the weapon home, left it sticking in the wound, and with a howl like a wild beast plunged into the forest, which immediately hid him from our sight. We all hurried forward, eager to give assistance to the wounded man; Caspar drew out the knife.

“Yes,” he said, “this was Jansen’s, he had vowed vengeance against the captain, and we had good reason to hate him, but this is a foul cowardly deed notwithstanding.”

Harry and I meantime lifted up the wounded man; his arms dropped downwards, not a groan, not a breath escaped him, his eyes were fixed and staring in death. The weapon had struck too deeply home for human power to save him. His spirit had fled. We notwithstanding sent Caspar back to obtain assistance, that we might carry the body to the camp.

In a short time Caspar returned with Charley and Tom and several blacks. A litter was formed, and we conveyed him to the camp. Though we had every reason to dislike the man who had been the cause of all the hardships and sufferings we were enduring, yet we felt no animosity towards him, and were horror-struck at his appalling death. Prince Kendo expressed his astonishment at the captain’s death. What he said was to the effect that he thought that no human power could injure him, “but I now see that white men can die like black men,” he observed with a peculiar expression which made us feel that it would be dangerous to offend the black Prince.

“But it was a white man that killed him, remember that,” said Tom, “the black fellows, from what I hear, tried it very often but could not succeed.”

“Yes, that was the case, but he had a friendly spirit always by to protect him, but that got killed at last, and so you see his power departed from him.”

The prince alluded to Growler, whose death we thus discovered was well known, although Captain Roderick had endeavoured to conceal the fact.

“The sooner we bury the poor fellow the better,” observed Charley. “While he is in their sight the blacks will be thinking about him, and being reminded how easily a white man is killed, they may take it into their heads to try and put us out of the way, and possess themselves of our guns and the contents of our knapsacks.”

We accordingly asked Kendo to allow some of his people to assist us in digging a grave. Though they at first showed some indications of fear, yet on Tom suggesting that the spirit of the dead man would haunt them if they did not, they eagerly set about the work, and saved us any trouble whatever. At first they made only a shallow hole, but Tom told them that that would never do, that it was necessary to bury a white man very far down in the earth, as they had such potent spirits that they would otherwise quickly force their way up again. On this they eagerly recommenced their labours, and managed to dig a grave six feet deep. We were going to put the body into it, when Tom advised that we should examine his pockets, and take possession of any documents or valuables he might have about him. We found nothing, however, except some ammunition, a knife, and a tinder-box. Not a line or document of any sort to prove his identity. Had we not witnessed his death, or discovered his body, no one would have known how he met with his untimely end. Like many another evil-doer, he would have disappeared from the face of the earth and left no trace behind him.

At a late hour we lay down to rest. By Harry’s advice, however, one of us kept awake lest the blacks should attempt to play us any trick, or, as was very likely, lest they should all go to sleep, and a leopard steal into the camp and carry some one of us off, or a troop of elephants come rushing along and trample us under foot. Next morning, although we were very unwilling to continue the hunt, judging it safer to get back to the village and attempt to make our escape without delay, Prince Kendo insisted that we should remain, promising that we should have a share of the tusks of any elephants we might kill.

We thought it wise to make a virtue of necessity, but determined, should we find a canoe on the banks of the river, to appropriate it, and without taking leave to make our way down the stream.

We had not gone far when our ears were saluted by a terrific roar which seemed to come from the depths of the forest. My companions looked at each other, wondering what animal could produce the sound. Roar succeeded roar, and I guessed it must come from one of the big man apes which I had before encountered. Charley and Harry, upon my telling them, were both eager to see the creature, and keeping our guns in readiness we approached the spot whence the fearful sounds proceeded. The roars were accompanied by a loud drumming noise, followed by a fierce bark-like yelp, which, as Harry observed, sounded like the horrible ravings of a madman. Kendo and several of the other blacks accompanied us, but kept well in our rear, ready to take to flight should we fail to kill the beast. “There he is,” exclaimed Charley, “let one fire at a time. Dick, you fire first, if you miss I’ll have a shot at him, and if I miss, Tom, you must take the next shot, and you, Harry, must be in reserve. Remember that our lives will depend upon the steadiness of your aim.”

These arrangements had just been made when the boughs were put aside by a pair of long arms, and the next instant a huge hairy creature, with a hideous countenance, appeared in sight, advancing slowly into the open; I could distinguish its fierce eyes glowing at us, the face black and wrinkled, and distorted with rage, as it came forward balancing its monstrous body with its long arms, while at every few seconds it stopped and beat its breast, at the same time throwing back its head to give utterance to one of its tremendous roars. We might have been excused had we really taken it for a forest demon, for nothing which the imagination of man has pictured could be more calculated to inspire its beholders with awe.

The natives ceased their chattering and drew back. The creature still advanced, but every now and then stopped to sit down and roar. One circumstance, however, showed that its power was limited. Its legs were short and slight, and unable firmly to sustain its huge body, they tottered beneath its weight. While it hobbled forward it had a somewhat ridiculous appearance, which made Tom burst into a loud laugh. This seemed to increase the creature’s rage; unable to spring forward, it sat down and began to roar and beat its breast. Once more it rose with the aid of its long arms, and advanced. I waited until it was about ten yards off, when I fired, half expecting, however, to see the animal when the smoke cleared off still coming towards us. I was prepared to spring back to let Charley fire, when throwing up its arms down it came with a crash to the ground. The blacks set up a shout of triumph.

“Take care, sirs, a bite from those big teeth would not be pleasant,” exclaimed Tom, as he saw Harry and me rushing forward.

The creature, however, made no movement, and the blacks coming up, turned it over without ceremony and thrust the end of their spears into its eyes to show that it was dead. They then began singing and dancing around it in triumph, as they would round the body of a dead human enemy, indeed, even now I could scarcely persuade myself that the creature had not something human in it. It was not until very many years afterwards that I ascertained that this man ape, as I have called it, was what is now known as the gorilla. When I afterwards described it in England, no one would believe that it was of the size I have mentioned, and I got credit for indulging in travellers’ tales.

The natives at once skinned the beast and then cut the body into pieces, which they afterwards cooked and ate with great gusto. None of us, however, could persuade ourselves to touch it.

We later in the day killed three elephants, much in the way I have before described, and early next morning our party, carrying the skin of the ape and the elephants’ tusks, with large quantities of meat, returned to the village.

Chapter Fifteen.

Our audience with the king—The fall of a commander-in-chief—Unsatisfactory termination of our interview—In despair we wander along the river bank—Plans for escape—Making paddles—Kendo’s wife Iguma undertakes to assist us—Arrival of the fetish doctor—He has recourse to the “black art of magic,” and denounces Shimbo, Iguma, and others, as the cause of the queen’s death—Cruel sacrifice of Shimbo—Flight of Iguma and her husband, with whom we effect our escape—On the lake—Charley and I miss our companions in the darkness—On daylight returning we find ourselves near the shore—We are surprised by natives and attacked—Repulse of the enemy—Bravery of Iguma.

In the course of the morning we reached our house, which we had left in charge of Shimbo. We had the satisfaction of finding that none of our knapsacks had been touched. We invited Caspar to join us, which he, poor fellow, was very glad to do. Nothing had been seen of Jansen; we supposed that he had either thrown himself into the river, or been seized by a wild beast. We were surprised to find that the witch-doctor had not yet arrived, and therefore hoped that something had detained him, and that by his not coming the people whom he would accuse of witchcraft, should he appear, might escape death. We thought that the king might possibly not have heard of the death of Captain Roderick, and after duly discussing the subject, we came to the conclusion that it would be wise while the king was still impressed with the belief of his almost superhuman powers, to request leave to proceed on our journey.

As it was still early in the day, we hoped to find his majesty tolerably sober, and capable of listening to reason. We accordingly issued forth from our house with our knapsacks on our shoulders, and our guns in our hands, Harry and Aboh ready to act as spokesmen, Charley and I coming next, and Tom and Caspar with Shimbo bringing up the rear. We found the king seated in a sort of broad veranda in front of his house, which served him as an audience chamber. On one side was his fetish or idol house. At the further end was a huge hideous figure painted in various colours; with big goggle eyes, and clothed in robes of matting, and adorned with feathers of various hues. Numerous other idols were placed against the walls, most of them bearing but the very faintest resemblance to human figures—big round eyes, and marks for noses, and grinning mouths, with teeth set in them, showing for what they were intended. The king, with his round hat on his head, and his red uniform coat covering his royal body, was seated on a pile of mats with a bottle by his side, while one or two empty ones lay outside on the floor, showing how he had already been spending his morning. Several of his counsellors and other chief men sat at a little distance on either side of him, discussing, apparently, affairs of state.

We waited until there seemed to be a pause, when we advanced in a bold manner, and Harry began an address, thanking the king for the hospitality he had shown us, and the opportunities we had enjoyed of seeing some sport, and adding “that now, having done all the service we could, we were desirous of going down the river, as we were anxious to get on board one of the ships of our country, which we expected to find at the mouth of the stream.”

The king rolled his eyes round as Harry spoke, apparently not understanding a word; he then turned to his courtiers, desiring them to explain what the white man said.

This was more than even the most learned of his attendants could do, for, although they were more sober than their master, they also had had a pull at the bottles. Fortunately the king did not appeal to us, but again and again asked them what we had said. At length starting up he called them all by the most opprobrious names, insisting that they should interpret, then seizing a cane, which he probably thought was a sword, he ordered them to go about their business, bestowing a kick on the rear of first one, and then on another, sending them all flying away from him, the commander-in-chief, who maintained his post to the last, receiving a blow from the monarch’s foot as he endeavoured to leap down the steps, which sent him flying away some fifty yards, when down he sprawled with his nose in the dust, kicking up his heels in the air. The king having accomplished this feat, no longer able to stand, rolled back in his seat, where he continued kicking out with his legs, shaking his hands, and blubbering away, exclaiming, “that he could get no wisdom out of his counsellors, who were a useless, lazy set.” He then looking up, inquired in husky tones, “What we wanted?”

Harry once more endeavoured to explain our object in coming, but all his efforts were vain to make the king comprehend a word he said. Aboh then tried, with the same want of success. The king, who in the meantime had taken a pull at another bottle, evidently felt no inclination to rise, and comforted himself by showering abuse on Aboh’s head and ours, bestowing upon him all sorts of opprobrious epithets.

At last, as it was very evident that we could get nothing out of the monarch, we beat a retreat in as dignified a manner as possible, and retired to our house, more resolved than ever to take French leave before many days were over, should we have the opportunity.

The king’s attendants wisely kept out of his way when he was in his drunken fits, and shut themselves up in their houses, or left the village, lest he might take a fancy to cut off any of their heads. We, finding the road open to the river, determined to make an excursion along the banks in the hope of discovering some canoes fit for our purpose. Keeping our guns ready for action, we sauntered along near the river, though we pretended to take that road merely for the sake of the fresh breeze which blew off the water. We spied four or five canoes; in none of them, however, could we see paddles, and without some such means of propulsion they would be useless. How to procure the paddles was the difficulty. They were probably in the houses of the owners, and it was a question whether these owners would part with the paddles, and whether it would be safe to enter into a bargain with them, lest they should betray us to the king.

“To my mind, the best thing we can do, sir, is to make some paddles for ourselves,” observed Tom Tubbs.

“Of course,” answered Charley; “we can work away as soon as it is dark, and have them ready by to-morrow night. Longer than that we must not stay in this horrible place, we shall have wood enough for our purpose in the building, by pulling down part of the rear of our house, where it won’t be missed, or from the trees in our garden, or part of the fencing. We should have a paddle for each person, as we shall require two or three canoes to convey all our party.”

This matter settled, we were about to return, when we saw a female at the door of one of the largest houses near the water, at the end of the village which we had just reached. She appeared to be beckoning to us; we went forward, and great was our surprise to find that she was no other than Iguma, the young lady I had saved from the ape, and whose marriage with Prince Kendo I had afterwards witnessed. Feeling sure that gratitude would animate a female bosom, I asked Harry to tell her the difficulty in which we were placed, and, throwing ourselves on her generosity, entreat her to assist us in escaping. She seemed much pleased at seeing us, and at once recognised me, and said she had not forgotten the service I had done her. We then informed her how we were situated. She at once said she would do all she could to help us, but that her power, she was afraid, was very limited. She complained that her husband was constantly away on shooting expeditions, and that she held his drunken uncle, King Kickubaroo, in great awe, and that he evidently had no affection for her. She told us that we need have no fear about canoes, as her husband had three or four which were hauled up on the bank inside a yard, close to which we then were, and that by climbing over the fence we should find them at any time ready for use. As to paddles, she acknowledged that they were generally kept shut up in the house, to prevent the canoes being taken away, but that she would try and place them on board the following evening as soon it was dark. Thus all was quickly arranged for our attempt to escape.

As soon as we got back to our house we looked about for wood suitable to form paddles, not wishing to trust entirely to those with which Iguma might supply us. We had no difficulty in finding an ample supply of material for our purpose, although we thought it prudent not to begin working it up until darkness should prevent the risk of what we were about being discovered. We were thus employed when we heard a tremendous noise proceeding from the house in which the king’s wife lay sick. On looking out we saw it surrounded by people, who were singing, and shouting, and shrieking, and dancing, with all their might; some beating tom-toms and drums; others blowing horns and shaking rattles, all uniting in a hideous chorus. The object of this, Aboh told us, was to drive out the evil spirit which was making the queen ill.

“It was a signal,” he said, “that the fetish doctor, who had been so long coming, was about to arrive, and that his canoe was probably seen descending the river.”

As we thought it prudent to keep out of the way of the people, we remained in the house, although we would very gladly have got to a distance to escape from the uproar. We had cooked our dinner and were eating it, when Aboh, who had been to the door, came back and told us that the doctor had arrived, and was beginning his incantations. As we were curious to see what he was about, we went a short distance from the house, where, remaining concealed behind a fence, we could observe what was going forward without ourselves being seen. The doctor had dressed himself up to look as hideous as possible. On his head he wore a huge and lofty plume of black feathers drooping down on all sides; his face was painted white, with red stripes over his eyes, and others in different parts of his face. A case was suspended by a piece of rope round his neck, which was also adorned by a necklace of human bones, while a girdle of a similar description was fastened round his waist, to which was suspended a sort of apron. He had taken his seat on a stool, round which were hides and the horns of several animals, a leopard’s skin, and more cases containing charms. In one hand he held a rattle, and in the other a wand. Near him stood two attendants, one beating a small drum, and the other a couple of sticks. For sometime he continued uttering all sorts of gibberish, which I do not think was intelligible to any even of his hearers, while his attendants played on their instruments—if playing it could be called. He then took up a horn, from which he shook a quantity of black powder in the air, and regarded it gravely as it fell. It was sad to think that human beings could be deceived by so gross an imposture, but yet it was very evident that all the people present watched the proceedings with the utmost awe and respect. After a dead silence the people again shouted out, though what they said it was impossible to understand, but I shall never forget the alarmed looks Aboh and Shimbo exchanged. At length the shouting ceased, when the doctor began to shriek, making his voice sound like the croaking of a whole flock of birds of prey about to descend on a dead carcase. Then he stopped, and slowly pronounced several names.

If ever black man turned white, Aboh and Shimbo did on that occasion. Poor fellows, they understood the meaning of what was said better than we did. Again the people shouted and shrieked in the most savage manner, indeed, no words can describe the hideous noise they made.

“Go back to the house, go back,” cried Aboh.

We followed his advice, but ere we could reach our dwelling the crowd had rushed towards us. Unfortunately we had come out without our arms. The infuriated blacks did not attempt to touch us, but before we could prevent it, they had seized Shimbo and dragged him off, although we succeeded, by knocking down with our fists those who came near us, in hauling Aboh into the house. We at once shut the door, seized our rifles, and stood prepared for a desperate resistance. Contrary to our expectations, the mob, having got possession of one of our followers, retreated with him up the street. Scarcely had they gone than we heard a knocking at the door, and finding that there was only one person present we opened it, and Prince Kendo entered.

“Ah, white men, save my wife,” he exclaimed, “the doctor has accused her of bewitching the queen, and should her majesty die, nothing will save my poor Iguma, her head will to a certainty be cut off.”

We all at once exclaimed that we would endeavour to save her, if he could point out the best way we could do so.

“Shall we go to the king and ask her life?”

Aboh shook his head, and declared that it would be utterly useless. “The king was bound to kill her with his own hand if the doctor accused her of causing the queen’s death.”

“The queen is not dead yet,” said Harry.

“No, but she may die to-night, for she is much worse than she has been before, and frightened out of her wits by the noise the people make.”

“Then what do you propose we should do?” said Harry.

“Carry her away. You intend going yourselves, I will go too, I should like to see your country and the wonderful things it contains, and I had made up my mind to propose going, even if this had not happened. I should like to take my wife with me, for whatever you may think, I love her dearly.”

On hearing this, we resolved at once to put our long projected plan into execution. Kendo’s assistance would be of great value, as he had canoes at hand, and could aid us in getting away. We advised Kendo to go back and hide his wife, should he not have the means of protecting her, lest the people might come and seize her at once, and we promised to be at the house or at any spot he might appoint as soon as possible after dark.

He stopped for a moment to consider.

“Come to my house,” he answered, “the canoes will be ready, and so will Iguma; but be prepared to fight, for if the people come and find out that we are going to carry her off, they will try to prevent it. Better fight than lose Iguma.”

We of course promised, unless prevented by any unforeseen occurrence, that we would do as he proposed, feeling confident that we could trust to his honesty, and that he had a real desire to save his wife from the horrible fate which threatened her. We had not in the meantime forgotten poor Shimbo. Aboh constantly cried out—

“Oh! my brodder, my brodder.”

“I say, it would be a great shame to allow these murderous scoundrels to put the poor fellow to death,” exclaimed Charley. “If the old woman dies they’ll make short work of him; I propose that we set off and claim him as our servant, threatening them with the vengeance of England should a shock of his woolly pate be injured.”

Aboh, who understood what was said, cried out, “Tankee, massa, tankee, no let my brodder die.”

We scarcely needed this appeal from the faithful Aboh to run every risk for the sake of rescuing his brother.

“Never fear, we will do what we can to save him,” said Charley, “but do you remain in the house, lest that abominable juggler takes it into his wicked head to accuse you as well as your brother.”

Aboh was very thankful to follow this advice, indeed, he was scarcely fit to accompany us, so overcome was he by the fears of death for himself and his brother, increased by the superstitious dread he had of the doctor. Shouldering our arms, with our knapsacks on our backs, we left the house, closing the door behind us, and marched boldly towards the fetish house, a sort of temple situated near the residence of the king. The number of people collected round it showed that something was going forward. At the further end of the structure—a sort of temple composed of rough timber with a thatched roof—was a hideous idol standing in a shrine raised on an altar, for such it resembled, possibly imitated from the Portuguese who once held sway in the land, and established for a short period what they called Christianity, although it was in reality an idolatrous system, scarcely superior in the effect it produced on the moral and religious sentiments of the people to that which it displaced. This Christianity, however, such as it was, had long ago been overthrown, and only such slight traces as I now observed remained. I may here remark, that wherever the Spaniards and Portuguese have established their religion, the people have invariably sunk back again into the barbarism and gross idolatry of their original state, indeed, it might be safe to say that they were never really raised out of idolatry. On getting nearer we saw that the king was standing in front of the temple, with a drawn scimitar of enormous size in his hand. We were hurrying forward, when the starling cry arose. “The queen is dead, the queen is dead!”

The multitude immediately uttered the most piercing shrieks and lamentations. Directly afterwards we caught sight of the hideous doctor, or priest, urging on a party who were dragging forward a person between them. We did not at first see the features of the latter, and it was not until he had been hauled up on the platform, where the king was standing, that we discovered him to be our friend Shimbo. His hands were tied behind his back, so that he was unable to make any movement with them. He cast an imploring look around him, for he knew but too well why he was brought there.

Harry on seeing him shouted out to the king: “Let that man go, he is our servant.”

But the king, taking no notice of what was said, flourished his long sword. The multitude shouted and howled, the weapon flashed in the sunlight, and the next instant Shimbo fell, and his head rolled along the floor of the temple. The maddened cries of the superstitious mob on this grew louder, and many of the elders and chiefs of the people, rushing forward, bowed themselves before the king.

We were horror-struck at what we had seen, and we had also reason to fear, from the savage looks that the people cast at us, that we ourselves were in no slight danger. The juggler might at any moment accuse us of sorcery, and, in the excited state of mind in which the people surrounding us then were, they might set upon us, and in spite of the resistance we might make, tear us limb from limb. Fortunately for us, the names of three other persons were shouted out as having taken part in the enchantment which had destroyed the queen. As the mob were occupied with them, we beat a retreat in a dignified war to our house.

Without telling Aboh what had happened, we placed him in our midst, and avoiding the excited multitude, made our way down to the river. If we were to save Iguma, we must carry her off at once without waiting for the night, for the instant the priest had pronounced her name, the crowd, in overwhelming numbers, would rush to her house to seize her, and even Kendo himself would be utterly unable to afford her protection. All this time we knew by the hideous din that the cruel executions were going forward. As long as the people were thus engaged we might be unmolested, but should a new victim be required, they would at once come rushing towards the house of the prince. We dreaded every instant to hear their voices approaching. We had already reached the bank of the river, but could find no canoes fit for our purpose. The prince’s house was, I should have said, some way along the bank. We hurried towards it. As we got near Kendo himself sprang out to meet us.

“My wife is in the canoe,” he exclaimed, “quick, quick!”

There was good reason for our hastening, for after a few minutes’ cessation of the uproar, the din from the vast multitude again burst forth. Kendo was certain that they were coming towards us. Not a moment was to be lost. Several canoes were on the bank, one was already in the water smaller than the others. Kendo pointed it out to Charley and me, and entreated us to jump in, observing as he did so: “Wife dare.” We thought that he was about to follow, but instead of doing so, he gave the canoe a shove off with all his might into the middle of the stream, and then assisted Harry and the rest to launch another.

As soon as we found ourselves adrift, we each took a paddle and made down with the current. If we were to save Iguma’s life, we had no time to spare. Already we could see a mass of black forms coming rushing frantically towards the river flourishing their weapons, while the air was filled with the cries they uttered. Two other canoes contained the remainder of our party, Kendo being accompanied by a single faithful attendant who had acted as his henchman and companion on all our hunting expeditions. Just as they were on the point of shoving off, a white man appeared on the bank, and without apparently even asking permission, leapt into one of the canoes. Instantly she shoved off and came paddling after us. Kendo shouted to us to go on and not stop for anything; a piece of advice we saw the wisdom of following.

As Iguma was the chief object of the savages pursuit, it was of the greatest importance to get her beyond their reach. She lay all this time, I should have said, at the bottom of the boat, covered up with a piece of matting, but she uttered no expressions of terror now that she thought she was safe. Had we delayed another minute, not only would Iguma have been captured, but we should ourselves very likely have lost our lives. Scarcely had the other canoe got away from the shore, than a vast multitude of infuriated natives, uttering the most fearful yells, appeared on the banks. We naturally expected to be immediately followed, but, as we looked astern, we saw no canoes being launched. We were not aware at the time that Kendo had thoughtfully concealed all the paddles, or had so injured the canoes that they were unfit to put off. “Paddle on, paddle on,” he kept shouting to us, and we were, as may be imagined, well disposed to follow his advice. We wished, however, that he had come with us, both to act as pilot and to assist in the defence of his wife, for he was a brave fellow, and would certainly have fought to the last. Though it was still daylight, evening was approaching. We hoped during the darkness to get far beyond the pursuit of the savages, who would, we felt sure, endeavour to obtain possession of Iguma, and to wreak their vengeance on our heads for attempting to carry her off. Had the course of the river been straight, there would have been no doubt about our ultimate escape, but it made numerous bends, sometimes running to the north, then to the south, then again to the west, so that it would be a long time before we could get out of the territory owned by King Kickubaroo. Now and then also the river was very broad, extending almost into a lake. This under some, circumstances might be to our advantage, but during the night we ran the risk of losing our way, for though Charley still had in his possession the pocket compass, it was so dark that we could not see it, and we did not venture to strike a light. Charley and I, however, paddled along with all our might, hoping that even should our savage pursuers again catch sight of us, they would be still unable to procure canoes in which to follow us.

The night was unusually dark, and by Charley’s advice we all kept silence, that our voices might not betray our position, should there be any of the enemy near us. Although our canoe was somewhat smaller than the others, yet as they were more heavily laden, we managed to keep ahead. We must have paddled on for a couple of hours or so, when we found ourselves on a broad lake. A thick mist obscured the sky, so that not a star was twinkling overhead to guide us, and we were only able to steer by ascertaining in which direction the current was running. The darkness was so great that we could not even see the other canoes, and we were afraid, for the reason I have before mentioned, of shouting to attract their notice. We thought that unless we paddled on we should be overtaken by daylight. At length, however, my strength began to fail, my arms ached, though by this time I was pretty well used to bodily exertion. Charley continued working away without uttering a word, and sometimes I wished that he would speak, for the silence oppressed me; Iguma lay perfectly still in the bottom of the canoe; it was evident she fully comprehended the danger we were in.

On we went, hour after hour passed by. Daylight broke sooner than I had expected, and yet it seemed that we had been in the canoe a long time. A mist hung over the water shrouding all objects, so that we were unable to see the land, or discover which bank we were nearest. Though we listened attentively, we could not hear the slightest splash of paddles to indicate the whereabouts of our friends. We were afraid that something had happened to them, either that they had been overtaken, or that the canoes had run on snags. We said nothing to Iguma, however, lest we should alarm her, but it was absolutely necessary that we should rest our arms and take some food, of which we had brought a supply in our knapsacks, some also had been put in the canoe. Not knowing how far off the shore we were, we allowed the canoe to drift down, while we took in our paddles and got out our provisions. We invited Iguma to take some breakfast; she, pointing to some plantains and roast yams, signified that they would satisfy her hunger.

“Come, I think we ought to take to our paddles again,” said Charley, when we had finished our meal. “How do your arms feel, Dick?”

“Ready for work, though I should be glad to give them a few hours’ rest,” I answered—“but softly, where are we?”

As I spoke, I found that the canoe had drifted in among some tall reeds, which showed that we were nearer the shore than we expected. While we were attempting to paddle out from among them, a breeze blew the mist away, and what was our astonishment, not to say dismay, to see a number of blacks standing on the banks and regarding us attentively. They had probably heard us talking and making a splashing while endeavouring to extricate the canoe from the reeds into which it had drifted. No sooner did they discover us than a dozen of them, or more, armed with spears and lances, plunged into the water and began swimming towards us.

“Put down your paddle and take your gun,” cried Charley, “these fellows mean mischief.”

All this time Iguma had not moved. The blacks, seeing only two white men in the canoe, thought that they would easily master us, and swam boldly forward.

“I suppose that there are no crocodiles hereabouts, or those fellows will be picked up to a certainty by one of the beasts; we must not trust to that, however, but when the men come near enough, shoot them without ceremony,” exclaimed Charley.

Standing up in the canoe we warned the blacks to go back, but they took no notice of what we said.

“Their blood be on their own heads—fire, Dick.”

We both pulled our triggers, one black threw up his arms and floated down the stream wounded, another dived, still I felt sure that I had hit him. The rest, undaunted, came on while we were reloading. Three were close upon us, and several others were not far behind them; one had actually got hold of the gunwale of the canoe, while Charley was aiming at another a short distance off. He fired, the black letting go his spear, threw up his arms. The first, however, might in another instant have climbed into the canoe, when Iguma, springing up with an axe in her hand, dealt him a blow on the head; without a cry he dropped back and sank immediately. I fired, and the rest seeing the fate of their companions, turned about and made for the shore. This gave us time to reload and be ready should any fresh ones come off to renew the attack. They appeared, however, to have had enough of it, and we, putting down our rifles, again took to our paddles and urged the canoe further out into the river, which was here very broad and the current slow. Still it ran at a sufficient speed to enable us to ascertain the direction we were to take. We now had time to look-out for our companions. They were nowhere to be seen, and we were still in doubt as to whether they were ahead or astern of us. Charley thought they must have paddled on and gone ahead, and if so, we should overtake them before long. We were, however, still followed by other bodies of our enemies along the shore, for those we had encountered were evidently only a small party, and, probably, others would be waiting for us close to the banks.

Chapter Sixteen.

Iguma relieves me at the paddle—We rejoin our companion!—Charley has the “watch below”—Wreck of Kendo’s canoe—I recognise Herman Jansen among our party—Necessity of taking rest—A narrow escape from surprise by a party of natives—Temptation to kill resisted—A dangerous enemy—Hippopotami—Our other canoe destroyed—Fate of the murderer of Captain Roderick—We determine to divide our party, and, following the course of the river, march towards the seaboard, taking it turn and turn about in the canoe—A fearful storm—Our only canoe crushed—Continuation of the journey on foot—The “sparkling ocean” once more in sight—Waiting for a sail—The signal answered—Captain Magor—On board the “Arrow”—Conclusion.

Believing that our friends were ahead, we paddled on with all our might. It was of the greatest importance that we should join them before we were again attacked, for, united, we might set at defiance any number of our pursuers likely to assail us. As may be supposed, our arms ached, and though we paddled on mechanically, I felt very sleepy, and occasionally my eyelids closed. As the sun got up the heat became excessive, but we did not dare to stop even for a few seconds under the trees which shaded the banks, lest any of our enemies might be lurking near, and might pounce down upon us. At last Iguma, who had been sitting watching us, offered to take my paddle. At first I felt ashamed to let her have it. “Give it up to her,” said Charley. “I daresay she understands how to handle it as well as you do, and we shall make better way.”

I at length consented. When she had the paddle in her hand I lay down in her place at the bottom of the canoe, and I soon saw that she was working away with far more energy than I had lately shown. I watched her for a few minutes admiring the grace and dexterity with which she plied the paddle, and then my eyelids closed, and in another instant I was fast asleep. I do not think I ever enjoyed a more sound slumber, lulled by the ripple of the water on the side of the canoe as we glided rapidly along. Charley, being older and more inured to labour, was able to keep up better than I was, and I knew that he would not give in while there was any necessity for his exerting himself. I had pulled the matting over my head to preserve myself from the heat of the sun, which struck down with great force on the calm water.

“There they are, there they are!” I heard Charley shouting out.

His words awoke me, and starting up I could distinguish two dots on the water right ahead.

“Are they our friends, though?” I asked Charley, after I had gazed at them a few seconds.

“I hope so,” he answered. “I felt sure that they were ahead of us, for, thinking that we were before them, they have been paddling on, expecting all the while to overtake us.”

“What does Iguma think?” I said, and tried to make her understand that we wanted to know whether the canoes we saw were those of our friends. To my great satisfaction she appeared to have no doubt about the matter.

I then begged that she would let me have the paddle again, but she smiled and replied that her arms did not ache, and advised me to take my brother’s paddle.

“I don’t mind if you do for ten minutes or so, I will then resume it and try if we cannot come up with the other canoes,” said Charley.

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked him, as I took his place.

“Three or four hours, I suspect,” he answered, “though I have not had time to look at my watch.”

As I thought would very likely be the case, no sooner did Charley lie down than he dropped off into a sound sleep. As after my long rest I felt very capable of work, I determined not to arouse him, treating him as he had treated me.

Iguma and I made the canoe glide rapidly over the water. A light breeze had sprung up, somewhat cooling the air and enabling us to increase our exertions. I eagerly watched the canoes ahead, and felt sure that we were gaining on them. I wondered, however, that no one on board saw us, and could only suppose that those who were not paddling were asleep, while, of course, the paddlers had their backs towards us, and believing that we were ahead did not trouble themselves to look astern.

At length I thought that they were near enough to make them hear me. At first I thought of firing my rifle, but the sound would, to a certainty, show our whereabouts to our enemies should they still be pursuing us, whereas my voice could be heard to any distance along the water alone. Acting on the impulse of the moment, I shouted out at the top of my voice. Charley started up, thinking that something was the matter. On seeing the canoes he joined his voice to mine.

At length they ceased paddling; as they did so I cried out:

“I fear, after all, they are enemies. See, those are black fellows standing up in the canoe nearest us.”

“If they are we must fight our way past them,” observed Charley; “they have no firearms, and we can knock over several of them before they get up alongside, and should they do that we must fight them hand to hand; Iguma has shown that she is well able to defend herself; at all events, a few minutes will settle the matter.”

We again took to our paddles, and I, making a sign to Iguma to sit down again in the canoe, took her place. We had not gone far before Charley shouted out, “Hurrah! it’s all right, I see Harry’s and Tom’s broad-brimmed hats, and I make out two white men in the other canoe.”

We were soon up to our friends, who greeted us warmly, they all along having fancied that we were ahead, and under that belief having paddled on, incited to exertions by occasionally hearing the voices of their pursuers as they cut off the bends of the river. They were of opinion, however, that we were now well ahead of them,—still we agreed that, during the remainder of daylight, it would be safer to continue our course.

The river now narrowed considerably, and the current became much more rapid than it had been hitherto. Kendo and his henchman, with Harry and Tom, led the way.

We were gliding quickly on, when suddenly Kendo’s canoe spun round, and filling was driven against some rocks whose black heads rose above the foaming water. We narrowly avoided the danger, and as we shot by had just time to help Harry, who held on tight to his gun, on board, while Kendo, striking out, got up alongside us, and with the aid of Iguma also scrambled in.

“Never mind me,” cried out Tom, who was standing on the half sunken canoe, “I’ll get into the other. Steer over this way, mates,” he shouted out to the men in the other canoe.

We had no time to render him assistance, and had to exert our skill to prevent our canoe running against some more rocks which appeared ahead.

In less time than it has taken to describe the occurrence we were again in tranquil water, when looking round we were thankful to see Tom and Kendo’s henchman safely seated in Caspar’s canoe. The wrecked canoe was in the meantime dashed to pieces, so as to be rendered perfectly useless. We were somewhat crowded, but that could not be helped, and we hoped that we should not meet with more rapids in our course; although we might manage to swim on shore, should any accident occur, we should probably lose our rifles and knapsacks, and at all events damage our ammunition. We waited until Tom’s canoe came up with us. I now recognised the stranger who had got on board just as they were shoving off as Herman Jansen, the murderer of Captain Roderick. His countenance wore the same gloomy expression as before. By his manner, however, he appeared not to be conscious that we were witnesses of the fearful deed he had committed, and under the circumstances we were placed, Harry and Charley agreed with me that it would not be wise in any way to allude to it. He had brought a rifle with him, how procured we could not tell. That would, of course, be of assistance should we be again attacked. From what we could learn from Kendo, we had too much reason to fear that we should meet with numerous enemies on our way down the river, who would only be restrained from attacking us by seeing our means of defence.

He advised that we should keep our weapons ready for instant use.

Another night was approaching. It was absolutely necessary that we should seek some place of shelter where we could rest for a few hours, as it would otherwise be impossible to paddle on during another day. We had fortunately a sufficient supply of cooked food, so that we had no need to go on shore and light a fire. Seeing a wooded point on the south bank of the river, where the trees overhung the water, we agreed to paddle in and secure the canoes. After supper it was arranged that some of us should lie down while the rest sat up and kept watch, so that we might be ready to defend ourselves against either human foes or any savage creatures which might be on the look-out for prey.

We had remained at rest a couple of hours, when as Harry and I were sitting up while the remainder of the party were sleeping, we heard voices approaching, and looking out we saw a number of black forms gliding through the forest. From the way they approached, however, the savages could not have expected to surprise us, we therefore concluded that they were entirely ignorant of our whereabouts. Presently they came to a halt about a couple of hundred yards from where our canoes lay. We saw a light struck and they soon had a fire kindled, around which they seated themselves. In a short time other blacks arrived, and they all began to cook the provisions they had brought with them. It was very evident they had not forgotten a supply of palm-wine, which they must have quaffed pretty freely, as ere long several of them got up and began dancing away furiously. Others joined them, until the greater number were dancing round and round the fire, snapping their fingers, kicking out their legs, and giving vent to the most hideous yells and shrieks of laughter, the sounds echoing through the forest being answered by the jabberings of monkeys and the cries of night birds. Whether these were our pursuers or some other tribe indulging in a night orgy we could not tell. Kendo touched Charley’s rifle as a sign for him to fire. My brother shook his head and answered—

“We none of us wish to injure any of the poor fellows unless compelled to do so in self-defence. The sooner we get away from this the better. We shall not be discovered while all this uproar is going on, and may be far down the river before the blacks recover their senses.”

Kendo rather unwillingly took his paddle, and Charley setting the example, we cautiously cast off from the branch to which we were moored and got up to the other canoe. Telling Tom that we were going to continue our course down the river, we paddled on.

“Let us have a shot at the niggers,” I heard Jansen say to his companions; “we might knock over a dozen before they could get near us.”

“Pull on, mate,” said Tom; “what would be the use of injuring the people? they can do us no harm.”

Aboh seeing us going ahead, took his paddle, Tom doing the same, compelled the others to do so likewise. As I looked round I saw them following us. We continued our way during the greater part of the night, Kendo being sure that we were keeping the right course. We were thankful, however, once more to bring up, when we believed that we had put sufficient distance between ourselves and our pursuers, and that there was now no longer any fear of our being overtaken by them. We had another enemy, however, to contend with. As we lay moored to the bank we heard grunting sounds, and a splashing which proceeded, we well knew, from hippopotami, and from the frequency and loudness of the noises we had good reason to believe that a number of the creatures were either sporting about or feeding near us. However, they seldom attack canoes so as to injure them intentionally and are generally greatly afraid of human beings either when on shore or in the water.

Huge and awkward as they are, they can run, and manage to make good progress over the ground, which they do when in search of grass, the food they live on. The bodies of those we saw were fully as large as elephants, although, having short legs, they were of a very different height, indeed, their bellies almost sweep the ground as they walk. Their feet are constructed in a very curious manner, to enable them to walk among the reeds and over the mud, as also to swim with ease. The hoof is divided into four short unconnected toes, which they can spread out like the feet of the camel when moving over the soft mud, or when swimming. The skin, which is almost entirely hairless, except in a few spots, is of a yellowish colour, the lower part assuming almost a pinkish hue. The head is hideous in the extreme, and armed with huge crooked tusks, the object of which is not so much for defence, as to dig up grass from the bottom of the river. These tusks afford the whitest ivory to be procured. There must have been thirty or forty of these creatures gambolling about around us. In spite of their noise, “those who had the watch below,” as Charley called it, slept as soundly as tops.

As soon as the sun rose the next morning, we went on shore for the first time since we had embarked, but no enemies were in sight, and we ventured to breakfast comfortably on the bank; Harry and I having shot several birds which contributed to the repast. As soon as breakfast was over, we continued our course, as we were anxious to get into a district where people were accustomed to white men, and were likely to assist us.

Our canoe was leading, Tom being a little astern. We were just rounding a point where the water was somewhat shallow, when I heard a cry from the canoe astern. Upon looking round, I saw it lifted high in the air, and turned bottom upwards, while beneath it appeared a huge hippopotamus, which was making after one of the men; another man was on the point of being pitched on the creature’s back, the two blacks, with their legs in the air, were falling into the water, and one of the men, who seemed to have sprung on shore, was scrambling up the bank. I saw all this at a glance, the next instant a fearful shriek escaped the swimmer, the huge hippopotamus had pierced him with its tusks, and seemed bent on venting its rage upon him.

For an instant I feared that the victim was our friend Tom, but his voice reassured me, and I saw the good boatswain making for the bank, which his other companion had gained. The two blacks quickly followed. Just then catching sight of the countenance of the man attacked by the hippopotamus, I recognised Jansen, the murderer of Captain Roderick.

Before either of us could raise our rifles to fire at the beast the miserable man had been dragged down beneath the water by the infuriated monster. We were on the point of returning to try and secure the canoe, when the hippopotamus again rose, and seizing the side in his huge mouth, crushed it to pieces, and we were thankful to paddle off to save our canoe from a like fate. We had now to consider what was to be done. We could not possibly take all the party into our canoe, nor could we leave any of them behind us. The blacks would to a certainty have been seized and carried off into slavery, unless protected by us. We were still, we calculated, a hundred miles or more from the coast; our only mode of proceeding, therefore, was for one party to continue along the shore, while the other paddled the canoe, and to relieve each other at intervals. We continued on in this fashion the greater part of the day, not meeting with another canoe or any habitations.

As evening approached, having reached an open spot, we agreed to encamp there that we might shoot some game, as our stock of provisions was reduced to a very low ebb.

Tom and Caspar, who had been walking the greater part of the day along the bank, were glad to take charge of the camp, while Charley, Harry, and I, with Kendo, went out in search of game. We were fortunate in killing two deer, several birds, and a couple of monkeys, and on our return we found that Iguma had not been idle, and had collected a supply of fruits and nuts, which, with the remainder of the plantain, gave us an abundant meal. There was still some time before dark, which we occupied in building a hut for the young lady, while we put up shelters for ourselves, and collected a large supply of sticks, so that we could have a blazing fire during the night. This was very necessary, as we had seen traces of wild beasts, and we might have otherwise very likely been visited by some of them. All of us required as much sleep as we could get. As soon as supper was over, we set the watch and lay down under our lean-to’s, which were, should have said, at a sufficient distance from the water to avoid the risk of any of us being carried off by a hungry crocodile. I had been some hours asleep, forgetting entirely where we were, when I was awakened by a tremendous crash of thunder. Starting up, I heard crash succeeding crash, while vivid flashes of lightning darted from the sky, and went playing round us like fiery serpents. The wind at the same time began to blow with a fury we had not encountered since we landed on the shores of Africa, but as it was off the land we were partly sheltered by the forest, and it did not send the waves up the bank. Our lean-to’s were speedily blown down. In a short time the rain came down in torrents, and had we not just before made up the fire it would at once have been put out. Fortunately Iguma’s hut stood, and she invited us all in to take shelter beneath its roof, which, being composed of several layers of large leaves, fastened down by vines, sheltered us from the pitiless storm. There we all sat for the remainder of the night, all huddled up like so many mummies, and a curious picture we must have presented.

Towards morning the hurricane abated, Tom and Aboh rushing out managed to scrape together the ashes of the fire which was not wholly extinguished, and again made it up. Shortly afterwards dawn broke. Uncomfortable as I was, I was actually dozing when I heard Tom cry out—

“The canoe, the canoe, where is she?”

We all of us jumped up and hurried to the beach, when what was our dismay to find that the tree to which the canoe had been made fast had, riven by the storm, fallen and crushed it to pieces. On examining it we saw at once that to repair it would be hopeless, and we had now only to make up our minds once more to continue our journey overland.

Fortunately we had still enough ammunition remaining to kill game for our support, but it was necessary carefully to husband it, Charley at once called a council of war.

“One thing is certain. We must not delay,” he observed, “for even when we do reach the coast, we don’t know how long we may be detained, and unless we fall in with friendly savages we may find it difficult to procure food; or, perhaps, indeed have to fight our way. We are bound also to protect the blacks who are trusting to us, for depend upon it, every attempt will be made by the slave-trading rascals on the coast to detain them.”

Every one agreed with Charley, and without loss of time we commenced our march. I have already described travelling in Africa, so that I need not enter into the details of the journey we performed. We passed through the neighbourhood of several villages, from the inhabitants of which, with the remainder of the beads and the trinkets we possessed, we purchased food so that we were able to husband our powder and shot. Two attempts were made to carry off our black friends, but by showing a bold front and by pushing on, we prevented them from being made prisoners.

The health of all the party was wonderfully preserved, indeed the climate, though so close under the line—from the nature of the soil—is superior to that further north. At length to our great joy we caught sight from a rising ground of the blue ocean sparkling in the distance.

We had been two weeks performing the journey. We found that we had hit the shore some way to the south of the river, at a spot where a fine sheltered bay afforded a tempting harbour to any ships cruising off the coast, and the clear sparkling stream, which flowed down from the hill side at which vessels could obtain water, made it still more a likely spot to be touched at.

We accordingly determined to pitch our camp there, near a wood from which we could obtain materials for building huts, and an ample supply of fuel for our fires as well as game for our food. It seemed surprising that no blacks should have taken up their abode in what appeared to us so fine a situation. We lost no time in erecting our huts, and making ourselves, as Tom called it, “at home.”

Of course we could not tell how long we might be detained there. Day after day passed by, no ship appeared in sight. At length Charley proposed proceeding to the northward, but Harry and I urged him to wait patiently a little longer.

That same evening my brother and I had strolled out from our camp to enjoy the freshness of the breeze along the sea shore. A light wind played over the water, the stars shone forth with wonderful brilliancy. We were tempted to sit down on the rocks, where we remained talking over our prospects for some time, when Charley exclaimed—

“Look there, Dick, look there! a vessel, as I’m alive, she’s standing into the bay. She’s no stranger to it, or she would not come here during the dark. We must make a signal and try to attract her attention, though it is pretty certain that she will send a boat on shore early in the morning, yet it will be trying to have to wait until then to know what she is.”

There was abundance of drift wood on the beach which we quickly collected, and Charley having fortunately a tinder-box in his pocket, we had no difficulty in kindling a blaze. As soon as we got a brand burning I took it up, and swinging it round my head threw it high into the air. A second and a third time I did the same, when as I threw up a fourth brand, the signal was answered by a rocket which rose from the vessel.

Before many minutes were over we heard the splash of oars, and could distinguish a boat. We both shouted, our hail was answered by an English voice. In another five minutes the stem of the boat touched the beach, and a person sprang on shore.

“Who are you? where do you come from?” exclaimed a voice which I well knew. It was that of Captain Magor. The next instant we were all warmly shaking hands.

Harry and Tom hearing our shouts had hurried down to the beach. Our surprise and satisfaction were mutual. We very quickly told him our adventures, and he then informed us that he had played the same trick on the pirates which they had played on Lieutenant Hallton, and that having recaptured the “Arrow” he had carried her safely back to England, and that he had now just arrived on the coast, the only misfortune which had happened to him being the death of a young man who had come out as supercargo.

“You may therefore still be of the greatest assistance to me,” he said, “and having now learned something of the language, and being acclimatised, you will be able to transact business with the natives far better than you could otherwise have done.”

We then told him of our black followers, who would, we believed, be of still greater assistance in procuring the articles we required, and disposing of the goods we had brought.

Iguma and Kendo were somewhat alarmed at first at the thought of going on board a ship, but we soon overcame their fears, and the next morning we all went on board, bidding farewell to our encampment, and once more trod the deck of the “Arrow.”

Harry and I resumed our berths on board, as did Tom Tubbs, for the boatswain who had come out had already fallen sick and was unable to do duty.

Caspar entered as one of the ship’s company, as did Aboh, Captain Magor arranged to carry Kendo and Iguma with their followers to England, if they preferred going there to being landed at one of the English settlements on the coast.

I must now bring my tale rapidly to a conclusion. Kendo and his wife—wisely, I think—determined not to go to England.

A week afterwards we fell in with the “Rover,” when Charley rejoined his ship, taking the blacks with him, the captain kindly promising to land them at Cape Coast Castle, where they would be properly treated and looked after. With the information we had gained, we were so well able to conduct our transactions, that our voyage was the most successful ever made by the “Arrow,” and we had the satisfaction of meeting with the approval of our employers, and receiving substantial acknowledgments.

Of course our disappearance had caused very great anxiety to our friends, though they had been buoyed up by the hope that we would surely return.

Harry and I having married the young ladies to whom we had so long been attached, entered the firm, and on the death of that kind and excellent man Mr Swab, we found that he had divided his fortune between us.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Two Whalers"

Chapter One.

I hail from Deal, where my father was highly respected, not on account of his worldly wealth, for of that he had but small store, but because he was an honest, upright, God-fearing man, who did his duty to his neighbour, and ruled his family with discretion.

And my mother—she was a mother!—so loving and gentle and considerate; she kept us, her children, of whom there were nine, I being the third, in excellent order, and yet we scarcely discovered the means she employed. We trusted her implicitly; we knew that she entered into all our sorrows as well as into our joys and amusements. How carefully she bound up a cut finger or bathed a bruised knee; or if we were trying to manufacture any toy, how ready she was to show us the best way to do the work; how warmly she admired it when finished, and how proudly she showed it to father when he came in. I was accustomed from my earliest days to the sight of ships coming into or going out of the Downs, or brought up before our town, and I used to listen with deep interest to the account of his adventures in all parts of the world with which our neighbour, Captain Bland, was wont to entertain us when he came to our house, or when we went in to take tea with him and Mrs Bland and their daughter Mary. I can, therefore, scarcely remember the time when I did not wish to become a sailor, though as my eldest brother Bill was intended for the sea, and indeed went away when I was still a little fellow, my father had thoughts of bringing me up to some trade or other. I should have been content to follow my father’s wishes, or rather to have done what he believed best for me, had I been sent away inland, where I could not have heard nautical matters talked about, and where the sea and shipping would have been out of my sight. While I remained at home the desire grew stronger and stronger to become like the seafaring men I was constantly meeting—pilots, masters and mates, and boatmen—and I may venture to say that a finer race of sailors are nowhere to be found than those belonging to Deal.

Captain Bland was a thorough sailor. He dearly loved the sea, and the ship he commanded, and his crew—at least he took a warm interest in their welfare—but he loved his wife and daughter more, and for their sakes he remained on shore longer than he would otherwise have done. Still, he made three or four voyages while I was a youngster, and he always spoke as if he had no intention of abandoning the sea until he had laid by a competency for old age. How many a master says the same, and goes on ploughing the ocean in the delusive hope of reaping a harvest till the great reaper gathers him into his garner.

Notwithstanding my predilections in favour of a sea life, I was still undecided as to my future career, when one winter’s day, after school hours, as I was taking a run out on the London Road, I saw coming along towards me a fine broad, well-built lad, with a sun-burnt countenance, and a stick having a bundle at the end of it over his shoulder. His dress, and the jaunty way he walked, with a slight roll, as if trying to steady himself on a tossing deck, showed me that he was a sailor. We were going to pass each other, when he looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him. Suddenly it struck me that I knew his features; so I stopped, and he stopped, and we gazed into one another’s faces.

“Can you be brother Bill?” I exclaimed.

“Bill’s my name, my hearty. And you!—are you brother Jack? Yes, I’m sure you are!” And grasping my hand he wrung it till I thought he would have wrung it off, while, half-laughing, half-crying for pleasure, he asked, “How’s father and mother, and Susan and Jane, and Mary and Dick, and the rest of them; and little Tommy?”

He was the youngest of us, and could just toddle when Bill went away. Thus he ran on, asking question after question, which I answered as well as I could, while we went towards home at a pretty round trot—he eager to get there and see them all again, and I almost as eager to have the satisfaction of rushing in and shouting out, “Here’s Bill come back again!”

I need not describe the way Bill was received. No one seemed to think that they could make enough of him. Mary, a small girl, sat on his knee at supper, with one arm round his neck, and ever and anon gave him a kiss and a hug, exclaiming, “Dear Bill, we are so glad you’re come back;” and Susan and Jane placed themselves one on each side that they might the better help him to what was on the table; and we bigger boys listened eagerly to all he said; and father watched him with pride, and the light shone brighter than ever from mother’s eyes as she gazed at him; and little Tommy came toddling into the room in his night-gown (having scrambled out of his crib) saying, “Tommy want see dat brodder Bill really come home—all right—dere he is—hurrah!” and off he ran again with Susan at his heels, but he had nimbly climbed into his nest before she caught him.

As to myself, I looked at Bill with unbounded admiration, and eagerly listened to every word which dropped from his lips. He had plenty to talk about, and wonders of all sorts to describe, for he had been in the Indian Sea, and visited China, and the west coast of America, and several islands in the Pacific, and gone round the world. How he rattled on! I thought Drake, Cavendish, and Dampier, Lord Anson and Captain Cook were nothing to him—at all events, that I would far rather hear the narrative of his adventures than read theirs.

I was almost vexed with Captain Bland for coming in one evening, even though Mary accompanied him, because Bill became suddenly far more reticent than usual in his presence, if not altogether dumb, and when he did speak, merely described in a modest tone some very commonplace occurrences. I could not make it out. After some time, when Bill was out of ear-shot, I heard Captain Bland remark to father that he liked lads who did not speak about themselves. It was a pretty sure sign that they were better doers than talkers. “He’ll succeed, will that lad of yours; he’s kept his eyes open wherever he’s been; he’ll make a smart officer one of these days,” he added.

I was much pleased when Captain Bland thus spoke of Bill, and I thought to myself, what would he have said if he had heard him describe some of the wonderful adventures he had narrated to us. When I afterwards told Bill what the old captain had said, and my ideas on the subject, he laughed heartily.

“Why, Jack, he would have shut me up pretty smartly,” he answered. “Old cocks don’t allow young ones to crow in their presence.”

Bill made ample amends for his previous silence when we were together, knowing that I was never tired of listening to him. I could think about nothing else but what he had told me, and I made up my mind that I would far rather become a sailor than follow any other calling. I told him so.

“Well, Jack, I think you’re right,” he said; “I wouldn’t change if I had the offer—no, not to become Prime Minister of England or the first merchant in the land. Remember, though, it isn’t all smooth sailing. You must expect rough weather as well as fine; but if you’re determined to go I’ll speak to father, and I don’t think that he’ll refuse you.”

Bill fulfilled his promise, and father, after consulting Captain Bland, agreed to let me go, provided I was of the same mind when I was old enough to be apprenticed. Neither our mother nor our sisters had a word to say against my wishes; nor had Mary Bland.

“I wish that I was a boy, Jack, that I might go also,” she exclaimed. “We shall be very, very sorry to lose you,” she added after a short silence; “but then, you know, you will come back, and how glad we all shall be to see you again.”

Bill told me how well pleased he was that father had given me leave to go to sea. “But I want you to study navigation at once, so that you may become an officer as soon as possible. You’ll never get on without that,” he said, and producing an old, well-thumbed edition of Hamilton Moore’s “Epitome of Navigation,” he added, “I’ll give you this, Jack. It has served me, and will serve you well if you master it as I’ve done.” How I did prize that book! I doubt if I ever valued anything more in my life. My brother, I should have said, had been at an excellent nautical school in Deal, established a few years before by several officers of the Royal Navy, where he gained much credit by his intelligence and attention to his studies. As soon as it was finally settled that I was to go to sea I was sent to the same school on the day my brother left home to go on his next voyage. I easily passed in, as I knew all the simple rules of arithmetic thoroughly, and was pretty well up in decimals. Having learned from my brother that the use of logarithms and the first principles of geometry would soon be taught me at school, with his help I had at once set to work on them, and after he went away I continued my studies in the evenings when other boys were at play, so that I quickly mastered all those necessary preliminaries. I consequently got over them at school with a rapidity which astonished the master, and with no little pride I heard the inspector, a naval captain, remark, “First-rate boy—beats his brother—be a master in a jiffy.”

The result of my working so hard out of hours was that at our annual examination I took the first prize, and was shortly afterwards pronounced fit to be sent to sea. As I still held to my wish to go, my father at once wrote to the owners of several first-class South Sea whalers, who immediately agreed to send me as an apprentice on board one of their ships, the “Eagle,” Captain Hake, just about to sail for the Pacific.

On the night before my departure I slept but little for thinking of the novel and wonderful scenes I expected to go through, and I am pretty sure that my kind mother did not close her eyes, but from a different cause. She was thinking of parting from me, and of the dangers to which I was to be exposed. She was praying that I might be preserved from them I know, for she told me so. At three o’clock in the morning she called me up, that I might be ready to start with my father by the mail coach for Margate, whence we were to go up the river to London by steamer. How earnestly did my pious father at family prayers, which he never omitted, commend me to the care of Him who watches over all the creatures of His hands! I felt that there was a reality in that prayer, such as I had never before comprehended.

Breakfast over, and parting embraces given, we started, and rattling away to Margate, were soon on board the “Royal Adelaide” on our way up the Thames. Bitter as was the cold, I was too much occupied in running about and examining everything connected with the steamer to mind it. The helm, the machinery, the masts and rigging, the huge paddle-wheels, the lead and lead-line, all came under my notice. As I was in no ways bashful I made the acquaintance of several persons on board, and among others I spoke to a lad considerably my senior, whose dress and well-bronzed face and hands showed me that he was a sailor.

“Are you going to sea, youngster?” he asked, looking me over from head to foot, as if to judge how far I was cut out for a nautical life.

“Yes, in a few days, I hope, on board the ‘Eagle,’” I answered.

“That is curious; she is the ship I belong to,” he remarked. “You’re in luck, for she’s a smart craft, and, as things go, we are tolerably comfortable on board; but you must be prepared to take the rough with the smooth, mind you; there are a good many things to rub against afloat as well as ashore, you’ll find.”

“And what sort of man is the captain?” I asked somewhat eagerly, anxious to know the character of my future commander.

“The captain is the captain, and while you are on board his ship you’d better not rub against him, but listen to what he tells you to do, and do it; sharp’s the word with him.” I was not much the wiser from this information, but I gathered from it that Captain Hake was a man who would stand no nonsense. I determined at all events to learn my duty, and to try and perform it to the best of my power. I next asked my new friend his name, supposing that, though he looked young, he might be one of the mates.

“Andrew Medley,” he answered. “I am still an apprentice, as you are about to become, so we shall be messmates; and if you are wise, I hope that we shall get on well together.”

“I hope so,” I replied, with confidence, liking his looks. Just then my father came up, and hearing that Medley was to be my messmate, shook hands with him. Presently he sent me off on some excuse or other, and drawing Medley aside, had a short, earnest talk with him. What it was about I did not at the time know.

“I am thankful that you have got so right-minded a young man for a messmate,” observed my father shortly afterwards. “He will, I hope, prove a true friend to you.”

I must not stop to describe my astonishment at the crowded thoroughfares we passed along on our way to the inn where we lodged for the night. The next morning we went to the office of the owners in Old Broad Street, where I was, by the signing of certain papers, bound apprentice for four years on board the good ship “Eagle,” South Sea whaler, Captain Hake commander. This done, we made our way to the river, and getting into a wherry proceeded in her to the dock, in which my ship lay getting ready for sea. On going on board I looked round for Medley, but could nowhere see him, and presently my father took me up to Captain Hake, who was standing aft, giving his orders in a sharp, ringing voice, which showed that he was accustomed to be obeyed.

“If he is the man his appearance betokens, he is a very fine fellow indeed,” I thought to myself. He was of good height, with broad shoulders, an open countenance, well-bronzed, large blue eyes, and a thick bushy beard. I don’t know if he formed as good an opinion of me as I did of him, but he looked down good-naturedly as he said, “I’ll do my best to make a seaman of the lad, Mr Kemp, and I’ll keep an eye on him, as I do on all the youngsters under my charge.”

He then invited us into the cabin and gave us some luncheon, after which my father took his leave. I accompanied him to the side. Pressing my hand, with a trembling voice he said, “We may never meet again, Jack. You have chosen a perilous profession, and may at any moment be called away; but, my dear boy, seek always so to live that you may be ready to go when summoned.”

I watched him as he pulled away till his wherry was lost to sight among the shipping, and at first felt very sad; but I soon recovered my spirits, and having got one of the few seamen who had joined to stow my chest away for me on the half-deck, where he told me the apprentices slept, I set out to make an exploring expedition round the ship. I should have been wiser had I waited for Medley, or, at all events, avoided touching anything with the use of which I was not acquainted.

Among other novelties which I examined was the windlass, which had the handles shipped, but I did not observe that on the top of it was coiled a large quantity of iron chain out of the way to allow of the deck being scraped. I saw that the big thing was intended to go round, so I thought that I would try if I could move it by myself. I pressed with all my force against one of the handles, when, to my infinite satisfaction, the windlass began to revolve, but as it did so, to my still greater dismay, down came the chain rattling on to the deck. In vain I tried to stop it. I then made a desperate effort to replace it, but as it had taken probably two men some time to put it up I had not the slightest chance of succeeding. My task was something like that of Sisyphus, a man of ancient days, who had to roll a huge stone to the top of a mountain, but which always came down again as soon as he got it there.

I had not been long engaged in my hopeless undertaking when my ears were assailed by such a volley of abuse as I had never before heard in my life. As I turned round, letting go the chain, which came rattling down again on deck, I discovered that it proceeded from a head that had suddenly appeared above the combings of the fore hatch. It might have been a picturesque head, but was not pleasant-looking to my eyes. On the top was an old party-coloured nightcap, beneath which stuck out on all sides a mass of reddish hair resembling oakum or shavings, as untwisted rope is called at sea; a pair of ferrety eyes, a snub nose, and a huge mouth half concealed by a bushy beard, completed the countenance of the individual who was addressing me. I need not repeat what he said, but if his remarks were true I was among the greatest reprobates this evil world has ever produced. I stood with my hands by my side mutely gazing at him, for I had nothing to say for myself. I was conscious that I had done something wrong, though not meriting the remarks to which I was listening.

“Arrah, now spake, youngster, if you’ve a tongue belonging to you,” cried the head. Still I said nothing. Presently, below the head a pair of broad shoulders covered with a red shirt emerged from the hatchway, and I had an unpleasant vision of a bear-like hand grasping a short piece of knotted rope. The next instant a short thick-set man in tarry trousers springing on deck advanced towards me, ominously flourishing the piece of rope. I did not think of running, for I had nowhere to run to, so I stood stock still. Down came the rope on my shoulders. I tried hard not to cry out. A second and a third blow followed. I had on a pretty thick jacket on account of the cold, so that I was not so much hurt as I might have been; still, as I did not like the treatment I was receiving, I tried to get out of my tormentor’s way, and in doing so fell over the chain flat on the deck, striking my nose in a way which made the blood flow pretty quickly. He not noticing this gave me another whack, which hurt more than all the others, as it was on the part most exposed, and was about to repeat it, when I heard a voice say “Hold fast there, Dan; enough of that. The boy hasn’t been on board an hour and you must needs get foul of him.”

“Who are you that’s afther spakin’ to me in that way? Sure, if, I’m not mighty mistaken, you’re only an apprentice yourself,” exclaimed Dan, in an angry tone.

While he was speaking I crawled along the deck out of his way, and looking up, I recognised my acquaintance on board the steamer, Andrew Medley, who replied calmly, “Whether or not I am only an apprentice, I’ll not stand by and see a young boy ill-treated who hasn’t strength to defend himself.”

The ruffian laughed hoarsely, but when he saw the blood streaming down my face as Medley assisted me to get up, he looked somewhat alarmed, for he remembered that we were not yet at sea, and that although he might then treat me much worse with impunity it would be prudent to avoid the risk of being summoned before a magistrate for an assault.

“Are you much hurt, Jack?” asked Medley, as he led me aft.

“Only my nose bleeds; though the last cuts that man gave me were not pleasant,” I replied.

“If that’s all, come below and we’ll soon get you set to rights with some cold water,” said Medley. “I am glad I came in time to save you from tasting more of Dan Hogan’s colt. Though a bully, he is a good boat-steerer, so the captain keeps him on, but, for my part, I think the ship would be better without him.”

“I should have been so, at all events, just now,” I remarked, and I went down with Medley to the half-deck.

With the help of a sponge and some cold water I was soon put to rights, and except that I felt an unpleasant sensation in the back I was not much the worse for the beating I had received. The first mate, Mr Renshaw, however, who had heard of my performance from Hogan, quickly sent for me, and after scolding me for my carelessness, ordered me to draw a bucket of water. “I’ll find something for you to do, depend on that, youngster,” he observed, and he was as good as his word.

I was not over successful in carrying out this my first piece of duty, for in attempting to secure a rope to the bucket that I might lower it over the side, I made a slippery hitch. To my dismay when I hauled in the rope the bucket was not at the end. It had gone to the bottom. I fully expected to get another taste of Dan Hogan’s colt, but Medley, who at that moment came on deck, seeing what had happened, lowered a hook and fished up the bucket. He then showed me how to make a proper hitch, and the mate kept me drawing water till my arms ached.

I was feeling very hungry, and was wondering if I should get any dinner, when Medley told me that no fires were allowed to be lighted on board, and consequently that no cooking could be carried on while the ship was in dock. I was thinking of petitioning the steward for some bread and cheese, when the captain came out of his cabin and told me to accompany him on shore. Before long we stopped close to the dock entrance, at the well-known inn, “The Dog and Duck,” and taking me to the landlady told her to supply me with whatever I wanted to eat and drink. I thanked him very much as he left me there, and the hostess asking me if I should like something at once, to which I replied, “I should think so indeed,” speedily placed a capital dinner before me. I did not fail after this, whenever I felt hungry, to pay a visit to “The Dog and Duck,” not being particular as to hours, and mine hostess always looked glad to see me.

I had learned the names of the masts and yards and ropes, and a good deal besides, thanks to Medley’s assistance, by the time the ship was ready for sea. Even Dan Hogan readily told me anything I wanted to know, and seemed as pleased as his rough nature would allow that I did not show any ill-feeling towards him on account of the drubbing he had given me. In about a week after I went on board we hauled out of dock, and a tug towed us down to Gravesend. Here the owner paid us a parting visit, followed by the Jew slop-sellers, with whom the men spent most of their advanced wages in the purchase of all sorts of articles, the more prudent furnishing themselves with warm clothing, and also with knives and trinkets to barter with the natives of the islands we were likely to visit.

The following day we reached the Nore lightship, where, the weather looking dirty, by the orders of the pilot who had charge of us we brought up. Scarcely was the anchor at the bottom and the hands were aloft furling sails than down came the gale upon us. The pilot, a jolly old fellow, kept singing out, “More yet, more yet,” meaning that we were to veer away more cable, and he did not seem satisfied till the whole of it was out. From this circumstance the men called him “Old More Yet.” I forget his real name. I was thus early in my sea life to learn what a real gale of wind is like.

Chapter Two.

We lay at the Nore for several days with our bows pitching into the sea and the spray flying over us, and after all, having lost both anchor-stocks, and received other damage, we were obliged to return to Gravesend to get them repaired. This done, we again sailed.

Light winds prevailing, we were some time getting clear of the river. We thought that we should at once stand down channel, but as we rounded the North Foreland the weather looked more threatening than ever, and we found that we were to bring up in the Downs. I by this time had not only got my sea legs, but was pretty handy aloft. The winds being contrary we had to tack ship very frequently. I saw the first mate looking up, when just then he sang out to me, “Away there, Jack, and clear that rope from the lee fore-yard arm.” I knew what he wanted me to do, so running up the rigging, lay out on the yard, and quickly performed the duty required of me. Instead, however, of returning at once on deck, I sat watching several other ships beating up to an anchorage, as we were, while I did not hear “Old More Yet,” the pilot, give the order “about ship.” Suddenly I felt the yard beginning to swing round. In another instant I should have been hurled off as from a catapult into the seething ocean, or been dashed on the deck.

There was but one thing to do. Retaining my presence of mind, I made a desperate spring and caught hold of the topmast backstay, down which I was sliding to the rail, when I saw the first mate rushing forward to try and catch me as I fell, he having just recollected that he had sent me aloft. His countenance expressed the greatest alarm, for he was a kind-hearted man, and fully believed that I should have been killed or terribly injured. When he saw that I was safe he rated me soundly for my carelessness, and told me never to play the same trick again. I saw, however, that he was not really angry, and I fancy that I gained some credit with him by the way I had sprung on to the backstay. Had I missed it I should have been dashed to pieces.

At length we brought up in the Downs, with two anchors down, the wind blowing a heavy gale at south-west. The sea was the colour of pea-soup, tumbling and foaming and hissing, the wind roared and whistled through the rigging, and ships were driving in all directions—some threatening to come down upon us. To be ready for any emergency the hands were kept on deck, and “Old More Yet” stood with his keen eyes watching them, prepared to give the order to veer away the cables should it be necessary. We escaped all accidents, however, and the weather began to moderate.

The captain or the mates found employment for me from morning till night. I was indeed, as the youngest on board, at every one’s beck and call; but I did not complain. I had come to sea to do my duty, and I knew that that was to obey those over me in all things lawful. One of my tasks was to keep the captain’s cabin in order. I was one day engaged in sweeping it when I heard outside a voice I knew. It was my father’s. He looked somewhat surprised at finding me thus employed, but at once saw that I took it as a matter of course, and was in good heart. My younger brother Dick was with him. I was very glad to see them, and having finished my job I asked them to come down on the half-deck, where, while they were seated on Medley’s and my chests, I regaled them with bread and cheese.

“Won’t you give it up and come on shore with us?” asked Dick, thinking that I must be leading a very hard life.

“No, thank you,” I answered. “Matters are improving. I got a thrashing the first day and have never had one since. It has been blowing pretty hard till now, but we shall have fine weather in time, and I shall like the life very well. It is better to begin with the rough and to end with the smooth than the other way.”

“Rightly said, Jack,” observed my father, well pleased to see me so contented.

I sent many loving messages to my mother and sisters, not forgetting Mary and Captain Bland, and after he had had a short conversation with Medley and another with the captain he returned on shore. I felt somewhat sad while I watched him and Dick as they pulled away, and had I then been asked to go with them I should have said yes; however, the feeling soon wore off and I went on with my ordinary duties as if home and all I held dear were not almost in sight.

Again we were under weigh, but it came on to blow as hard as ever from the old quarter. Still we kept at it, beating down channel with the seas breaking over our bows. I was just going along the deck with some of the cabin dinner when, the ship diving into a heavier sea than usual, I found myself washed clean over the windlass, a piece of boiled beef flying in one direction, a dumpling in another, and potatoes and turnips scattered on every side. I rushed here and there to save as many as I could, and, helped by the cook and Medley, I collected the greater portion, but the captain looked very blue when I placed the food all cold and sodden on the table. It spoke well for him that he did not blow me up; but he knew that it was not from my fault that his dinner was spoilt, and I dare say that the same thing had occurred to him when he was a youngster.

I had just returned on deck, where the first mate, shouting “Helm’s alee!” was in the act of putting the ship about, when, as I was going forward, I saw Medley with two other men, one of whom was John Major, an ordinary seaman, standing a short distance from me. Suddenly I heard a dull thud as if a heavy blow had been struck, followed by a piercing shriek. The clew of the mainsail was lashing about wildly in the gale. I saw a body lifted from the deck and carried over the bulwarks. It was but a momentary glimpse. I could scarcely have told whether or not it was a human being I had seen till I looked towards where the three persons had been standing. One was gone. The mate instantly hove the ship up into the wind, a grating and some spars were thrown overboard, and the captain, rushing on deck, ordered a boat to be lowered. Notwithstanding the dangerously heavy sea running, a willing crew, with the second mate, jumped into her. Not seeing Medley I ran to the side, fearing that he was the victim. I saw the grating and spars, but could nowhere perceive a man’s head amid the foaming billows. I expected every moment as I watched the boat tumbling and tossing about that she would be swamped. The captain and first mate were looking anxiously towards the place where the poor fellow must have fallen, but their countenances showed that they did not see him.

“He’s lost, I fear,” said a voice near me. I turned and saw Medley by my side. I was greatly relieved.

“Who has gone?” I asked.

“John Major,” he answered. “He was speaking to me at the moment.”

“Very awful,” I remarked, “so suddenly to be called out of the world.”

“Remember, Jack, that either you or I may be as suddenly summoned to meet our God. We must so live as to be prepared,” he answered solemnly.

The boat, the search in vain, now coming alongside was hoisted up, and the ship kept on her course. Scarcely, however, had the yards been braced round than down came the gale upon us with far greater force than before. There was no use longer contending against it. The helm was put up and we ran—tearing through the water—back again into the Downs. Here we lay day after day waiting for a fair wind. It was much the same to me, but a severe trial of temper to the captain and most of the ship’s company, who wanted to be in the Pacific catching whales.

I have not yet described the crew of the “Eagle.” There was the captain, three mates, the carpenter and his mate, the cooper and his mate, the armourer, steward and cook, four boat-steerers, four able seamen, eight ordinary seamen, the doctor, and two apprentices—namely, Medley and I. The ship was thus strongly manned for her size, but in the whaling service, when sometimes four boats are away at a time, a large number of hands are required.

By the time we had been a week in the Downs a fleet of some hundred merchantmen were collected there, driven in by the long continuing south-westerly gales. We had very little communication with the shore, though I managed to send a letter home, and Medley wrote to his friends.

“Never miss an opportunity of writing home, Jack,” he said to me; “I know the pleasure it gives to those who love us to receive a letter, and the anxiety they suffer when they have to go long without hearing from us.”

I followed his advice, and wrote by every homeward bound ship we fell in with, though many of my letters did not reach their destination. We also got a man, Eben Dredge, in place of poor John Major lost overboard. Still the south-wester blustered and roared. Some of the men declared that it had set in for good, and that there never would be any other wind as long as the world lasted.

At length one morning when Medley and I were below, we heard the first mate shouting, “All hands up anchor! Fair wind, boys! Be smart there, all of you.” We sprang on deck. The watch below came tumbling up with eager looks. The wind had suddenly veered round to the east-north-east. Every man, including the cook and steward, set to work with a will; while some with a cheery song hove round the windlass, others flew aloft to loose sails. Hundreds of ships were setting sail at the same time, their white canvas rapidly expanding to the breeze.

We were among the first to get under weigh, and running past numerous ships we took the lead and kept it, closely pressed, however, by another whaler, the “Fair Rosamond,” but we lost sight of her off the Isle of Wight. As if the “Eagle” was eager to make up for lost time she ran under every stitch of canvas she could carry at the rate of nearly twelve knots an hour to the Lizard, when the wind fell; but it breezed up again when we were in the Bay of Biscay, and blew great guns and small arms, as sailors say, or in other words, very nearly a hurricane. I own that I did not like it. Our stout ship looked like a mere cockle-shell amid the mighty billows, which in huge watery walls rose half-way up the masts, threatening every instant to overwhelm her. Though I tried to conceal my fears Medley detected them, but he did not laugh at me.

“I once should have felt as you do, Jack, but I know that we are as safe here in God’s hands as on shore,” he observed. “Our ship is well-built, well found, and well manned, and I trust that we shall weather this gale, and any others we may have to encounter.”

We did weather it without carrying away a rope-yarn, and having sighted Madeira steered for the Cape de Verde Islands, at one of which, Brava, we called to obtain fresh provisions and to ship several tall Kroomen to pull the midship oars in the whale boats. Very fine fellows they were, with gentle, happy dispositions, never grumbling or complaining, and they were consequently much liked by the officers and all the best men of the crew.

After crossing the line “Sail ho!” was shouted from the masthead. We steered towards her. The stranger proved to be an English brig bound from Brazil to Liverpool. The wind being light our captains exchanged visits, and Medley, I, and others wrote home by her. When in the latitude of the River Plate preparations were made for bad weather, as the winter of that region was approaching. The long royal-masts were sent down and replaced by stump topgallant masts, the flying jib-boom, and the studding-sail booms were also sent down, and all the boats, except one, were got in and secured, and the hatches were battened down, and everything else was done to make the ship light aloft. Some of the men thought the captain over careful, but it was soon shown that he was right.

“We shall have it before long, thick and strong,” I heard him remark to the first mate, though at the time there was scarcely a breath of wind. “We’ll stow the mainsail, and close reef the topsails.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the mate, and the hands were sent aloft to perform the operation. Still an hour or more passed away, and we continued on our course.

“The old man is croaking again,” growled out Dan Hogan.

“Belay the slack there, mate. The captain keeps his weather eye open, which is more than some aboard this ship do,” said Eben Dredge. “What do you think of those black clouds out there?”

“Maybe there’s a little wind in them,” answered Hogan.

“A little do you say!” exclaimed Dredge. “See, here it comes to show us whether there’s a little or not.”

As he spoke the wind struck the ship like the blow of a mighty hammer right ahead. She gathered stern way and some of the after dead-lights being open the cabin was half filled with water. Had we been under more sail, the ship might possibly have gone down or her masts would have been carried away. I rushed forward to call the carpenter and his mate, and we soon had the dead-lights closed. While I was afterwards engaged with the steward in swabbing up the cabin and putting things to rights we felt the ship give some tremendous rolls.

“Hillo! what for come ober her now?” exclaimed Domingo, my companion, who was a black.

On going on deck I found that she had fallen off into the trough of the sea, and was being sent from side to side in away which seemed sufficient to jerk the masts out of her. The rigging was well set up, or they would have gone to a certainty. We had not seen the worst of it. The gale blew harder and harder, and presently down came the rain in a way I had never seen it fall before, in regular torrents, as if some huge reservoirs had been emptied out on us in a moment, flooding the decks, and wetting us through our pea-coats to the skin.

Though several accidents happened we weathered this our first real gale, and I found that the one we had encountered in the Bay of Biscay was scarcely worthy of the name of a gale. Sail being again made, we stood southward, till at the end of April we sighted Cape Horn, and the hopes of all were raised that we should soon be round it; but not half an hour afterwards, the wind shifting to the west and blowing with tremendous force, a mountainous sea getting up drove us back into the South Atlantic.

The moment the wind abated we again made sail, and endeavoured to regain our lost ground. It was trying work. The weather was bitterly cold—the days little more than seven hours long—we scarcely ever had a dry rag on our backs, for when the rain was not falling the sea was continually breaking over us, knocking away our bulwarks, and threatening to carry off those on deck to destruction. Scarcely had we made good forty or fifty miles to the westward, than the wind increasing we had again to heave-to under a close-reefed fore-topsail. Here we lay day after day, drifting rapidly back from the point it had taken us so long to gain. Each day, too, saw our bulwarks more and more shattered by the furious seas constantly breaking on board.

During this time I was one forenoon in the pantry, just outside the captain’s cabin, when Domingo, handing me a wooden bowl containing the ingredients for a plum pudding, said, “Here you, Jack, carry dis to de galley, and tell de cook to boil him well.”

I was bound to obey the steward, black though he was, and away I sped on my errand. Just as I reached the deck the ship gave a lurch and sent me down to leeward, when instead of, as I ought to have done, making my way up to windward, to save the distance, I ran along on the lee side of the deck. Before, however, my destination was reached I saw rising up right ahead a high, dark, foam-crested sea. On it came. With a crash like thunder it broke on board, and rushed roaring and hissing along the deck. Letting go the bowl, I frantically clutched a handspike sticking in the windlass, the nearest object to me. The fierce water surrounded me, the handspike unshipped, and, still grasping it, I felt myself borne away into the seething, hissing ocean. At that instant the ship gave another lee-lurch—all hope was gone—every incident of my life passed through my mind—when I caught a glimpse of the cook darting out of his galley; seizing me by the collar he dragged me in, dripping wet and half stunned. It was the work of a moment.

Directly afterwards the watch on the quarterdeck came hurrying forward with the third mate, who sang out, in a tone of alarm, “Where is that boy?” making sure that I had been carried overboard, he not having seen the cook lift me into the galley. When he found me there—though I fancied that I deserved commiseration, for my teeth chattered with cold and fright, and I looked like a drowned rat—he rated me soundly for having gone along the lee side. Medley, however, who had come with the rest, took me down below and made me shift into a dry suit of his clothing. He then persuaded Domingo to mix a fresh pudding, which he took to the cook to boil, so that I was saved from the captain’s anger, which would have fallen on my head had it not been forthcoming at dinner-time.

On his return to the half-deck, Medley said to me, “Now, Jack, let us thank our merciful Father in heaven that you have been preserved from the greatest danger you were ever in during your life. Had the cook not been looking your way in another moment of time you would have been overboard, and it would have been impossible to pick you up.”

I was willing to do as he proposed, and no one being below we knelt down by the side of our bunks, and I prayed more earnestly than I had ever prayed before. We were just about to rise from our knees when I heard Dan Hogan’s voice exclaim, “Arrah now, you young psalm singers, what new trick are you after?”

“Not a new trick, but an old custom, Dan,” answered Medley, boldly confronting him. “If your life had just been saved I hope that you would thank God for it, otherwise I should say that you were a very ungrateful fellow.”

“I’m shut up,” answered Hogan, and taking the article he had come for he returned on deck.

I expected that he would tell the men how he had found us employed, but I could not discover that he had spoken about it to any one, and after that he appeared to treat Medley with more respect than heretofore. When a person is doing a right thing the proper way is to confront his opponent boldly.

All this time we were suffering from the bitter cold, the sleet and snow, the long, long hours of darkness with seldom a gleam from the sun during the short period he was above the horizon. At length, the weather moderating, we again stood on our course to the westward.

About five weeks after we first sighted the Horn we managed to weather it, and finally steering northward with a favourable breeze soon ran into a more temperate atmosphere than we had enjoyed for many a day.

Chapter Three.

We were now fairly in the Pacific. I have said little about our crew. There were some good men, not a few indifferent ones, and others as bad as could be. Dan Hogan was not by a long way the worst. It required the greatest strictness and vigilance on the part of the officers to keep them in order. Medley and I kept pretty clear of them, except when on duty, and we were then compelled to lend a hand to any one of them who might summon us. This we did cheerfully, though I, being the youngest, had all sorts of odd jobs to perform, not all of the pleasantest description. I thus had opportunities of hearing what the men were talking about without intending to be an eavesdropper, and I was before long convinced that some of them, if they had the opportunity, would not scruple to mutiny, to knock all who opposed them on the head, and take possession of the ship, or to run off themselves. I told Medley of my suspicions.

“It’s all brag, Jack,” he answered. “Don’t trouble yourself about the matter. They might very probably like to do that, or any other piece of villainy, but they dare not. They are cowards at heart, let them talk ever so boastfully.”

I was not convinced, and determined to watch them. While we were engaged in the chase of whales, in towing them alongside, and in cutting out and trying in, or, in other words, in taking off the blubber and boiling it down into oil, they were too actively employed to plot mischief. They were also then separated, some being in the boats and others on board; but while the ship was at anchor off some savage island, away from all constituted authority, was the time when they were likely to carry out their evil designs.

I am sorry to say it, that though Captain Hake was a bold seaman, generous and kind-hearted, he was influenced by no religious principle; he objected to what he called Methodism on board, and so did the mate and doctor. Not a chest except Medley’s and mine contained a Bible, and we had to read ours in secret to avoid the risk of being ordered to throw them overboard. If we had had merely to endure the sneers and laughter of our shipmates, we should not have minded. How I should have acted if left to myself, or with a different sort of companion, I do not know; but he encouraged me to read and pray, and refrain from evil habits, for which I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.

The first land we made was Juan Fernandez, or, as we called it, Robinson Crusoe’s Island, where he, or rather Alexander Selkirk, lived so long till rescued by the ship in which the veteran Dampier sailed as pilot. It is about three hundred miles west of Valparaiso, on the coast of Chili, very mountainous and rugged, but richly covered with vegetation. We hove-to off the bay in which Drake, Cavendish, Dampier, and Lord Anson anchored. Three boats were immediately sent on shore. I went in one with the doctor, who wanted to collect a species of mint, an excellent preventive against scurvy. It was found in such abundance that two boats loaded with it were sent back to the ship. We made tea of it, which we much enjoyed, after having had only pea-coffee to drink for so long. I half expected to meet Robinson Crusoe himself coming down to welcome us to his island, for we saw numbers of his goats among the craigs, though we in vain tried to catch one of the patriarchs of the flock, to ascertain whether its ears were nicked. Anson’s men discovered several venerable animals with long beards, which had evidently been so treated by Selkirk himself, but that generation must have long since died out. The dogs Anson saw have also disappeared, being more easily shot than the goats.

Pulling a short distance from the shore, we got out our fishing-lines. So beautifully clear was the water as the sun shone down into it, that we could actually see the fish take the hook. They bit with wonderful avidity, and in a short time we caught as many rock-cod and other fish as we required. After this we stood along the coast, seldom within sixty miles of it, yet in sight of the snowy summits of the towering Andes. This part of the ocean is called by whalers “the off-shore fishing ground,” extending from Valparaiso to Panama, and about four hundred miles westward from the land. We were tolerably successful, having killed four whales.

I shall not forget the scene the deck presented to my eyes the night after the blubber from our first whale had been stripped off and cut up while the crew were engaged in “trying out,” that is, boiling it down into oil, to be stowed away in casks below. Along the deck were arranged the huge “try-pots,” with brightly blazing fires beneath them, the fuel being the crisp membrane from the already used blubber. On each side of the “try-works” were copper tanks or coolers to receive the oil as it flows over the sides of the pots with the rolling of the ship, or is ladled into them when sufficiently boiled. Some of the men stripped to the waist, and, begrimed with smoke and oil, were working away with forks or ladles, either throwing in the blubber, chopped into small pieces, or skimming off the scraps, or baling out the oil; others of the men were in the blubber-room, heaving on deck the horse-pieces, of about thirty pounds weight each, to be minced fine before being thrown into the try-pots. The whole watch were thus engaged, and what with the blazing fires, the wreaths of black smoke, the dark figures flourishing their implements, and ever and anon giving vent to horrible oaths and shouts and shrieks of savage laughter, the spectacle I beheld was more weird and wild than anything I could have imagined—like one of those dreadful scenes I have read of where spirits of darkness are described holding their midnight revels.

My share of the work on such occasions when the watch to which I belonged was on deck was to turn the grindstone for the carpenter, whose business it was to sharpen the spades for the men. In the intervals during daylight I amused myself, armed with one of the spades, the pole of which was twenty feet long, in killing the sharks swarming alongside. One deep cut on the back of the neck or tail was sufficient to destroy the largest of the savage creatures. I must not be accused of cruelty to animals. Of all the fierce creatures of land or sea the sailor most dreads and detests the cruel shark, for there are few who have not heard or seen some thing of his depredations.

About a month after leaving Juan Fernandez we reached the Galapagos, a group of volcanic islands lying under the equator, their black and rugged shores having a most uninviting appearance. In one only, Charles Island, is water to be found, though in another of considerable extent there are hills and valleys with groves of trees; but the chief vegetation on all of them is the prickly pear, which in most parts covers the ground.

We cruised off the Galapagos for upwards of two months, sometimes in company with other whalers, but more frequently alone, meeting with fair success. At last many of the men began to grumble at being kept so long at sea; those especially who had before shown a mutinous disposition taking no pains to conceal their discontent, for we had been ten months from the Thames, and according to the articles we were bound to anchor in a civilised port at least once in every six months. I felt sure from what I overheard that mischief was brewing; and one day when Domingo, whom I could not trust, was out of the cabin, I told the captain my fears. He only replied by a scornful laugh, but before he went on deck he put a brace of pistols in his belt, and I observed shortly afterwards that the mates had also armed themselves, while the muskets, cutlasses, tomahawks, and boarding-pikes were placed in a side cabin kept locked. The captain, however, knowing that the men had the right to put into port, informed them, after we had finished stowing the oil from the last whale caught, that he was about to steer for the coast of South America.

In about a week we made the land near the Gulf of Guayaquil, and thence ran down to Tumbez, an open roadstead, in which we brought up about a mile from the mouth of a river with a bar across it. Here the crew, instead of enjoying the rest they expected, were employed in towing off rafts of wood and water through the heavy surf setting on the shore. It was very hard work under a blazing sun, but still necessary, and the true men did not complain, though the others did pretty loudly, notwithstanding that few captains were more considerate in not overworking their crews than was ours. I heard him tell the first mate that as soon as the task was performed he intended to let them all go on shore, a watch at a time, to amuse themselves.

The first day’s work was over, the boats hoisted up, and the anchor watch set, when I turned into my bunk. It seemed but a moment afterwards that Medley called me to keep the middle watch. I had just got on deck and was looking aft when I saw four figures lowering, as it seemed to me, the starboard quarter boat. Suspecting that something was wrong I looked round for the officer of the watch, but could nowhere see him. He must, I guessed, have gone below. I was about to hurry into the cabin, but before I could make many steps aft I was seized, gagged, and dragged forward, where I was lashed to the windlass. I could just make out through the gloom that the boat was no longer in her place, and presently I saw several figures carrying some bags go forward and disappear from the spritsail yard. I knew, therefore, that the men I had seen intended to run away, and that they were probably some of the fellows whose complaints I had overheard. In vain I struggled to get free that I might give the alarm. These very men must have formed the watch, for no one came near me.

Daylight came at last, and the morning watch appearing on deck, I was released and taken to the captain, to whom I gave an account of what I had seen. Two boats were instantly sent in chase of the fugitives, who were the armourer, two boat-steerers, and three seamen. After some time the boats returned unsuccessful. The captain took, the matter very quietly: “A good riddance, more thorough scoundrels I never had under me,” he observed. To show his confidence in the rest he allowed the whole crew to go on shore, first one watch and then the other, for three days each, but as most of them were drunk all the time they would have been better on board. Sailing for the Marquesas, instead of the runaways we shipped six Kanakas, or natives, an Englishman, a beachcomber, or runaway sailor, who had been living on the island for several years, a Portuguese, and a Sandwich Islander. I mention them to show the heterogeneous materials of which the crews of English whalers were composed.

Touching at Dominica we sailed for Samoa, where we remained for some time, and thence proceeded off the Kingsmill group, and from this to the Japan whaling ground. While on this station we got so damaged in a typhoon that we had to make the best of our way to Honolulu, in the Sandwich Islands, to refit. This accomplished we returned to the Marquesas to land the natives we took from thence, having obtained as many hands as we required at Honolulu. Another season having come round, we again cruised for nearly two months in the neighbourhood of the Galapagos. By this time Medley, having been long out of his apprenticeship, was rated as an able seaman, and young as I was I could do the duty of one as well as any of the old hands, and better than those we had shipped to supply the places of the deserters and mutineers; besides which I had as good a knowledge of navigation as any of the mates. I had no longer to turn the grindstone or to sweep out the cabin, those and similar duties being performed by a young Sandwich Islander, but still the captain declined to give me up my indentures, or rather to have my name placed on the articles as an able seaman. Of course I could not demand what I asked, so I had to submit; indeed the captain probably thought me unreasonable.

Calm as is in general this part of the Pacific, there are occasionally storms of terrific violence. We experienced one when cruising some way to the southward of the Galapagos, but as we had plenty of sea room and were prepared for it we escaped without material damage. Two days afterwards, while the boats were away in chase of a whale, and I was aloft looking out for the appearance of others, I sighted a sail to the south-west standing towards us. I announced the fact by the usual cry of “Sail ho!” but as we had to follow our boats we could not go to meet her. As she drew nearer, I observed that her fore-topmast, her main-topgallant-mast, and main-topsail yard were gone, and that she was evidently in other ways much damaged. The stranger passing within hail, a voice inquired, “What ship is that?” The third mate, Mr Reece, answered, and put the usual questions in return, but before these could be replied to, gliding by she had rounded to a short distance off. As I watched her I saw two females, who had apparently just come on deck to look at us. Presently a boat was lowered which soon came alongside, when who, to my surprise, should step on board but my old friend Captain Bland. I at once concluded that the two females I had seen were Mary and her mother, and my heart gave a bound at the thoughts of meeting them. Our visitor first inquired for Captain Hake, and hearing that he was away in one of the boats his eye ranged along the deck as if in search of somebody. Though I was near him he did not recognise me till I advanced, when his eye brightened, and putting out his hand he shook mine cordially.

“Mrs Bland and Mary will be right glad to see you, Jack, and to give you all the news from home, and you must try to cheer them up by telling them all you have been about, for they have had a trying time of it for some months past. As soon as Captain Hake returns I will get him to allow you to accompany me on board the ‘Lady Alice.’” He then addressed Mr Reece: “Your ship and mine belong to the same owners, and I want as many of your men as can be spared to assist my people in repairing our damages, for we are terribly short-handed. We encountered fearful weather in coming round Cape Horn, when we had the misfortune to lose four men overboard, three more were killed by the only whale we have yet taken, two deserted at Juan Fernandez with the idea of playing Robinson Crusoe, though they’ll very soon get sick of that, and five others are too sick to come on deck. Three days ago we were caught in a gale, and before the hands could shorten sail the topmasts were carried over the side, so you’ll understand that we want all the help we can get.”

“I’ve no doubt that the captain will afford it, sir,” answered Mr Reece; “but we ourselves are sadly wanting in able seamen—we haven’t more than three hands who can be trusted to take the helm with any sea on.”

Medley and I smiled at the mate’s remark, for we believed that we could steer as well as he could, and that there were several others who could do so. A shout from the look-out aloft announced that a whale was killed, and we bore down to meet the boats towing it towards us. The captured whale was nearly eighty feet long, and worth a thousand pounds at least. Our captain was, therefore, in very good humour, and cordially greeted Captain Bland, promising to do all he could to help him, but, of course, till the oil from the whale alongside was stowed away he could spare no hands.

“But you will let my young friend, Jack Kemp, and your other apprentice, Medley, go with me?” said Captain Bland. “They can best be spared at present, and I can trust them to assist my mates in superintending the work.”

The captain demurred to this, as I was especially useful to him. I used to work all his observations, make out his bills for the men, keep the slop-locker in order, serve out the stores, and besides many other duties, act as his barber. My kind friend, however, pressed the point, and at length the captain consented to let us go, accompanied by two of the Kroomen, promising shortly to follow the “Lady Alice” to Charles’ Island, one of the Galapagos.

Medley and I were not long in cleaning ourselves and putting on our Sunday best, and with our working clothes in our bags we stepped into Captain Bland’s boat. By this time the two vessels were some way apart, so that we had a long pull. As we got near the “Lady Alice” I saw Mrs Bland and Mary looking over the side, but they made no signal of recognition, so that it was evident they did not know me; they did not do so even when I stepped on deck. Perhaps I might not have known Mary, for she had grown from a little girl into almost a young woman, and very bright and pleasant she looked, which is better to my mind than what some people call beautiful. I saw her eyes as they turned towards me brighten, while a smile rose on her lips.

“What! haven’t you brought Jack Kemp with you?” asked Mrs Bland of her husband.

“Yes, there he is; I knew him,” cried Mary, springing forward and taking my hand.

Mrs Bland embraced me, as if she were my mother. “I told her I would, Jack,” she said. “She often felt very anxious about you for fear you should get into the rough ways of your shipmates, and be no longer what you once were, a good, affectionate lad. You are not changed, Jack, I hope, though you have grown so big and manly.”

I could nearly have cried, I felt so happy, as I answered, “I hope not, Mrs Bland, and I have to thank my friend Medley here for assisting me to act rightly.”

“A Christian friend is a valuable help on board ship, as well as everywhere else,” observed Captain Bland. “I am truly glad that you have found such an one in Andrew Medley, whose father I have the pleasure of knowing. It will do his heart good to hear this account of his son. I wish there were more like you two young men at sea.”

The ladies now invited us into the cabin to have some tea, and as we sat there, helped by Mary, we felt quite like different beings to those we had been for so many months past.

I heard some of the news from home, which I need not repeat, but we had not much time for conversation, as, having shifted into our working clothes, we had to hurry on deck to assist the crew in getting the ship to rights. We and our two Kroomen set to with a will, and three of the sick men turned out of their bunks to help. It was heavy work though, and in addition during two hours in each watch we had to keep the pumps going. While daylight lasted Mary remained on deck, and her presence incited us to exertion. I thought of the danger to which she would be exposed should bad weather again come on, and the ship not be prepared to encounter it. At length we entered the harbour, a gloomy enough looking place, surrounded by high, black, rugged cliffs, yet being well protected from all winds, we were glad to find ourselves safe in it. I almost dreaded the arrival of the “Eagle,” as I feared that I should have to return to her and my rough associates. It was not the hard work I disliked, but the utter want of humanising influences on board the “Eagle,” whereas, independent of the effect produced by Mrs Bland and Mary, a far higher moral tone prevailed on board the “Lady Alice”; the mates were well-conducted men, and several among the crew were real Christians, who made the Bible the rule of life. I do not mean to say that the ship was a perfect Paradise; there were some bad, wild characters, but they were kept in check by the rest. We were too busy to escort the ladies on shore, and they had no fancy to go by themselves, although there were neither wild beasts nor savages to be feared. We were waiting, however, for the arrival of the “Eagle” to heave the ship down, so as to get at the leak; and as the position she would then be in would make the cabin a very uncomfortable habitation, Captain Bland proposed rigging a tent on the beach under the cliffs in which his wife and daughter might live till the work was accomplished.

As soon, therefore, as Medley and I with two of the men could be spared, we accompanied the captain on shore, taking with us some spars, rope, sails, and spare canvas. It was evident that the spot the captain first thought of would be too hot, as not a breath of air reached it, so he selected another further from the ship in a more open situation. Here, having beaten smooth the black lava-like soil, we soon had up a good-sized tent with three compartments—one for the captain and Mrs Bland, one for Mary, and a third for a sitting-room. This done, while the boat returned for some furniture and cooking utensils, the captain sent me to the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean to the southward to ascertain if the “Eagle” was in sight. I had not been long looking out when I saw a sail standing for the island, but after watching her for some time I was convinced that she was not the “Eagle,” but a much smaller craft. As she drew still nearer I perceived, indeed, that she was a schooner, apparently a Spanish vessel, though she showed no flag. Instead, however, of steering for the harbour where the “Lady Alice” lay, she kept round the island to another on the other side. What she was, or why she had come to the island, I could not conjecture, I was about to return when I caught sight of a speck of white canvas above the horizon. “That probably is the ‘Eagle,’” I thought. “In a few days I shall have to bid my kind friends farewell and go back to my duties on board her.”

As there was a fine breeze the ship rapidly approached, and as I had no doubt that she was the “Eagle,” I went back to the tent to tell Captain Bland that she was in sight, as also to describe to him the schooner I had seen.

“She has probably come across from Payta to catch turtle or fish,” he observed. “We are not likely to see any of her crew, unless they think that they can get a good price from us for what they bring.”

We now returned on board to describe to the ladies the preparations we had made for them. Captain Bland then had all the boats manned to assist in towing in the “Eagle” should the wind fall light, as it frequently did towards evening. At length Medley, who had landed and gone to the top of the cliff, made the signal that she was near, on which all the boats, with flags flying in the bows, pulled out of the harbour. We saw her about two miles off already nearly becalmed. As we got near her crew greeted us with a cheer, and without stopping to ask questions we took hold of the tow ropes, when, giving way with a will, joined by her boats already lowered, we made the big ship glide through the water at the rate of nearly three miles an hour. We thus soon brought the ship to an anchor in the harbour, when Captain Hake came on board the “Lady Alice,” and undertook to do all his brother captain required. He was in high good humour at having captured another whale, which had caused the “Eagle” to be so much longer in making her appearance than we expected. I thought that now would be the time to get Captain Bland to beg him to allow me to remain on board the “Lady Alice.” The same idea occurred to Mary, who I saw whispering to her father. Captain Bland kindly pressed the point.

“What am I to do without my barber and clerk and storekeeper, I should like to know?” exclaimed Captain Hake. “Why the young fellow works all my observations for me. No, no. Be reasonable, Bland; he is bound to me, remember. I will lend him to you now, but when the ‘Eagle’ leaves this harbour he goes in her.”

I thought that it was my captain who was not reasonable. I felt dreadfully disappointed, but I was his slave, and compelled to submit.

Chapter Four.

Captain Hake invited Mrs Bland and Mary to take up their abode on board the “Eagle” while the Lady Alice was hove down, and looked much disappointed when he heard that a tent had been put up for them on shore. I need not describe the operation of heaving down further than by saying that the topmasts being struck, the cargo landed, and the ballast shifted, the ship is heeled over on one side, till her keel can be seen, then stages are slung, so that every part may be easily reached. When one side is repaired she is turned over, and the other is treated in the same way.

Before commencing operations Medley and I were engaged for some hours in securing all the things in the cabins, so that nothing might be broken, while the bedding and many other articles were carried on shore. I suggested to Captain Bland that it would be prudent to have a guard near him at night, and begged that he would allow Medley and me, with our faithful Kroomen, Pepper and Salt, and four of his own most trustworthy men, to put up a couple of rough tents, which would afford sufficient shelter to us in that warm climate.

“Do as you like, Jack,” he answered. “We shall be glad of your company in the evening, but I do not apprehend the slightest risk by our remaining on shore alone.”

I carried out my proposal, each of us having a musket and ammunition, and a very pleasant evening Medley and I spent in the tent, Captain Hake not making his appearance, as we feared he would. Of course we went off at daybreak to the ship, as we had to work as hard as the rest. Having knocked off, however, an hour or so before nightfall, we hurried on shore, when Mary asked us to escort her on an exploring trip into the island.

“I should like to climb to the top of yonder high hill,” she said; “we may get there and back before dark, I am sure.”

“If you don’t mind our being in our working suits, Miss Bland,” observed Medley. “It would take us some time to polish up.”

“I quite forgot how you were dressed,” she answered, laughing; “I only knew that you had been engaged in a necessary duty, which has, now I come to look at you, certainly made you unusually tarry and grimy. However, we are not likely to meet anybody else who will mind how you look, so pray let us set off.”

We started, Medley and I carrying our muskets, in case we should meet with any strange creature we might wish to shoot—though we knew that there were no alligators or pumas, or other savage beasts such as are found on the neighbouring continent. The scenery was certainly not picturesque. Out of the black tufa-formed soil on the lower ground grew numerous curiously-shaped cacti, or prickly pear shrubs, and we caught sight in the distance of one or two monster terrapins crawling among them. At last we reached the entrance of a narrow valley, in which, to our surprise, we found a luxuriant tropical vegetation, not only of grass and shrubs, but of trees of considerable height, produced, we had no doubt, by a fountain of clear water which, issuing from the mountain’s side at the farther end, flowed down the centre in a babbling stream of some width, though what afterwards became of it we could not discover. Numberless birds, several of gay plumage, flew about in all directions, and were so tame that they perched on the branches close to us whenever we stopped, as if to ask what we wanted in their domain, and three at different times settled on Mary’s head or shoulders.

Medley was going to shoot at some which looked like pigeons, but she cried out, “For shame! I would not for the world have the beautiful things killed. They trust us, and it would be a cruel return for their confidence.”

My messmate immediately lowered his gun. “You are right, Miss Bland,” he answered; “I did not consider what I was about to do.”

He shortly afterwards proposed climbing to the top of a cliff from which he expected to obtain a view over the island to the northward. As this was a task Mary was unable to accomplish, I remained with her while he set off alone. As I saw by the sun that it was high time to commence our return, I told him that we would walk on slowly towards the tents, so that he might overtake us. I cannot say that I was exactly in a hurry for him to do so, as Mary and I being old friends we naturally had a good deal to talk about which could not interest him. At last, however, it struck me that he ought to have caught us up; on looking back I saw him running towards us. On our stopping to allow him to come up he made a sign to us to go on. Had I been alone I should have waited, but though I could not divine what danger threatened I thought it prudent to hurry Mary on.

“What can he have seen to alarm him?” she asked.

“That is more than I can say, but he is not a person to be alarmed without reason,” I answered.

“It is said that these islands were produced by volcanoes; perhaps one has just burst forth, and he fears that the lava may overtake us.”

“We should have heard the noise and seen the fire and smoke if that were the case,” I replied.

“Then it is possible that he may have seen some wild beast which was not known to exist here,” she observed. “Do you think so?”

Medley, who at that moment overtook us, answered the question, “Not a wild beast, Miss Bland, but a set of ruffians, whom it might be dangerous for you to meet; I saw them just below me carousing round a blazing fire, at which they had been cooking a terrapin, or some other animal. As I crept nearer to find out who they were, I at once guessed their character by their horrible oaths, the snatches of ribald songs and savage laughter which reached my ears. I got near enough even to distinguish the features of several of them, among whom I recognised Tom Moon, the armourer, and Jos Mortis, both of whom were among the rascals who ran off with our whale boat from Tumbez, you remember, Jack. I think there were others of the gang, but would not be certain. I was retiring when Moon caught sight of me and shouted to his companions to give chase. Fortunately most of them were too drunk to make much headway, but seeing that some of them were coming, I judged it prudent to run on and warn you, for I suspect that they are ready for any kind of atrocity.”

While my messmate was giving this account we were hurrying on—indeed there was no time to lose under any circumstances, for almost directly after the sun had set it would become dark, and we might have much difficulty in finding our way. I frequently looked back with some anxiety, and fancied that I saw several men in the distance, but we still hoped to reach the tents before they could come up with us. Medley and I were resolved, should they do so, to keep them at bay with our muskets till Mary had effected her escape. She kept up her spirits, not being as much alarmed as I thought she would have been. I was greatly relieved when at length we saw the white tops of the tents. As we got nearer I shouted, and soon Captain Bland appeared, followed by Pepper and Salt.

“You have been too long away, young people, and I was on the point of setting out to look for you; however, as I have no doubt that you have plenty of good excuses to offer, you are forgiven,” he said, in his kind, cheery way. When Medley told him of the sort of characters we had seen he expressed his satisfaction that we had avoided them. “They probably belong to the schooner you saw standing in for the island the other day, Jack; and if so, the chances are that she is not the honest fisherman we supposed,” he remarked. “We must keep a watch on the fellows in case they should come this way.”

Though he said this he did not appear to be much troubled about the matter, and we were soon all seated at Mrs Bland’s tea-table in her tent. I, however, had told Pepper and Salt, whom I could trust, to be on the look-out, so that we might not be taken by surprise. We spent the evening happily as usual, Mary singing to her guitar, while the kind captain told some of his best stories, at which he always laughed most heartily himself. I made an excuse two or three times to go out, to be sure that the Kroomen were on the alert, and I also visited the seamen’s tent, and told them to be ready to turn out if necessary.

“All right, Jack,” said the captain, guessing what I had been about. “You’ve got the wise prudence of a careful officer in you, though I don’t think the roistering crew Medley saw will attempt to make their way to-night thus far from their camp.”

When I again sat down the captain told the last of his stories for the night, and Mary sang another song; but scarcely had her sweet notes died away than Pepper’s rough voice was heard shouting, “Who go dere! Stop or shoot!”

“Who says that?” exclaimed an English voice, though as gruff as the black’s.

“I say dat,” cried Salt, who was at some distance from his companion. “Take care—I see you.”

I guessed that the Kroomen, favoured by the colour of their skins, had concealed themselves, so that the intruders were puzzled as to their whereabouts, and afraid to approach. Medley and I hurried out of the tent, and calling up the seamen, who followed us with their muskets, went to where the Kroomen were posted. The ground rising slightly, we could see several dark figures in front of us against the sky moving about, but I doubted whether they could make us out. If the pirates, for such we had good reason to suppose they were, had expected to take us by surprise they were disappointed. Our men cocked their muskets with loud clicks, which might easily have been heard by them. We waited in silence to see what they would do, but they seemed undecided. Presently we were joined by Captain Bland.

“What is it you want here, my men?” he shouted. “We can receive no visitors to-night. To-morrow morning if you come back we will hear what you have to say.”

The pirates must have guessed who spoke to them, for one of them immediately answered, “Just listen, captain; we want some bread and rum, and salted pork, and a supply of powder and lead, with some shot, and a few other things. We wish to be moderate, but the things we must have to-morrow morning as soon as you can send on board for them if you haven’t brought enough on shore.”

“As to that I can make no promise, so goodnight to you, men,” said the captain, in a firm tone.

The strangers made no reply, but we could hear them talking among themselves. Presently one of them shouted, “We must take what we want!” and the whole gang, numbering three times as many as our party, uttering savage shouts, came rushing on, till, when they were within twenty yards of us, the Kroomen, without waiting for orders, fired at them. They, on this, hesitated for a moment, and then there came a random volley from muskets and pistols, the shots whistling past our ears. A dreadful idea occurred to me.

“Mrs Bland and Mary may be hurt, sir,” I exclaimed.

“No fear of that, my lad,” said the captain; “I bade them lie down under their bedding, for I thought that the rascals might use their fire-arms.”

Just as he spoke the pirates began again to advance, though with more caution than at first, but they had not moved many steps when the four seamen fired, and the Kroomen, who had quickly reloaded, did the same. This again checked the advance of the pirates, who probably did not expect to meet with so warm a reception.

“Reserve your fire the rest of you,” shouted the captain, to give the fellows the idea that we had more men ready to receive them should they venture to come on. Strange to say, none of our party were hit, nor, as far as we could tell, were any of them brought to the ground. Providentially for us, the whole of the pirates being drunk, and many of them cowards at heart, instead of rushing forward, as we had expected them to do, they retired to a distance, shouting and swearing at us as they went off. I thought that Captain Bland would now send his wife and daughter out of danger on board the “Eagle,” but he considered that by so doing the few men who remained might be overpowered, and his property left to the mercy of the pirates.

“I don’t think that the fellows will return, and if they do we must treat them as before,” he observed. “The chances are that in a short time they will be all fast asleep. They attacked us in a drunken freak more than with any settled plan.”

For some time it appeared that he was right. He returned to the tent to relieve the anxiety of his wife and daughter, while Medley and I mounted guard with Pepper and Salt, telling the other men that we expected them to relieve us in a couple of hours. Before half that time, however, had expired, we heard the pirates again coming on. Presently, giving vent to the most fearful shouts and shrieks, they fired a volley at us and then came rushing on. Their voices aroused our companions, who sprang out to our assistance, while Captain Bland, who had been on the alert, also joined us.

“Kneel down, lads, and do not fire till I give the word,” he said, in a low voice.

We obeyed him, and scarcely had we done so than the pirates, still shouting and shrieking, discharged their pieces, the shot, however, flying over our heads; then on they again came, but before they got much nearer, a hearty cheer rose from the direction of the beach, and some thirty men or more from the two ships, armed with pikes, cutlasses, and muskets, came tramping up, again cheering lustily. We all fired just before they joined us. The pirates did not stop to encounter them, but scampered off as fast as their legs could carry them, several throwing down their weapons the more quickly to escape. Captain Hake, who led the party just landed, followed with most of the men for some distance, but no one could move rapidly over the rough ground, and the pirates, favoured by the darkness, and better acquainted with the country than we were, effected their escape. Though there was very little chance of their again molesting us, watch was kept during the night. Captain Hake said that on hearing the firing, suspecting that we were attacked, though by whom he could not conjecture, he had lowered his own boats, and summoned Captain Bland’s crew to our assistance. The next morning a party set off to try and capture our assailants, but they had managed to reach their schooner, which was seen standing out to sea. Though no dead bodies were found, marks of blood seen on the rocks showed that several had been wounded.

Mary was unwilling to make any more distant excursions, but she and her mother continued to reside on the island till the “Lady Alice” was ready for sea. Now came the moment of trial. Captain Hake had been specially civil whenever he met me in company with Captain Bland, and I began to hope that he would allow me to join the “Lady Alice.” My old friend at length once more pressed the point. Captain Hake at once assumed the stern manner he knew well how to put on.

“I mustn’t let the lad think too much of himself; but it’s just this, Captain Bland, you want him and so do I, and as I have a right to him I intend to keep him. He rejoins the ‘Eagle’ this evening.”

Captain Bland could not complain. He had received great assistance from Captain Hake, who lent him Pepper and Salt and two Sandwich islanders, with which addition to his crew, now that the rest were well, he was able to continue his fishing. Mary, however, was very indignant with Captain Hake, and went so far as to call him a hard-hearted, cruel man, who wanted me to do all his drudgery, instead of allowing me to act as an officer with her father.

The next morning we sailed, and for some time kept company. I was glad to see the “Lady Alice” shortly afterwards take two whales, for I felt as much interest in her success as in that of our own ship. Twice we were becalmed when close together, and Medley and I got leave to pay a visit to our friends. I need not say that we were most kindly received. It seemed to us like going out of the rough world into a small paradise when we entered the pretty neat cabin, and were seated at the table with Mary and good Mrs Bland. Medley had a talent for drawing, and used to make pictures of ships and scenes descriptive of whale-catching for Mary, which we thought very good and true to nature. Among them were two—one of a ship leaving port, another of one returning.

“I wish this was the ‘Lady Alice,’” said Mary, taking up the last. “It will be truly a happy day when we get back with dear father safe.”

“I hoped that you were enjoying your cruise, and would be in no hurry to have it over,” I observed.

“So I do on many accounts,” she answered. “But I am always anxious when I see father go out to attack a huge whale. Two of our men were killed by one, and father might share the same fate. Sometimes his boat is a long, long way out of sight of the ship, and we cannot tell what is happening.”

“You must just trust in God, Miss Bland,” observed Medley. “He is doing his duty, and you can pray that he may be protected.”

“I always try to do that; but still, you know, the danger is great, and that makes me wish to be safe at home again, though I fear that you will be there so long before us that you will have sailed again to some distant part of the world perhaps, and we may never see you more.”

“Perhaps the ‘Lady Alice’ will be more fortunate than you expect, and may soon get filled up,” I answered, wishing to restore her spirits, which, for some reason, were unusually low. Was it on account of some unseen danger threatening us?

For several weeks we continued in company, both ships being tolerably successful; but the “Lady Alice” certainly killed more whales than we did, simply, I believe, because a better look-out was kept. Yet Captain Bland never sent the boats away on a Sunday, while all days were alike to Captain Hake. I judged by his remarks that he was somewhat jealous of the better fortune of his brother commander. At last we lost sight of the “Lady Alice.” Whenever I could manage it I went aloft to look out for her, but though I strained my eyes gazing round and round the horizon, I searched in vain. In what direction she had gone no one could say.

About a fortnight after this, when we were about fifty miles to the southward of the Galapagos, I one morning at sunrise having gone aloft, caught sight of a sail between us and the islands, and almost ahead. My heart gave a bound, for I made sure that she was the “Lady Alice.” As, however, we neared her, when I again went aloft to look out, much to my disappointment I saw that she was a much smaller craft, a schooner, standing from the eastward for the islands. Another look at her a little later showed me that she was of the same size and appearance as that of the craft whose piratical crew had attacked us. I felt, indeed, convinced that she was the same. On coming down on deck I told the captain, unable, however, to conjecture what he would do. At first I thought it possible that he might make chase, and attempt to capture her; but then I reflected that though we had four guns she probably carried many more, with a larger crew, and that, at all events, we could not venture to fire at her unless she attacked us.

“We’ll let her alone, Jack, whether she’s the pirate, schooner or not, but we must take care that she does not come alongside the ship while the boats are away, or the rascals aboard her may take the liberty of relieving us of our money and stores,” observed the captain.

The moment he said this the thought flashed across my mind, “What if she should have fallen in with the ‘Lady Alice’?” The idea was too terrible to dwell on. Yet once conceived, I could not banish it from my mind. I spoke to Medley on the subject. He tried to console me by saying that even if the schooner we had seen was a pirate it was not at all likely that she should have fallen in with the “Lady Alice,” and if she had, have ventured to attack her. As may be supposed, I more eagerly than ever looked out for our fellow-cruiser, but day after day went by and not a white speck denoting a distant sail was to be seen above the horizon.

We were all this time very unsuccessful in our business. We gave chase to three whales, which, one after the other, got away before the boats reached them. The captain swore that he would have the next. Not one was seen, however, for a whole week. The men grumbled and wondered why we remained on the station. At last one morning, just at daybreak, the look-out, who had just gone to the masthead, gave the welcome shout of “There she spouts! there she spouts!”

In a moment the watch on deck aroused those below by the loud stamping of their feet, and up they tumbled. The captain and mates rushed out from their cabins half-dressed. The four boats were lowered, and away they pulled in the direction the whale was seen, about two miles to windward. Medley and I, with two seamen, the doctor, and other idlers, remained to take care of the ship, and to beat her up after the boats. The whale sounded, and remaining down fifty minutes rose again nearer the ship, so that we could clearly see what took place.

The boats and their crews giving way with might and main, gathered round from different directions. The captain was the first to strike his harpoon into the whale, following the weapon with a couple of lances; he was fast, but he quickly backed off from the monster, which, leaping half out of the water, and turning partly round made a dash with open mouth at another boat coming up, and in an instant crushed it into fragments as if it had been built of paper. The crew sprang overboard on either side, endeavouring to escape—whether any were killed we could not ascertain—and the next instant the whale, raising its powerful flukes, struck a third boat, shattering her by the blow, and throwing her high into the air, bottom upwards, her people and gear being scattered around on the foam-covered surface of the water. The other boats pulled away to avoid the same fate, which it seemed likely would be theirs, for the old lone whale was savagely bent on mischief it was very evident, when he suddenly sounded, dragging out the line like lightning after him. A second line was secured to the first, but that reached the bitter end before the first mate’s boat, engaged in trying to rescue the drowning men, could come up, and it was cut to save the boat from being dragged under water. Not till then could the captain go to the assistance of the people still struggling for their lives. Some were holding on to oars, others to fragments of planks. At length the survivors were picked up, and the two boats returned on board. The men, as they came alongside, looked very downcast. Three of our shipmates had disappeared—two of whom had been crushed by the monster’s jaws, the other killed by the blow of his flukes—as many more were severely injured, the third mate was among the killed. The captain, ordering the carpenter at once to put together two boats to supply the places of those destroyed, went to his cabin. I had never before seen him so much out of spirits. He seemed to think that some fatality was attending the voyage. In less than half an hour he returned on deck, looking flushed and excited.

“We must have that whale if we lose a couple more of our boats in taking him,” he exclaimed, addressing the first mate. “Keep a bright look-out for him.” This was not so easily done, for darkness was coming on, and the monster might possibly have swum away from the ship.

The mate answered, “Ay, ay, sir,” and hailed the look-out aloft.

Some time passed and no whale appeared; a large one, such as that attacked, can remain down eighty minutes, and swim some distance in that time. At last night came down upon us, and the chances of discovering the creature decreased. The weather too, hitherto fine, changed, and before morning the ship was under close-reefed topsails, dashing through the fast-rising foaming seas. Had we got the whale alongside we should probably have had to cut from it. The captain, however, had no intention of giving up the search. We beat backwards and forwards in the neighbourhood for three days, till the gale abated, and then made several circuits round the spot, increasing the radius without seeing the old whale or any other.

The men who had before grumbled at being kept so long on the station now declared that the captain had gone out of his mind, and I feared that if he persisted much longer they would break into open mutiny. Still day after day he continued sailing round and round, till one morning when we had been running to the eastward, and he ordered the watch to brace up the yards, they stood with their hands in their pockets or folded on their breasts, while they stamped loudly with their feet. At that instant the watch below came rushing up on deck armed with weapons of all descriptions, some having muskets and pistols, others cutlasses, pikes, harpoons, and blubber spades. The captain on this, calling on the two mates, Medley, and me to stand by him, rushed into his cabin, from which he quickly returned with a rifle in his hand, and several pistols stuck in his belt. A shout of derisive laughter from the crew greeted him. He took no notice of it, but cried out to us, “Go and arm yourselves, and we’ll soon put down these mutinous rascals.” As he spoke he raised his rifle, and half a dozen muskets were pointed at him. At that juncture the look-out at the masthead shouted, “A dead whale away to the southward!”

“We must not lose it, sir,” said the first mate. “Lads!” he cried, turning to the seamen, “we’ll settle this matter afterwards. Brace up the yards.”

The men obeyed with alacrity, having stowed their weapons forward, while the captain placed his on the companion hatch. We were soon convinced that the object seen was a dead whale. Innumerable birds hovered above it, while the splashing in the water near it showed that also teemed with living creatures. The monster was worth a thousand pounds if we could secure its blubber, but as we got nearer the horrible odour which reached us even to windward put an end to our hopes. To have taken it alongside would have poisoned the whole crew. The captain, however, insisted on regaining his harpoon, and the ship being hove-to he went away in a boat with a black crew. He did succeed in getting the harpoon, but the line was so completely coiled round and round the monster’s body, into which it had cut deeply, that it could not be brought off. The captain looked very pale when he returned, and at once retired to his cabin. The blacks, though at first very sick from this horrible task, quickly recovered. The first mate, who had followed the captain below, soon coming again on deck told the men that he was ordered to shape a course for Tumbez, where the ship would remain for a fortnight, and all hands have leave to go on shore. A hearty cheer greeted this announcement, and the mutiny, which threatened not to end without bloodshed, was peaceably brought to a conclusion.

Chapter Five.

The recollection of the suspicious schooner was continually haunting me. Being unable also to account for our not having fallen in with the “Lady Alice” made me feel far from happy. Medley tried to cheer me up by suggesting that she had probably sailed for the westward, and that we should find her by-and-by in that direction. At last we reached the Bay of Tumbez, and came to an anchor off the mouth of the river. I looked eagerly out, half expecting to see the “Lady Alice” there, but no other English ship was in the roads besides ours. As soon as we had got off a supply of wood and water on rafts through the surf as before, the captain said, “Now, lads, I will fulfil my promise and allow you all a run on shore for three days, a watch at a time; I’ll pay for your lodging, but you must be back at the hour I fix.”

The men expressed their satisfaction by a cheer, and that they might have three full days, the starboard watch, to which I belonged, at once shoved off. A surf was breaking on the bar, where an upset would have been a serious matter, as sharks abounded ready to pick us up. We crossed, however, in safety, and pulled up the stream for five or six miles. The scenery was very pretty. In many places the trees grew thickly on the banks, their branches, among which numbers of amusing little monkeys were sporting, hanging completely over the water; now we could see the creatures peeping out at us from among the leaves; now they would skip off with wonderful activity; now come back and drop sticks and nuts down on our heads, keeping up a constant chattering all the time. As an American sailor observed, we might as well have tried to stop a flow of greased lightning as to lay hold of their tails.

While we were watching the monkeys I saw what I had taken to be a dead log begin slowly to move, and presently a huge pair of jaws opened and an alligator glided off the bank into deep water; we found, indeed, as we got higher up, that the river swarmed with alligators, so that none of us were disposed to take a bath in fresh water. We might have gone up to Tumbez by the river, but as this would have given us a long pull against the current, we landed at a plantation owned by a kind old lady, who offered us fruit and cakes and wine, and said that she should be happy to see me again.

We then proceeded for three miles or so through orange groves and sandhills to the town, a wretched tumble-down-looking place, half choked up with sand. Here, as it was now dark, we took shelter in a house called an inn, but, except in the public hall, where the eating and drinking went on, not a room contained a particle of furniture, so that we had to lie down on the floor and be devoured by mosquitoes and creeping things innumerable. There were several young Americans of a superior class with whom I had associated during the afternoon, and when we got up we agreed that the wisest thing we could do would be to get out of the town as fast as possible. We scarcely knew each other at first, so swollen were our faces and necks from the bites of the voracious insects. Early in the night the greater part of our men were drunk, and it appeared probable that before the day was much older the rest would be so. We, however, had to wait for breakfast, and before we left the whole place was in an uproar with tipsy seamen and natives quarrelling and fighting. Escaping from the disgraceful scene we made our way to the house of Donna Anna, the old lady who had been so civil to us when we landed. She received us very kindly, and hearing why we left the town commended us for our discretion, telling us that we were welcome to remain till we had to return to our ship. As the heat was too great to make us wish to go out, we spent the day lolling about in a cool room, and eating when food was brought to us. In the evening we strolled through the orange groves, eating as much of the fruit as we desired. Our hostess still further showed her kindness by supplying us with mosquito curtains to sleep under at night.

We were all sorry when the time came for us to embark, but our men did not make their appearance, and I don’t know when they would have come had not the second mate gone into the town at daybreak and compelled the more sober to bring off the others. As we pulled down the river we met the captain coming up it to look for us. He was very angry, and declared that he was much inclined not to let the other watch go on shore on account of the behaviour of the men. He relented, however, charging them to look out how they conducted themselves.

Soon after they had shoved off, the first mate said that he saw a small craft of some sort under sail coming in from the offing. All the telescopes on board were at once directed towards her, and before long she was pronounced to be a whale boat. On she came, steering for our ship, which, as we had the British flag flying, was easily distinguished from the American’s. The crew were lying along on the thwarts, the heads of two of them just raised above the gunwale, as if their eyes were directed towards us; one man only was sitting up steering, and he was leaning back seemingly in an exhausted state. I looked at him several times through my glass till the boat drew nearer, when I was convinced that he was my kind friend Captain Bland. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Fearful apprehensions crowded into my mind. What could have become of the “Lady Alice”?—had any accident happened to her? Captain Bland would, I was certain, not willingly have deserted his wife and daughter. How eager I felt to inquire!

Directly the boat came alongside the mate and I, with two other men, descended to assist up the people in her. “Take them first; they want help more than I do,” said the captain, pointing to the others, one of whom kept murmuring, “Water! water!”

The others scarcely spoke. Captain Bland himself looked bad enough—so haggard and thin. We soon had him and the rest on deck and their boat hoisted in, when their captain was carried into Captain Hake’s cabin. After he had taken some weak spirits and water and some food, he was able to speak without difficulty.

“O sir, do tell me where are Mrs Bland, and Mary, and the ‘Lady Alice,’” I said, as I was taking away his plate.

“I wish, Jack, that I could answer the question,” he answered. “They will be fearfully anxious about me, but I trust that they and the ship are safe enough. Just a fortnight ago, when off the Galapagos, we sighted three whales. I went in chase of one of them to the northward. The other boats pulled after the rest. The whale I was following headed away from the ship, but still I hoped to come up with him before dark and make him my prize; I had nearly succeeded, and in another minute should have had my harpoon in his side, when he turned flukes and disappeared. Though the sun was setting, I expected that he would come up again while there was light enough to strike him, so waited on the look-out, but the weather changed; a thick mist came up, the night became very dark, and though we heard the sound of spouting in the distance during the night, when morning broke no whale was to be seen—nor was the ship in sight. Anxious to be on board, I steered in the direction where I expected to find her, with, as I hoped, one or two whales alongside. It was blowing fresh with some sea on, but not sufficient to make it necessary to cut the whale adrift, should one have been secured. Every hour I expected to come in sight of the ship, but we had reached the spot where I thought she would be found, and she was nowhere to be seen. We then steered to the southward and south-east, supposing that she might have stood after the boats in that direction. Once we saw a sail, some small craft, a schooner apparently; we tried to speak her, to learn if she had fallen in with the ‘Lady Alice,’ but she kept away from us. At length I came to the painful conclusion that if we did not before long fall in with the ship, we should run a fearful risk of being starved. We had providentially brought away a bag of biscuits of about fourteen pounds weight, half a dozen sausages, and a breaker of water, and we had besides a pound and a half of wax candles. A portion of the biscuits and sausages had already been consumed, but I now put the crew on an allowance, so that the food might last us for eight or nine days—the time I calculated it would take us, should the wind hold from the westward, to reach this place, for which I at once steered. The sausages were soon gone, and then the wax candles helped out the biscuits. We should have died, I think, though, had not we caught six flying fish on one day and three another—for our last crumb of biscuit and drop of water were gone before we sighted the land.”

“I hope that Captain Hake will at once sail in search of the ‘Lady Alice,’” I exclaimed, “no time should be lost.”

I thought of the schooner, but I did not mention my fears respecting her, lest I should increase the anxiety of my friend.

“Captain Hake has not yet offered to sail, but I trust that he will without delay,” he answered.

Soon afterwards Captain Hake entered the cabin. My friend at once told him his wishes.

“Sorry that part of my crew are on shore; we must wait till they return,” was his answer.

“Could not you send for them?” asked Captain Bland. “I wish to relieve the anxiety of my wife and daughter.”

“I’ll go on shore, sir, and bring them back!” I exclaimed, eagerly.

“More easily said than done,” observed the captain. “However, you may go.”

I hurried on deck, selected Pepper and Salt and two Sandwich islanders, all of whom I could trust—which I could not the English seamen—lowered a boat, and pulled away. I trusted to Medley and the doctor, who were on shore, to help me. My aim was to get hold of the men before they were too tipsy to move. Going up the river we landed at Donna Anna’s, where I found Medley, and together we hastened on to Tumbez. On the way we fell in with our doctor, McCabe. We told him our object.

“I’ll manage it for you,” he said. “I’ll frighten them out of their wits, and make them ready enough to return on board. I’ll just hint to them that the liquor is poisoned, and so it is, for it’s poison itself. They saw how the other watch looked when they came back, more dead than alive, and they’ll be ready enough to believe me. I’ll go on first, and then do you come up, and we’ll get them down to the boat before they’ve time to think about it.”

We agreed, and the doctor hurried on. We followed slowly. On arriving at the town we found some of the men already half-seas over, and the rest looking very much scared at what the doctor had told them. Some proposed attacking the place, and burning it down in revenge, but we suggested that they would be better employed in carrying their helpless shipmates to the boats, that they might be the sooner under the doctor’s care. The wine-shop keepers and their friends, afraid of losing their prey, did their utmost to prevent this, but we succeeded, and half-carrying half-dragging, we got the tipsy men down to the boats. The doctor observing that exercise was the best thing to keep off the effects of the poison, the more sober willingly took to the oars, and to the surprise of the captain we soon made our appearance alongside. The doctor took good care to dose all hands round, and though several were very ill from the effects of the abominable aguadente, he got the credit of saving their lives.

The captain, having no excuse for not sailing, gave the order to weigh at daybreak. The question was in what direction we should steer? Should we go back to the Galapagos, look into their harbours, and cruise about those islands? It was not likely that the mate of the “Lady Alice,” after losing his captain, would remain long in that neighbourhood when all hope of finding him had been abandoned. Captain Bland thought that he would go either to the Marquesas or Sandwich Islands, to obtain hands, without whom he could not prosecute the object of the voyage.

“Then what will your wife and daughter do?” asked Captain Hake. “Will they remain on board, or take a passage home in the first full ship they fall in with?”

“They will remain on board the ‘Lady Alice’, I feel sure of that,” said Captain Bland, in a tone of confidence. “They’ll not give me up so quickly. They’ll think that I have got on board some ship, or landed on one of the islands, or have come across to the mainland. Women do not give up those they love in the way indifferent persons are apt to do. They’ll not believe I am lost, but oh! how terribly anxious they’ll be, notwithstanding, poor dears, poor dears!” and my kind friend hid his face in his hands to conceal his grief.

I had all the time the thought in my mind of that abominable schooner with her miscreant crew, and the terrible dread that she might have fallen in with the “Lady Alice” while her boats were away, and run off with her. What resistance could the five or six people left on board offer, even though they might have suspected her character before she got up to them? Still, I had the wisdom to keep these thoughts to myself.

The captains decided on sailing first for the Galapagos, and then to the Marquesas and Sandwich Islands, calling off all intermediate islands. They hoped, also, to fall in with other whalers from whom information might be obtained. Scarcely had we got out of the bay than the wind headed us, and we were making a long board to the southward, when the sound of a gun was heard. It was followed by several others in quick succession. The reports evidently came from the direction in which we were sailing. Instead of tacking, as the captain had intended to do, he stood on. I went aloft with a glass, and in a short time I saw two vessels standing off from the land on the opposite tack to that we were holding. The leading vessel was a schooner, the other a large ship, which was firing her bow-chasers at her. I could see the puffs of smoke issuing from the bows of the ship before I heard the reports. Every now and then the chase fired a stern-gun, for the purpose, I guessed, of trying to knock away some of her pursuer’s spars, though from the distance they were apart it seemed to me with very little chance of success. The schooner showed no colours, but presently I saw a flag fly out from the peak of the ship, which, though indistinct, I was nearly sure was that of the Peruvian Republic. That the schooner was the dreaded craft which had so long haunted my imagination I felt perfectly certain, as I was that her piratical character was known, and that the man-of-war was intent on her capture. Still, there seemed a possibility of her escaping should her pursuer not succeed in winging her. We might, however, cut her off, and prevent her from getting away. I watched the two vessels for a few minutes longer, and then hurried down on deck to tell Captain Hake what I had seen, and to suggest to him that we might enable the man-of-war to capture the schooner.

“What business have we to interfere with the quarrels of foreigners?” he remarked. “The chase is probably a smuggler, which has been trying to land her cargo on the coast, or it may be has some refugees on board belonging to one of the many parties who are always at loggerheads.”

“But, sir, I am morally certain that she is the schooner we saw off the Galapagos, to which those ruffians who attacked us belonged,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps she has been plundering some English vessel, and for what we can tell she may have fallen in with the ‘Lady Alice.’”

I felt constrained to say this to induce Captain Hake to do as I proposed, I did not stop to consider the effect it might produce on Captain Bland.

“Jack may be right,” he exclaimed, in an agitated tone. “My good friend, don’t hesitate to follow his suggestion. If we make one tack to the north-west, and then put about again we shall cross her bows, when it will be hard if we cannot knock away some of her spars; or perhaps when her crew see what we are about, they’ll lower their sails to save themselves from worse consequences.”

Captain Hake made no reply; but, to my great satisfaction, at once put the ship about, and soon afterwards ordered the guns to be loaded and the muskets to be brought on deck. He was a man of deeds rather than of words. Captain Bland thanked him heartily.

“We must see that we are not making fools of ourselves before you need do that,” he answered, somewhat gruffly.

We stood on for some time, and then again put about. After this we rapidly approached the schooner, which had lately been drawing ahead of the corvette. The latter had ceased firing, but was crowding on more sail. Once more we put about so as to be on the same course as the schooner. Captain Hake had been narrowly scanning her; as we got her within range he went to one of the guns, Captain Bland took charge of another, the mate of a third, and I, no one interfering, prepared to fire the fourth, all run out at the same side. We were now well to windward, all our guns pointed high. The captain, ordering the man at the helm to luff up, fired; the rest of us in succession followed his example. Our crew gave a hearty cheer, for the schooner’s main gaff was shot away, and the next moment down came her fore-topmast, the square topsail hanging over the side and the jib trailing in the water. Our work was done, and we stood on. In a short time the corvette was almost close alongside the schooner, into which she at once poured her broadside. I fancied that I could hear the shrieks and groans of the hapless crew as the shot swept across the deck of the chase, or crashed into her side, and the sound of the rending and tearing of the stout planks. The pirates had had the madness to fire at the Government cruiser when all hope of escape was gone.

We were by this time away to leeward, and on the point of heaving-to, the corvette being the nearest to us. Beyond her I could see the masts of the schooner; they were bending over away from her antagonist. For a few seconds my attention was drawn from her, as I had to assist in bracing round the yards; when I looked again the masts had disappeared, the corvette was standing on also, about to brace round her head yards—the schooner had sunk with every human being on board. We saw no boat lowered to attempt saving the lives of any who might be still floating on the surface. Perhaps none were seen.

Captain Bland, hoping that he might possibly obtain some information about the “Lady Alice” on board the corvette at once borrowed a boat and invited me to accompany him to visit her. He was remarkably silent as we pulled for the ship, and thus my mind had time to recur to the gloomy thoughts which had before pained me so much.

“What if on board that schooner there were others than her crew—prisoners taken from any vessel they might have pillaged? All had shared the common fate, and I had been instrumental in their destruction. What if the pirates had, as I dreaded, attacked the ‘Lady Alice’, and carried off Mrs Bland and Mary?” The idea was too terrible; I tried to put it away from me. Perhaps the same thought was causing anguish to the heart of my friend. I was thankful when we got alongside the corvette; our fears would be relieved, or we might know the worst. The accommodation ladder was lowered and manned to do us honour, and the captain, an Englishman by his appearance, stood ready to receive us. He put out his hand as Captain Bland stepped on deck, and warmly greeted him.

“I am deeply obliged, captain, for the service you have rendered me in knocking away that rascally schooner’s spars,” he said in a frank tone.

“She might have got off otherwise, and given me another long cruise in search of her. I have been on the look-out for the villains for months past; for they have plundered numerous vessels, and sunk or destroyed others I suspect, besides pillaging the villages along the coast. I should have been glad to have taken them alive to have had them tried, but our shot made more sure work than I expected.”

“Can you tell me, sir, the names of the English vessels the pirates are supposed to have plundered?” asked Captain Bland in an agitated tone.

“If we are to believe the stories current at the Peruvian ports, I should say half-a-dozen at least,” answered the captain. “Let me see, there is the ‘Ruby,’ the ‘Jane and John’ the ‘Lady Alice,’ the—”

“Good heavens, sir!” cried Captain Bland, interrupting him. “Were the people on board ill-treated? Did the ruffians take any of them away, or did they merely carry off such valuables and stores and provisions as they could lay hands on?”

“The ‘Lady Alice’ are you speaking of?” asked the captain in a tone which showed that he did not suppose we were interested in her fate. “By the bye, though they attacked her they did not succeed in getting on board, for they were driven off in the most gallant fashion by her crew, notwithstanding that her captain and several hands were away in a boat, and it is much feared have been lost.”

“Thank heaven,” ejaculated Captain Bland. “Blessings on my brave fellows. I am her captain, sir. Can you tell me where she is? Are my wife and daughter well?”

“She is safe enough in the port of Payta, I hope, by this time, as we convoyed her within a few leagues of the harbour, and then stood away in search of the schooner which has just met her just doom. Your wife and daughter, to whom I paid a visit on board, were well, and though anxious about you, persisted in believing that you would be restored to them.”

“I knew that they would never give me up for lost. They have been spared much misery, anxious as they may have been. Thank heaven for that!” cried my kind friend, grasping the captain’s hand. “I am grateful to you, sir, for the good news you have given me, indeed I am; and now, with your leave, I’ll return on board the ‘Eagle,’ that we may get to Payta as soon as possible.”

Though the captain of the corvette politely pressed us to stop for dinner, and offered to send for Captain Hake, I was glad that Captain Bland declined his proposals. Directly we got on board, the boat being hoisted in, we made sail for Payta, where we shortly arrived. The appearance of Captain Bland and his boat’s crew caused no little astonishment on board the “Lady Alice,” for both officers and men had given them up for lost. I went into the cabin to break the news to Mrs Bland and Mary. They guessed at once by my countenance that Captain Bland had returned. He quickly followed me. “I knew that you would come back, father. I was sure that God would take care of you,” exclaimed Mary, as, half-weeping and half-laughing, she clung round his neck. How blessed it is to possess a perfect confidence in our Heavenly Father’s protecting care over those we love!

Chapter Six.

Our stay at Payta was shorter than we had expected. The “Lady Alice,” with the assistance of the English commander of the corvette, obtained more speedily than would otherwise have been the case all the repairs she required, and Captain Bland secured several good hands from among the crew of a merchantman wrecked further down the coast. Captain Hake gave the larboard watch of our ship leave on shore to make amends for their disappointment at Tumbez, but they did no credit to our country, for after quarrelling with the natives, during which one of them was stabbed, they were brought off in the last stage of brutal intoxication, from which it took them several days to recover.

I paid frequent visits to the “Lady Alice,” which lay close alongside us. Captain Hake did not object to my doing that, but when Captain Bland again asked him for the loan of me (as he put it) my captain assumed the glummest of glum looks, and replied, “I thought that I had settled that matter before. The lad came out in this ship, and he goes home in her, if I have my will.”

Though disappointed when Captain Bland told me this I had much reason to be thankful that I was able to enjoy, even at intervals, the civilising influences of female society. How different my lot to that of many poor lads away for four long years from any one who takes the slightest interest in their moral welfare, or attempts to raise their minds above the grovelling existence of their brutal associates. I should be ungrateful if I did not mention, in addition to other advantages, the benefit I derived from the society of Medley, who was truly a friend to be prized.

It was a great consolation to me to find that the two ships were to cruise in company, though I might possibly not be able for many weeks together to visit the “Lady Alice.” On leaving Payta we steered westward for the usual cruising ground. We had each at the end of ten days taken a couple of whales, when one Sunday morning a number appeared in different directions. The “Eagle’s” boats were quickly in chase, but those of the “Lady Alice” remained hanging from the davits.

“What can the old man be about?” I heard the captain remark to the first mate as they were about to shove off. “It cannot be that he doesn’t see the whales. The owners will be down upon him if he doesn’t look after their interests better.”

He said something to the same effect as he passed under our consort’s stern.

“I keep the ten commandments, Captain Hake,” answered Captain Bland. “The Master who gave them is the greatest of the two, and He will look after the owners’ interests.”

By night on that occasion our boats had brought two whales alongside, but the crews were so weary from having been away all day under a scorching sun that they were unable to commence cutting in till next morning. At that time the boats of the “Lady Alice” were away, and in less than an hour had brought one whale alongside; shortly afterwards another was secured, so that as it turned out both ships commenced trying out at the same time, and the “Lady Alice” had the whole of the oil stowed away by Saturday night. The same sort of thing occurred more than once after this. Captain Bland adhered to his rule, and by the end of the week had stowed as many barrels of oil in his hold as we had.

At length whales becoming scarce, the two captains agreed to proceed westward across the Pacific to the Japan whaling ground. We called off various islands on our way, chiefly to obtain fresh provisions and water. At length we reached the neighbourhood of the Kingsmill group, off which we found so many whales that we remained for several months, during which time we captured a large number. As there is no safe anchorage the ships had to stand off and on while the boats went on shore to obtain water and provisions, but we had to be very careful in our dealings with the natives, who were thorough savages and treacherous in the extreme.

The weather now gave signs of changing, but as every day a whale was seen the captains were tempted to remain on. I had of late frequently gone away in the boats, generally with Medley, who had become a good harpooner. For two days not a whale had been seen, and we were on the point of proceeding further west when about noon a whole school appeared, and scattering sported far and wide over the surface of the deep. All the boats from both ships were lowered, and I went in one with Medley, who was intent on attacking a large whale which we saw to the eastward, in which direction the land lay from us. Just as we had got within a dozen fathoms of the monster up went its flukes and it sounded, leaving us looking very blank at the spot where it had gone down. It might be forty minutes or more before it would come up again. We determined to wait, and as we had had a sharp pull we refreshed ourselves by munching some biscuits and drinking a part of the contents of our water breaker. The whale remained down a much longer time than we had expected, and when it came up appeared far away to the eastward, or much closer to the shore. Again we bent to our oars, eager to get fast before it should once more sound. It was as much as we should do to reach it in time; if we were too late we should scarcely have another chance before dark. Already the sun was hidden by a dark bank of clouds rising above the horizon, and the wind was blowing strong from the westward, but pulling directly before it we did not feel its force, though it was evident that the sea was gradually getting up. I could see both the ships at some distance apart, but none of the boats were visible to us sitting down. I ought to have told Medley, who, having his eye on the whale ahead, did not remark the change in the weather. “If we kill the whale we shall be able to lie made fast under its lee, even should it come on to blow, till the ‘Eagle’ can come and pick us up,” I thought. The whale, after remaining so long under water, took a proportionate time to spout on the surface. We were close to it. Medley, making a sign to the bow oarsman to take his place, stepped forward and stood up harpoon in hand. We ceased pulling—the next instant a loud thud showed us that the weapon had struck deep into the monster’s side. He followed up the blow by plunging in three lances, and was about to hurl a fourth when he shouted out “Back off all!” while he allowed the line to run rapidly out of the tub over the bollard. We backed our oars with all our might, knowing that our lives might depend on our getting clear of the monster before it commenced the fearful struggles it was probably about to make. Instead of sounding, however, or lashing the water with its flukes, it darted off along the surface at a rapid rate towards the land. Already a considerable portion of the line had run out when Medley secured it round the bollard, and away we flew, towed by the whale, at a furious rate through the water. The second line was secured to the end of the first, in case the whale should suddenly sound; but this it seemed to have no intention of doing. On and on we were dragged farther and farther from the ships, but we had no thoughts of cutting loose from the whale after all our exertions, and we hoped that, in its endeavours to escape, it would wear out its strength, and thus become an easy prey. Medley stood ready all the time to slacken out more line should its speed become so great as to run the risk of its dragging the bows under water, while the man next him sat with axe in hand prepared to cut it in case there was a probability of the boat being swamped. Nearer and nearer we approached the land, till we could distinctly see the surf rising up in a wall of foam, and breaking over the coral reef surrounding it. We expected every moment that the whale would turn to avoid the danger ahead, and that we should be able to haul in the slack of the rope, and get sufficiently close to give it another wound. That it was losing blood, and consequently its strength, we knew by the red tinge of the water in its wake; still it held on. I glanced towards the shore—I could see a gap in the line of surf, beyond which the land rose to a greater height than anywhere near. It formed, I concluded, the entrance to a bay or lagoon, but seemed so narrow that even a boat would run the danger of being swamped by the surging waters on either side. Galled or terror-stricken as the whale evidently was, I could scarcely suppose that it would run itself on shore, yet from the course it was taking it seemed possible that such it was about to do. Suddenly, however, the roar of the surf growing louder and louder, it appeared to perceive its danger, and leaping almost out of the water it turned away to the northward, giving the boat so violent a jerk that she was nearly capsized. Escaping that danger, we were exposed to another, for the sea, now brought on our beam, continually broke over the side, employing two hands in baling, while often it appeared as if she would be turned completely over. At length the monster began to lessen its speed, and we were hauling in the line to get up to it, when suddenly raising its flukes down it went, dragging out the line again at a rate which made the bollard smoke, but the sea breaking over the bows prevented it from catching fire. The first line was soon drawn out—the second went on, and that, too, speedily ran towards the end. It was vain to attempt stopping it. The whale was now, we knew, swimming under water, and heading away from the shore. It must ere long come up again—but could we hold on till then? Already the seas broke fearfully over the bows. In spite of the efforts of the men baling, the boat was half full of water. Medley seized the axe; the bitter end of the last line was reached. A dark sea came rolling on. Nothing could save us from being swamped, it seemed. The axe descended, a loud thud was heard, the line was severed. “Back off all!” cried Medley, taking the bow oar to steer by. We pulled for our lives; the sea broke under the bows. Scarcely till now were we conscious that, after all our toils, the whale was lost. We had not, as we had hoped, its huge body to hang on to, to protect us from the fury of the fast-rising seas. Darkness had now come on; we looked out in vain for either of the ships. The “Eagle,” on finding that we did not return, would burn blue lights to direct us to her. The “Lady Alice” would do the same should any of her boats be absent. We pulled on against the still rising seas. How long our boat would float amid them was doubtful. “There’s alight, boys!” cried Medley at length; but it was away to the northward, and far off, for it only just appeared above the horizon. To reach it we must bring the sea abeam and run a fearful risk of being rolled over or swamped. Still the attempt must be made, unless we were prepared to remain toiling at the oars all night, or to run the risk of trying to reach the shore. We continued to pull on, keeping the boat’s head to the sea, when, looking round, I observed a glimmering bluish light suddenly spring up on the starboard bow. That it was at an immense distance I knew, as I could not distinguish the body from which the rays of light proceeded. Medley saw it also. “She is hull down, and it would take us till morning to reach her, even if we could do it then,” he said in a tone which showed how serious he thought our condition. Still we could more easily reach the vessel from which the distant light proceeded than the one on our beam.

Our situation was sufficient to alarm the stoutest hearts, and we were all young and comparatively inexperienced. The dark sky seemed to have come down close above our heads; the foam-covered seas came rolling on, every instant increasing in size, while astern was the dreadful reef, over which the furious breakers were dashing with a terrific roar. I had given up my oar to another man, and was seated near Medley, when I saw a small bright speck in the sky just above the horizon.

“What is that? Can it come from a ship?” I asked, pointing it out to him. He was silent. Gradually the spot of light expanded into an arch.

“It is the eye of an hurricane,” he said at length. “We shall have it break upon us presently, and if we fail to reach the land, Jack, we shall not live to see another sunrise.”

Calmly telling the men to be prepared for the worst, but not to despair, he put the boat round, and we pulled in for the land. I told him of the opening I had seen. He had observed it also, but was doubtful whether we should discover it in the darkness. Still, unless we could do so, our destruction seemed certain. Earnestly I prayed for deliverance; so did Medley, I know. With fearful rapidity, borne onward by the sea, we approached the raging breakers. For some time in vain we looked along the line of foam for the opening we had seen. The howling tempest astern forbade us attempting to pull off the shore; but should we gain it, if it was inhabited, what sort of treatment were we to expect from the savages? Several boats’ crews had, it was said, lost their lives among this group. I was straining my eyes ahead when I made out against the sky the outline of the high land I had before remarked. Beyond it the clouds appeared to be brighter than in any other part of the heavens. The instant afterwards the pale moon burst forth, and though but for a brief space, it was long enough to enable her to serve as a beacon to us. Directly below her we saw the looked-for opening.

“Give way, lads, we may yet save our lives,” cried Medley.

The men did give way, but so narrow appeared the opening that it seemed impossible we should get through without being swamped by the breakers rising high up on either side, rendered visible and more terrific by the vivid flashes of lightning darting from the clouds, which were followed by crashing peals of thunder, sounding above even the roaring of the angry waters. Onwards we were carried, the foam leaping high above our heads on the summit of a hissing sea, and then down we shot like an arrow, guided by Medley’s oar, on to the comparatively calm surface of a deep bay. A few strokes more we glided up it, and were in smooth water, the moon not hiding her face till we were in safety. We made out before us a sandy beach, towards which we steered, and, leaping out, drew up our boat to free her of water.

Our first act was to kneel down and return thanks to our Heavenly Father, who had so mercifully preserved us, and most of our rough crew, though at first they hesitated, followed our example. We then looked out for a place which would afford us shelter during the night from the raging storm. Near the beach was a grove of palm-trees, but the wind, howling amid their stems, bent and twisted them about so furiously that we had reason to dread, should we lie down under them, that some, being uprooted, might fall and crush us. Keeping outside the trees, we made our way towards the high ground, one side of which we found consisted of a coral cliff, and we had not searched long before we discovered a cave large enough to afford shelter to all our party. The floor was of sand, and having no fear of venomous creatures or savage beasts, the men threw themselves down to obtain the rest they all so much required. We had brought from the boat the biscuits and the small stock of water we possessed, but none of them were inclined to eat, though they drank up more than half the quantity of the precious liquid remaining in the breaker. Medley and I, who were, as were the rest, wet to the skin, walked up and down under shelter of the rock trying to dry our clothes.

“If we had but a fire it would be a great comfort,” I observed.

Pepper, one of our Kroomen, hearing what I said, exclaimed, “Massa, me got light, nebber fear!” Groping about, he soon found two pieces of dry wood, and fashioning them with his knife, he began to rub one against the other in a way which at length produced a bright spark. I had a handful of leaves ready, and we had quickly a capital fire blazing up just inside the cave. How grateful we felt for its genial warmth!

What if, while we were congratulating ourselves on being safe on shore, any misfortune should happen to those in whom we were so deeply interested? I felt that I would thankfully be on board the “Lady Alice” to share the fate of my friends, or to aid, as far as human strength could go, in averting the danger to which they might be exposed. I knew, however, that my wishes were of no avail. I knelt down with Medley, and prayed with all earnestness that they might be protected; we then stretched ourselves on the sand near our men.

“Jack, it did not occur to me before that this island may be inhabited; if so, that our fire may attract the natives,” said Medley, just as I was dropping off to sleep. “It ought to be put out, or we must keep watch. They might murder us before we could attempt to defend ourselves.”

I agreed with him, but confessed that I could no longer keep my eyes open.

“I’ll keep the first watch, and then I’ll call up Pepper and Salt, and the latter shall call you. The others cannot be depended on,” he said, though I could scarcely comprehend the meaning of his words.

It was nearly daylight when Salt at last awoke me. He would not have done so then, honest fellow, had not he been ordered. I asked him if he had heard or seen any natives.

“No, Massa Jack, me tink none here; but better get to de boat and catch some fish for breakfast, and den if any savage come we ready to start,” he answered.

I thought his advice good, and desired him, as soon as it was light, to go down to the boat and get the lines ready, so that we might shove off as soon as the other men awoke. I, in the meantime, directly the dawn broke, made my way to the summit of the hill, that I might survey the island, and, if possible, ascertain the position of the ships. I had fortunately brought a small but powerful telescope given me by Captain Bland. The fury of the hurricane was over, but the breakers still beat with violence against the barrier reef, and made it impossible for us to put to sea. In a short time the glorious sun, rising above the horizon amid the fast dispersing clouds, shed a bright light over sea and land, and enabled me to obtain a far-extending view.

The island on which we had taken refuge was much smaller than I had supposed, owing to the reef which extended along it; but across a narrow passage was another of much greater extent and away to the north and north-west were several others, besides numerous reefs marked by the white masses of foam flying over them. Several tiny wreaths of smoke which rose up amid the groves on the nearest island showed me that that, at all events, was inhabited, as, probably, were most of the others. As the mist of morning cleared away I could distinguish in the distance the huts of the natives, though, owing probably to the barren nature of the soil at the end nearest our island, none were built there. Again and again I swept the horizon in search of the ships; nowhere could I discern them. In what direction could they have been driven? I at last observed beyond a line of reefs what I took to be a group of cocoa-nut trees rising out of a low islet faintly traced against the blue sky like gossamer webs. Yes, there were trees, but among them, after keeping my glass steady for a minute or more, I made out the masts and yards of a ship. That she was either the “Eagle” or the “Lady Alice” I felt certain, but how she had escaped the reefs and been driven in where I saw her I could not conjecture. As her masts appeared upright I trusted that she was not on shore; but whether such were the case or not, she might find it difficult to escape from her position should the savage inhabitants of the neighbouring shores try to make her their prey, as they had succeeded in doing other vessels under similar circumstances. What was even now going forward on board her, who could tell? Again I looked round in vain for the other ship, and then hastened down to join Medley. I found him setting off with the other men for the boat, he supposing that I had gone with Salt to look after her. He could not even conjecture which of the ships I had seen, but he agreed with me that we must put off to try and get on board her the moment we could venture out to sea. He would have gone back with me to the hill, but the men were crying out for food, and insisting on endeavouring to catch some fish. None of the trees near us bore cocoa-nuts, nor had any water been found, probably the reason that the island was uninhabited.

Medley served only a small portion of biscuit to each man, and warned them all to be very careful of the water, as we might be unable to obtain more till we reached the ship. Judging by the surf which still beat furiously on the reef there was small prospect of our doing that till the next day at soonest. Salt had got the lines and hooks ready, and some shell-fish for bait, so we at once pulled out as near the entrance of the lagoon as we could venture. We had not had our lines down long before we began to get bites, and in a short time we had hauled in as many fish as would give us an ample supply of food for the day, we returned to the shore to cook and eat our prey. We again lighted a fire at the mouth of our cave, hoping that the smoke would not be seen by the savages, but to prevent being surprised Medley sent Pepper to the other side of the island to give us due warning should he see any of them coming over.

After breakfast the rest of the men lay down to sleep, while Medley and I went to the top of the hill to ascertain by the state of the sea when there was a probability of our getting off, and to watch for the appearance of the other ship. We looked for her in vain. The ocean, however, was rapidly losing the quickness of its motion, though the huge waves were still slowly and lazily tumbling against each other as they rolled on till they reached the reef, where, with a roar of thunder, they broke into masses of foam. The chief object of interest, the distant ship, remained motionless as before, her canvas closely furled. Had a sail been loosed we should have seen it fluttering in the breeze.

“In a few hours at most we shall be able to pass through yonder channel,” observed Medley, pointing to the entrance of the lagoon. “Look, the sea scarcely even now breaks across it. If necessary, I would not hesitate to take out a boat in spite of the risk I might run; but we will not make the attempt for the present.”

I agreed with him that it would be folly to do so, and we returned to the cave. We sat down in the shade. The heat was great, and neither of us having had much rest, we both fell as sound asleep as were our men stretched at their lengths a short distance from us. Hours may have passed. I was aroused by Pepper shouting, “De savage come! de savage come! Quick, quick! rouse up, boys, get to de boat.”

Salt was the first to start to his feet on hearing his companion’s voice, and by kicks and pulls to awaken the rest. I grasped Medley by the arm and helped him up. The men in a panic were hurrying off, when he reminded them of the breaker of water and the remainder of the fish which had fortunately been cooked. They took the breaker and fish up between them, and set off, while we waited for Pepper. He had seen a large body of savages, flourishing their formidable spears and gesticulating wildly, come down to the shore and begin to swim across the channel, evidently, as he supposed, having discovered that strangers were on the island, though how they had done so it was difficult to guess, unless they had seen Medley and me on the top of the hill. That they had hostile intentions was pretty evident by the account Pepper gave us. Had we possessed fire-arms we might have defended our selves, but as it was we could secure our safety alone by flight.

We found the men hurriedly launching the boat. In their dread of the savages I am not sure that they would have waited for us had we been delayed. The boat was quickly in the water, and we all leaped on board. Medley took the steering oar, and the men gave way. As I looked ahead I could see the green billows rolling in towards the opening, and still breaking with fearful force against the barrier reef on either side, but in the centre I observed a clear glass-like swell, over which I hoped we might find a safe passage. Medley seemed not quite certain about the matter, and told the men to lay on their oars till he could perceive a favourable opportunity for dashing out. Just then a fearful yell sounded in our ears, and looking astern I saw the beach covered by a band of savages flourishing their spears and gesticulating to us to return and be killed. Some of the more active were springing along the rocks so as to get near enough to hurl their weapons at us.

The crew, without waiting for Medley’s orders, bent to their oars, and though several spears fell into the water at no great distance off, we were soon beyond their reach. Without waiting to ascertain what the savages were about we steered for the centre of the passage. A sea like a mass of liquid malachite came rolling in—we mounted to its summit, and then descending into the trough, were soon rising on another watery height. The crew pulled lustily, and in a few minutes we were well outside the breakers, and able to turn the boat’s head to the northward. It had become a perfect calm, so that we had a long pull before us. At this the men grumbled, as they had expected to hoist the sail. Medley, however, reminded them that had there been wind the ship would probably have got under weigh, and we should have missed her. We pulled on along the coast of the larger island, but whether or not we were perceived by the people on shore we could not tell. The men at last complaining of fatigue, declared that they must stop and take some food and water. To this Medley could not object, eager as he and I were to get up to the ship.

While the men were eating the remainder of the fish and biscuit, we kept two of the oars going, and had just passed a point forming one side of a bay when, looking towards the shore, we saw a fleet of large canoes, thirty or more, ranged along the shore, the people apparently hurrying on board. On examining them through my glass I perceived that they were all armed, and it at once occurred to me that they were starting on an expedition to attack the ship. Medley was of the same opinion.

“You see the savages in those boats,” he exclaimed; “let us see what you can do. If they catch us we shall be in their try-pots before many hours have gone by, but if we can get on board the ship we can at all events have a fight for our lives.”

The men needing no further incentive to exertion, cramming their food into their mouths, threw out their oars and away we flew over the now calm surface of the ocean. As I looked over the starboard quarter I saw that several of the canoes had shoved off from the beach and were coming after us. Had there been a breeze we should have had no chance of escaping them. In a short time the whole fleet was after us. The savages probably reckoned on our not knowing the shortest passages through the reefs, but Medley and I kept a bright look-out, I making a good use of my telescope. Now we had the coral rocks rising close to us. Several times I could see the bottom as we dashed on. Occasionally we had to turn either to the east or west, but still we were rapidly nearing the ship. My chief fear was that other canoes might be waiting further to the north and dash out upon us.

While standing up I brought my glass to bear on the ship. How thankful I felt when I became certain that she was the “Lady Alice.” She had at all events escaped any accident from the hurricane, and I had no doubt that we should beat off the savages should they venture to attack her. Looking astern I saw to my satisfaction that we were greatly distancing the canoes, so that we should have time after getting on board to make preparations for their reception. At length we were discovered by our friends on board, for we saw several persons waving signals of welcome to us from the forecastle. Greatly to my relief also I saw that the ship was at anchor at some distance from the shore, while beyond her to the north-west the sea appeared free from reefs. Captain Bland shook my hand heartily.

“We had given you up for lost,” he said; “we heard that you were away from your ship when the hurricane came on, and that there was no chance of your getting on board her.”

“How could you hear that?” I asked, much surprised.

“From the second mate and his crew, whom we took on board. Very glad I was to have them, as they were of the greatest assistance during the gale, though I fear Captain Hake must have been hard put to it without them.”

I interrupted my old friend by telling him of the approach of the canoes. He was not a man to disregard a warning. The boarding nettings were at once triced up, the small arms got from below, and the guns loaded. I inquired anxiously for Mary and her mother, who were not on deck.

“They suffered much during the hurricane, but are now on foot, and will be glad to see you,” answered the captain.

I sprang below. I should have startled my friends not a little had not the steward told them that I had come on board, for they had heard of the supposed loss of our boat, though Mary told me with a smile, while a tear was in her eye, that as her dear father had been preserved, so she had not despaired of again seeing me. I felt very happy, for I was sure that we should beat off the savages. On my return on deck I found that they had not yet appeared. It was now getting dark. This made us suspect that they had intended to attempt surprising the ship at night, and very probably they would have succeeded had we not providentially seen them and thus been the means of putting our friends on their guard. Captain Bland, always anxious to avoid bloodshed, ordered the guns to be fired at intervals, both to show the savages that we were on the alert and to attract the attention of the “Eagle” should she be in the neighbourhood. Though prepared we could not avoid being anxious, for if the natives were resolved on our destruction we should have a severe struggle before we could drive them off.

It had now become so dark that it would be difficult to see the canoes till they were close to us. All hands, therefore, remained on deck with our weapons in our hands to be ready at a moment’s notice, but the hours went by, the savages had thought better of it we hoped, and dawn at length appeared. We looked out for the canoes, but they were nowhere to be seen, nor was the “Eagle.” The calm continued, and as we had our two boats besides those of the “Lady Alice,” Captain Bland resolved to tow her out to sea so as to get a good offing before another night. The anchor was hove up, and with six boats ahead we made good progress. We had got a couple of miles away from the anchorage, and were nearly free of the reefs when the look-out at the masthead shouted that he saw the canoes coming towards us.

“Keep to your oars, lads,” cried Captain Bland; “we shall have a breeze presently, and shall then easily tackle them.”

On came the canoes. It seemed too likely that they would reach us before the wished-for breeze had sprung up. The crews of the boats gave way lustily. I had remained on board. As I looked astern I fancied that I could almost hear the shrieks and shouts of the savages as they approached. Suddenly I saw the dog-waves blowing out. I, with the rest on board, sprang aloft to loose sails, the boats were called alongside, and by the time they were hoisted up we were gliding rapidly through the water. Though several of the canoes, hoisting their sails, got near us, a few shot, which carried away the masts of two or three, made them give up the pursuit, and in a few hours we had run the island out of sight.

We cruised in the neighbourhood of the group for two weeks or more in search of the “Eagle,” but at last despairing of falling in with her continued on for the Japan whaling ground. Here being very successful, we got a full ship, and, to the joy of all on board, steered homewards by way of the Indian seas, calling, however, at several interesting places to obtain fresh provisions and water.

The white cliffs of old England were seen at length, and home was reached. Captain Bland, having made a successful voyage, declared that he would never more tempt the ocean or expose his wife and daughter to dangers such as those from which they had been so mercifully preserved. The “Eagle” had not arrived, and nothing was heard of her for several years, when a report reached me that she had sought shelter in one of the harbours of the group, when part of the crew being on shore were set upon and massacred, while those on board were overpowered and killed. The ship then having been plundered was sunk with her cargo of oil, and was thus found by another whaler the following year through information given by one of the natives.

Thus ended the voyages of the two whalers, of which I have given of necessity but a hurried sketch. I left the whaling service, and sooner than I might have expected, obtained the command of a fine trader to China and the Eastern seas, having the happiness of being accompanied by my dear Mary, who had become my wife. My excellent friend Medley was equally successful, and both of us having retired from the sea, have settled near each other, and often spin to attentive young listeners the preceding yarn, and many others descriptive of our nautical career, though our boys and girls unanimously give the preference to the voyages of the Two Whalers.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Villegagnon"

Chapter One.

The Two Cousins.

“And what brought you to France, fair cousin?”

The question was put by a beautiful girl scarcely yet verging on womanhood to a fine intelligent youth, two or three years her senior, as they paced slowly on together through the gardens of the Louvre on the banks of the Seine, flowing at that period bright and clear amid fields and groves. Before them rose the stately palace lately increased and adorned by Henry the Second, the then reigning monarch of France, with its lofty towers, richly carved columns, and numerous rows of windows commanding a view over the city on one side, and across green fields and extensive forests, and far up and down the river on the other.

The walk along which the young people were proceeding was shaded by tall trees, the thick boughs of which kept off the rays of the sun, shining brightly on the gay flowers and glittering fountains, seen in the open space beyond them.

The young girl had the air and manner of a grown-up person, with that perfect self-possession which seems natural to those brought up in the atmosphere of a court.

Her companion’s manner formed a contrast to hers; but though evidently not at all at his ease, as a brave man does when called upon to encounter danger, he had braced himself up to face those he might have to meet, who would, he naturally felt, look down on him on account of his travel-stained dress, his Scottish accent, and rustic appearance.

“In truth, Cousin Mary, I left Scotland as many of our countrymen are compelled to do, to seek my fortune abroad, and have come with letters of introduction to several noblemen and others; among them to Admiral Coligny, my father’s old comrade in arms. Our castle is well-nigh in ruins, and my estate yields scarcely revenue sufficient to supply me with clothes and arms, much less to restore it as I wished to have done. I have already made two voyages to far-off lands, and come back no richer than I went, and have at length resolved to take service in the navy of France, in which I may hope to carve out my way to distinction, with the help of the admiral.”

“He may be ready enough to receive you and afford you his patronage; but I warn you, Cousin Nigel, that he may be less able to forward your interests than you may suppose. He is known to hold the principles of the leaders of those dangerous people the Protestants, who are hated and feared at court, where the Guises, the brothers of the Queen Regent of Scotland, have of late gained the chief influence. Take my advice, Cousin Nigel, seek some more profitable patron, and have nothing to do with the Huguenots.”

“I thank you for your advice, cousin. I must confess, however, that I do not hold the opinion you express of the Protestants, but on the contrary, am greatly inclined to agree with their principles. I lately heard a wonderful preacher, one John Knox, who has appeared in Scotland, and brought thousands to see the gross errors of the papal system. He proves clearly that the Pope of Rome has no real ground for his pretensions to be the head of Christ’s Church on earth; that he cannot be the successor of the apostle Peter, who never was Bishop of Rome; but that he is rather the successor of the great heathen high priest, whose idolatries he perpetuates and supports, and that therefore he and his cardinals and priests are impostors, who should on no account be obeyed. He clearly explains indeed that those who rule in the Seven-hilled city represent no other than the Scarlet Woman spoken of in the Apocalypse, their system being in truth the Mystery of Iniquity.”

“Oh, dreadful!” exclaimed the young lady. “Why, Cousin Nigel, you are a rank heretic, and were you to express such opinions as these in public, your life would be in danger. Hundreds of Frenchmen have already been burned for holding opinions not half as bad as those you have expressed. I am almost afraid to listen to you; not that we trouble ourselves much about such matters at court, where people are allowed to think what they like, provided they do not utter their thoughts too loudly, or in the hearing of the doctors of the Sarbonne (the theological college of France), who have of late become rigidly orthodox, and are resolved to put down the reformers. I must advise you, at all events, to keep your own counsel; and if you are still determined to apply to Admiral Coligny, as your views agree with his, they will be in your favour.”

“Thank you for your advice, sweet cousin,” answered Nigel. “I will follow it so far as not to parade my opinions; but should they be attacked, I shall be ready, if necessary, to defend them either with my tongue or my sword.”

“You are not likely to be called upon to use either of those formidable weapons, provided you are discreet,” said the young lady, laughing. “You may occasionally at court hear the Protestants satirised, or made subjects of lampoons; but it would be folly to take notice of such trivialities, and you would be in continual hot water with worthy people, perfectly ready otherwise to treat you as a friend. I will speak to some I know, who will assist your object and forward you to the admiral, should you determine to seek his patronage.”

“I would rather trust to so great and good a man than to any one else I have heard of in France,” said Nigel; “and am anxious, as soon as possible, to make myself known to him.”

By this time the young people had got within a few paces of the termination of the shady walk, when before them appeared a gay company of ladies and gentlemen, most of the former being very young, while the latter were, on the contrary, advanced in life, as their snowy locks and white beards betokened, though they were richly dressed, and were doing their utmost to assume a youthful and debonnaire manner. Nigel on seeing the gay company instinctively drew back into a recess by the side of the walk, unwilling, if possible, to present himself before them. His cousin being ready to humour him, placed herself on a garden seat, and invited him to sit by her. Perhaps she was unwilling that the interview with her near relative should be brought to an end sooner than could be helped. They could from this spot observe what was going forward without being seen. Merry laughter came from the party of gaily dressed people who passed along the walks, several approaching near enough to allow their features easily to be distinguished.

“Who are those?” asked Nigel, as several young people came slowly by, following a fair girl, whose beautiful countenance and graceful figure distinguished her from the rest, though many of her companions were scarcely less lovely. So thought the young Scotchman, as he stood watching them with admiring eyes.

“The first is our Lady Mary, about to wed the Dauphin of France,” answered his cousin. “You must, as a loyal Scot, be introduced to her. Perchance if you are inclined to take service at court you may obtain a post, though his Majesty King Henry does not generally bestow such without an ample equivalent.”

“My taste does not lead me to covet such an honour,” said Nigel. “I should soon weary of having to dress in fine clothes and spend my time in idleness, waiting in ante-chambers, or dangling after the lords and ladies of the court. Pardon me, sweet cousin, for saying so. I came to France to seek for more stirring employment than such a life could afford. I will do my devoir to our young queen, and must then proceed on my journey to find the admiral. Had it not been for the packet of letters with which I was entrusted, as also for the sake of seeing you, I should not have come to Paris at all. But tell me, who are her Majesty’s attendants? There is one whose countenance, were I long to gaze at it, would, I am sure, become indelibly fixed on my heart. What a sweet face! How full of expression, and yet how modest and gentle!”

“They are my two sister Maries, Mary Beaton and Mary Carmichael (see Note); but it is neither of them you speak of. I see now; the damsel you describe is Constance de Tourville, whose father, by-the-by, is a friend of Coligny’s. The admiral, I am informed, is staying with the count at this very time, and when I tell Constance who you are, she will, I am sure, find an excuse for despatching an attendant with you to her father. I can without difficulty make you known to her, as the etiquette of the court is not very rigid, or I should not have been allowed to wander about the gardens with a gallant young gentleman like yourself, albeit you claim to be my cousin and an old playmate.”

“I see several gentlemen among the fair damsels, so I conclude that my presence is not altogether an irregularity,” said Nigel.

“They are privileged persons, however,” said Mary Seton. “That sickly youth who has just joined the queen and is awkwardly endeavouring to make himself agreeable is her affianced husband, the Dauphin. For my part I would rather not be a queen than be compelled to wed so miserable an object; but I am talking treason. Here comes one of the queen’s uncles, the Duke de Guise—that tall, dark, ill-favoured gentleman. He is, notwithstanding, one of the most powerful men in France, and intends to be more, powerful still when his niece and her young husband ascend the throne. But come; the party are moving, on, and as Constance de Tourville is lingering behind, we can quickly overtake her, and when I have made you known to her, you can tell her of your wish to see the admiral.”

Nigel felt very unwilling to quit his hiding-place, but his cousin, taking him by the hand, playfully led him forward. They quickly overtook the interesting girl of whom they had been speaking. Nigel, as he was introduced, made a bow which would not have disgraced the most polished gentleman at court. The young lady smiled as she cast a glance at his handsome, honest countenance, with the glow of health on it, increased somewhat by the blush which rose on finding himself in circumstances so unusual to him.

“My cousin Nigel Melvin has come with an introduction to the admiral, who is, I understand, staying with your father, and he desires to set out to the château, though I would fain persuade him to take service at the court, instead of tempting the dangers of the sea, which he has the extraordinary taste to desire.”

“Our house steward, Maître Leroux, is at present in Paris, and will return to-morrow; and should your cousin desire his escort, I will direct him to await his orders,” said the young lady in a sweet voice. “Where are you lodging, fair sir?”

“I arrived but this morning, and left my valise at L’Auberge de l’Ange,” answered Nigel.

“I know not where that is; but Maître Leroux will easily find it out, and will call for you at any hour you may name.”

“A thousand thanks, lady, for your kindness,” answered Nigel, “I gladly accept your offer, and shall be ready to set out at early dawn if the landlord will permit me to depart at that hour.”

“Maître Leroux will be at the palace this evening to receive a letter I am sending home, and I will direct him to call as you desire, though, as he loves his ease, he perchance may not be ready to commence the journey at quite so early an hour as you name.”

While Constance was speaking, one of the ladies in attendance on the young queen turned back and beckoned to Mary Seton, who, hurrying forward, left Nigel with her friend.

“You will surely not take your cousin’s advice, and seek for a post at this frivolous court,” said Constance hurriedly, again looking up at Nigel’s countenance. “Catholics alone are in favour, while the Protestants are detested. To which party do you belong?”

“I might say to neither, as I am not a Frenchman,” answered Nigel, surprised at the young lady’s question. “At the same time I have heartily abjured the errors of Rome.”

“I am glad to hear it; I thought so,” said Constance. “I myself am a Protestant. I am here on sufferance, or rather a hostage, and would gladly return to my home if I had permission. Persevering efforts have been made to pervert me, but I have had grace to remain firm to the true faith, and now I am simply exposed to the shafts of ridicule, and the wit and sneers of those who hold religious truth in contempt. You may be astonished at my thus venturing to speak to you, a perfect stranger, but I am sure that I may trust Mary Seton’s cousin; and if you have the opportunity, I will beg you to tell my father or the good admiral what I say. I dare not write on the subject, nor can I venture to send a verbal message by Maître Leroux.”

“I faithfully promise to convey your sentiments to either one or the other,” answered Nigel, casting a glance of admiration at the young girl, who could thus stand alone in her innocence amid the follies of that vicious and frivolous court. “As to accepting a place at court, even should it be offered me, I would refuse it, for my tastes lead me to seek my fortune on the wild ocean or in foreign lands; and it is with this object that I am about to visit the admiral, who will, I have been led to hope, forward my views.”

“You cannot apply to a wiser or truer man in France,” answered Constance. She was about to say more, when they were rejoined by Mary Seton, who came to conduct Nigel into the presence of the queen.

“As a loyal Scot you are bound to pay your devoir to her Majesty,” she said. “Though neither of us have much recollection of our native wilds, we still regard our country with affection.”

Nigel felt that there was no escaping, and mustering courage, went boldly forward till he reached the spot where the young queen was standing with several lords and ladies in attendance. Though unaccustomed to courts, he had too much native dignity to be overawed, and bending on his knee he lifted the hand of the young queen to his lips and reverently kissed it. Mary bestowed on him one of those fascinating smiles which in after years bound many a victim to her feet, and bidding him rise, questioned him about the affairs of Scotland, and various particulars regarding her lady mother the Regent, from whom he had been the bearer of a package. Nigel, gaining courage, replied discreetly to the young queen’s questions. The Dauphin, however, made some remark which induced her to dismiss her countryman, when Nigel fell back to where he had left Constance, who had been rejoined by his cousin.

“You comported yourself admirably, and I congratulate you,” said the latter. “You will, I am sure, after a little experience become a perfect courtier.”

“I would not advise him to make the experiment,” said Constance.

“There is little fear of it,” answered Nigel. “I hope ere long to find myself on the wide ocean, where I may breathe the free air of heaven, which I much prefer to the atmosphere of a court; but I must crave your pardon, fair ladies, for showing a disinclination to live where I might bask in the sunshine of your smiles.”

“That speech is truly worthy of a courtier,” said Mary Seton, laughing. “Come, come, cousin, change your mind. Constance, you will help me to bring this gentleman to reason?”

“I would not attempt to influence him, even if I could,” answered the young lady. “He has decided wisely. In your heart you know, Mary, that he is right; you yourself despise the miserable butterflies who hover round us with their sweet speeches, empty heads, and false hearts.”

Constance de Tourville was continuing in the same strain, when the young queen, with her attendants and the other ladies and gentlemen of the court, was seen moving towards the palace, and she and Mary Seton were compelled to follow them. While Nigel was paying his parting adieus to the young ladies, a sigh escaped his cousin as he pressed her hand to his lips, for she knew the probability that they might not meet again. Her heart was still faithful to Scotland, and she loved her kith and kindred.

“Remember,” said Constance, as he paid her the same mark of respect. “Be careful what you say to strangers: but you may trust Maître Leroux; he is honest.”

Note. Three Scottish young ladies were sent over to France to attend on Queen Mary. They were Mary Seton, Mary Beaton, and Mary Carmichael, and were named the Queen’s Maries.

Chapter Two.

A Walk through Paris.

On reaching the gate of the palace, Nigel had met the captain of the Scottish guard, Norman Leslie, a distant relative, by whose means he had gained admission to the palace, and had been able to enjoy the interview with his cousin, Mary Seton.

“How fared it with you, Nigel, among the gay ladies of the court?” asked the captain, one of those careless characters, who receive their pay and fight accordingly, very little troubled as to the justice of the cause they support.

“I had a talk with my cousin, and had the honour of paying my devoirs to the queen,” answered Nigel, cautiously. “Having now no longer any business in Paris, I am about to set out on a visit to Admiral Coligny. Can you direct me to my hostelry, at the sign of the Angel, and tell me where I can find a steed to carry me on my journey? for, albeit it would best suit my purse to trudge on foot, I would wish to present myself to the admiral in a way suitable to the character of a Scottish gentleman.”

“As I am off guard I will accompany you, my good kinsman, and will assist you in procuring a horse,” was the answer.

Nigel gladly accepted Leslie’s offer, and the two Scotchmen set forth together. Nigel, being totally ignorant of the city, had no notion in what direction they were going. They were passing through the Rue Saint Antoine, when they saw before them a large crowd thronging round a party of troopers and a body of men-at-arms, who were escorting between them several persons, their hands bound behind their backs, and mostly without hats, the soldiers urging them on with the points of their swords or pikes; Nigel also observed among them three or four women, who were treated with the same barbarous indignity as the men.

“Who are those unhappy people?” he asked.

“Heretics on their way to prison, to be burnt, probably, in a few days for the amusement of the king, who, ambitious of surpassing his sister sovereign, Queen Mary of England, and to exhibit his love for religion, manages to put to death ten times as many as she ventures to send to the stake, unless they recant, when they will have the honour of being strangled or hung instead,” answered Leslie, in a nonchalant tone. “He and his counsellors are determined to extirpate heresy; but as the Protestants are numbered by hundreds of thousands, and as there are a good many men of high rank and wealth among them, his Majesty has undertaken a difficult task.”

“I pray that he may alter his mind, or fail in the attempt,” exclaimed Nigel, indignantly.

“I may whisper amen; although, as the foolish people bring the punishment on their own heads, I am not inclined to throw down the gauntlet in their cause, and must e’en do my duty and carry out the orders of the master whose bread I eat,” said Leslie.

Nigel did not reply, but he felt more than ever determined not to take service on shore, however tempting the offers he might receive. Leslie told him that of late years, throughout France, many hundreds, nay, thousands of persons, after being broken on the wheel, or having had their tongues cut out, or being tortured in some other way, had been burnt at the stake for their religious opinions; but that, notwithstanding, the Protestants increased in numbers, and that, for his part, though himself a faithful son of the Church, he thought that a wiser plan might have been adopted.

“For my part, I believe that had not the Pope and the priests and monks interfered, and worked up some of our fanatic nobles and the ignorant populace to persecute their fellow-countrymen, they might have lived together on friendly terms; and, for the life of me, I cannot see why people should not be allowed to worship God according to the dictates of their consciences,” added the shrewd Scotchman, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Nigel, who had only heard rumours of such proceedings, felt his blood boil with indignation, and instinctively touching the hilt of his sword, he vowed that he was ready to do battle in the cause of justice and humanity. His kinsman, who saw the act, smiled; and divining his thoughts, said, “Let me advise you to avoid interference in quarrels not your own, unless you receive a due recompense in pay, and then the less you trouble yourself about the rights of the case the better. Come along. The first thing we are to do is to look out for your steed. Honest Jacques Cochût will supply you with one which will bear you from one end of France to the other, and an attendant to bring the animal back. It will be more economical than purchasing a horse, unless you have a long journey to make.”

Nigel accompanied his friend to the stables of Jacques Cochût, to whom Leslie was well known. A strong and active steed was soon engaged, with the promise that it should be ready at the door of the hostelry at an early hour next morning.

Leslie, leaving Nigel at the Angel inn, returned to his duty at the palace, while the latter, having ordered his supper, retired to his room to think over the events of the day.

It is needless to say that Constance de Tourville frequently recurred to his thoughts. He had heard enough to make him understand the dangerous position of the Protestants in France, even of the highest rank, and the fearful persecutions to which all classes were exposed. From the remarks Constance had made, it was evident that she herself was exposed to much annoyance, if not danger, even within the precincts of the palace, and he earnestly hoped that he might have an opportunity of speaking to her father, and obtaining her release.

He had sat for some time when he was aroused by a knock at the door, and the servant of the inn announced that a person desired to speak with him.

“Let him come in,” said Nigel; and a respectable-looking man, somewhat advanced in life, as was shown by his silvery locks, stepped forward.

“I am attached to the house of the Count de Tourville, whose daughter despatched me to seek you out, and place myself at your service.”

“Come in, my friend,” said Nigel, offering him a chair. “You are, I presume, Maître Leroux, and I am grateful to the young lady for her kindness, of which I will gladly avail myself. Shall you be ready to set out to-morrow morning?”

“I had intended to do so, but business will keep me in Paris for another day,” answered Maître Leroux; “and if you, fair sir, do not object to remain, I will gladly set forth with you at any hour you may name on the following morning. You may, in the mean time, find amusement in this big city of Paris.”

Nigel, who was pleased with Maître Leroux, though anxious to continue his journey, willingly agreed to wait for the purpose of having his escort.

“But I have engaged my horse for to-morrow,” he added.

“I will easily settle that matter with Jacques Cochût; and if you will accept of my company I will call for you, and show you some of the sights of our city, as you will, alone, be unable to find your way about the streets, and may chance to lose yourself, or get into some difficulty.”

“Thank you,” said Nigel. “I shall indeed be glad of your society, for, except a kinsman in the guards, I know no one in the whole of Paris.”

These arrangements having been made, Maître Leroux took his departure; and Nigel was not sorry, soon after supper, to throw himself on his bed, and seek the repose which even his well-knit limbs required.

Nigel, who slept longer than was his wont, waited at the inn some time for Maître Leroux. He was afraid to go out, lest the steward might arrive during his absence. At length his guide appeared.

“I have been detained longer than I expected,” said Maître Leroux; “but monsieur will pardon me. We have still time to see much of the city.”

They set out, and during their walk visited many places of interest, of which the steward gave the history to the young Scotchman.

“Your Paris buildings surpass those of our bonny Edinburgh in size and number, I must confess,” remarked Nigel; “but still we have our Holyrood, and our castle, and the situation of our city is unrivalled, I am led to believe, by that of any other in the world.”

“As I have not seen your city I am unable to dispute the point,” answered the steward. “Would you like to visit one of our courts of justice? Though not open to the public, I may be able to gain admittance, and I am deeply interested in the case, albeit it would be wise not to show that, and having a stranger with me will be a sufficient excuse.”

“Under those circumstances I will gladly accompany you,” said Nigel.

They soon reached the portals of a large building, through which, after some hesitation on the part of the guards, the steward and his companion were admitted. Nigel observed that Maître Leroux slipped some money into the hands of two or three people, this silver key evidently having its usual power of opening doors otherwise closed. Going through a side door they reached a large hall, crowded with persons. Among those seated were numerous ecclesiastics, a judge in his robes, and lawyers and their clerks; while a strong body of men-at-arms were guarding a party of some fifty or sixty persons, who, from their position and attitudes, were evidently prisoners. They were men of different ranks; several, from their costume, being gentlemen, and others citizens and artisans. There were a few women among them also. All looked deadly pale, but their countenances exhibited firmness and determination.

“Of what crime have these people been guilty?” asked Nigel.

“Of a fearful one in the eyes of their judges,” answered Maître Leroux. “They have been worshipping God according to the dictates of their consciences, and were found assembled together in a house at Meaux, listening to the gospel of the mild and loving Saviour. They have already been put to the torture to compel them to recant and betray their associates, but it has not produced the desired effect. In vain their advocate has pleaded their cause. Listen! the judge is about to pronounce their sentence.”

Dreadful indeed that was. With blasphemous expressions, which cannot be repeated, the condemned were sentenced to be carried back to Meaux; fourteen, after being again put to the torture, were to be burnt alive in the market-place; most of the others were to be hung up by their shoulders during the execution of their brethren, and then to be flogged and imprisoned for life in a monastery, while the remainder were to receive somewhat less severe, though still grievous punishment.

The hardy young Scot almost turned sick with horror and indignation as he heard the sentence; and putting his hand to his sword, he was about to cry out and demand, in the name of justice, that instead of being punished, the prisoners should be released, when his companion grasped him by the arm, whispering, “Be calm, my friend; such events are so common in France, that we have grown accustomed to them. Hundreds have already died as these men are about to die; and we, their countrymen, have been compelled to look on without daring to raise our voices in their cause, or, as you are inclined to do, to draw a sword for their defence.”

Maître Leroux, after exchanging a few sentences in an undertone with three or four people they met, whose sad countenances showed the interest they took in the condemned, led his young friend from the so-called hall of justice. On their way they looked into the magnificent church of Notre Dame. Priests in gorgeous dresses were chanting mass; music was pealing through the building, and incense was ascending to the roof.

“Impious mockery,” muttered Nigel. “Well may Calvin and John Knox desire the overthrow of such a system, and desire to supplant it by the true faith of the Gospel.”

“Hush! hush! my young friend,” whispered Maître Leroux, hurrying him out of the church, regretting that he had entered it. “Though many may think as you do, it’s dangerous to utter such opinions in this place.”

“Can nothing be done to save these poor men?” asked Nigel. “Surely the king cannot desire the destruction of his subjects?”

“The king, like Gallio, cares for none of these things. He is taught to believe that the priests are the best supporters of his crown: and, at all events, he knows that they allow him full licence in the indulgence of his pleasures, which the Protestants, he supposes, would be less inclined to do.”

“I would that I were out of this city of Paris, and away from France itself,” said Nigel.

“Many think and feel as you do, and are acting upon it,” answered the steward. “Already many thousand men of science and clever artisans have left, to carry their knowledge and industry to other lands; and others, in all directions, are preparing to follow. You will hear more about the matter when you visit the admiral, and my good master, who does not look unmoved on such proceedings. More on the subject it would not become me to say. Not long ago an edict was issued, by which all the old laws on heresy were revived, it being the resolution of the king to purge and clear the country of all those who are deemed heretics. Magistrates are ordered to search unceasingly for them, and to make domiciliary visits in quest of forbidden books, while the informer is to obtain one-third of the heretic’s confiscated property. Should a person be acquitted of heresy in any ordinary court of justice, he may be again tried before an ecclesiastical tribunal, thus depriving him of all chances of escape. Even interference on behalf of a heretic is made penal, and should a person be suspected, he must exhibit a certificate of orthodoxy, or run the risk of being condemned. You see, therefore, young sir, that I am right in recommending caution as to what you say; not that these edicts have the effect expected, for Calvinism increases rapidly, and the stream of emigration continues from all parts of the kingdom.”

They walked on in silence, Nigel meditating on what he had heard.

“Some fresh air will do you good after the scenes we have witnessed,” observed Maître Leroux. “We will take a turn in the Pré-aux-Clercs. It is but a short distance past the Invalides.”

It was evening, and a number of people were thronging that pleasant meadow on the banks of the Seine, the Hyde Park of that period. A party of young men coming by struck up one of the hymns of Marot, a translation of one of the psalms of David, written some years before by the Protestant poet. Others joined in, and evidently sang them heartily; several other parties, as they passed along, were indulging in the same melodies.

“How is it, after what you have told me, that the people venture to sing these hymns?” asked Nigel. “I know them well, for they have already been introduced into our Protestant congregations in Scotland.”

“They became the favourites of the king and court before they had the significance they now possess,” answered the steward; “and it is only thus that many who hate the papal system can give expression to their sentiments. Before long, however, I fear that they will be prohibited, or those who sing them will be marked as suspected. Alas, alas! our lovely France will be deprived of all freedom of thought, opinion, and action.”

The worthy Maître Leroux seemed greatly out of spirits as they took their way back to the inn. They parted at the door, for Nigel felt no inclination to go forth again, and the steward had business, he said, to attend to. He promised to call for Nigel at an early hour the next morning to set out for Meaux, undertaking to direct Jacques Cochût to have his horses in readiness.

Chapter Three.

The Visit to the Admiral.

Maître Leroux did not call at as early an hour as Nigel expected. His own horse and attendant had been at the door for some time before the steward made his appearance. He had an ample apology to offer, having been employed in an important matter till late at night.

“Come,” he said, “we will make up for it. The lateness of the hour matters not, for, with your permission, we will halt on the road, so as to arrive early at the château to-morrow.”

They set out, followed by their two attendants. After leaving the gates of Paris they continued some distance along the banks of the Marne. The road was rough in places, and often deep in dust; full of holes and ruts in others, which made it necessary for the riders to hold a tight rein on their steeds, and prevented them generally from going out of a walk.

Maître Leroux carried a brace of huge pistols in his holsters, while Nigel had a sword and a light arquebus, both their attendants being also armed; so that they were well able to defend themselves against any small party of marauders such as infested the roads in the neighbourhood of the capital.

“We must make but a short stage to-day,” said Maître Leroux. “In truth, I am unwilling to travel late in the evening, and prefer stopping at the house of a friend to taking up our quarters at an inn where we might meet with undesirable companions.”

“But I shall be intruding on your friend,” said Nigel.

“Pardon me; you will, on the contrary, be heartily welcomed. I am very sure of your principles, and they agree with those of our host and his family, so you need not be under the restraint which would be necessary were we to sleep at a public inn.”

These arguments at once overcame any scruples Nigel might have felt at going to a stranger’s house uninvited.

It yet wanted a couple of hours to sunset when they reached a good-sized mansion, though not possessing the pretensions of a nobleman’s château. The owner, a man advanced in life, of gentlemanly refined manner, received Maître Leroux in a friendly way, and on hearing from him who Nigel was, welcomed him cordially. Nigel was conducted into a saloon, where he was introduced to his host’s wife and daughters and several other members of the family. Supper was quickly prepared, and Nigel found himself at once at home.

As soon as the meal was over several other persons came in, some apparently of the same rank as the host, and others of an inferior order, but all staid and serious in their demeanour. The doors and windows were then carefully closed, and Nigel observed that two of the party went out armed with swords and pistols, apparently to watch the approach to the house.

A large Bible was now produced, and several of the party drew forth smaller editions from beneath their garments. The host then offered up a prayer, and opening the Bible, read a portion, commenting as he proceeded. A hymn was then sung and more of the Scriptures read, after which the host delivered an address full of gospel truth, while he exhorted his hearers to hold fast to the faith, but at the same time remarked that they would be justified in flying from persecution if no other means could be found of avoiding it at home. He reminded all present, however, that their duty was to pray for their persecutors, and however cruelly treated, not to return evil for evil. Nigel was reminded of various meetings of the same character he had attended in Scotland, where, however, every man could speak out boldly, without the fear of interruption which seemed to pervade the minds of those present. He now knew that his host was one of the many Protestants existing in the country who ventured thus in secret to worship God according to their consciences, even though running the risk of being condemned to death as heretics.

After the guests had retired, the family spent some time in singing Marot’s hymns.

“Ah!” said the host, “it is only in praising God and reading His blessed words that we can take any pleasure. It is our consolation and delight, and enables us without complaining to endure the sad condition to which bigotry and tyranny have reduced our unhappy country. The only prospect now before us is exile, or imprisonment and death.”

Nigel answered without hesitation that he felt much satisfaction in again having the opportunity of worshipping, as he had been accustomed to do at home, according to his conscience, and hearing the Bible read and faithfully explained.

His host wishing him and his companion a friendly farewell, and expressing a hope that he should see him again, they took their departure at an early hour the next morning.

They had proceeded some distance when they entered a forest, through the centre of which the high road passed. They had been pushing on rather faster than usual, Maître Leroux being anxious to get through it as soon as possible, when they saw before them a body of soldiers. As they got nearer they found that they were escorting a number of prisoners seated in rough country carts, into which they were fastened with heavy chains.

“Who are these unhappy people?” inquired Nigel.

“The same we saw condemned in Paris,” answered Maître Leroux with a sigh. “If we do not wish to share their fate we must exhibit no sympathy for them, as the wretches who have them in charge would rejoice to add to their number. As it will be impossible to pass them at present, we will drop slowly behind.”

“Would that I had a band of Protestant Scots with me, we would soon set them at liberty!” exclaimed Nigel.

“Hush, hush! my friend,” whispered the steward; “it becomes us not to fight with carnal weapons; such is Dr Calvin’s advice.”

Just at that moment a voice exclaimed, “Brethren, remember Him who is in heaven above!”

Some of the rear-guard immediately turned round, and with drawn swords dashed furiously towards Nigel and Maître Leroux, believing, evidently, that one of them had uttered the exclamation they had heard. They both drew up, for flight would have been useless, when, just as the troopers had got some fifty yards from them, a man advanced from among the trees and repeated the words in a loud tone. He was instantly seized by the soldiers, and being dragged back along them, was thrown into one of the carts among the other prisoners. His appearance probably saved the lives of Nigel and his companion, for the doughty Scot had drawn his sword, and would have fought desperately before he would have yielded himself a prisoner.

“Pull in your rein, I entreat you,” said the steward; “we must not turn round, and the sooner we let these people get to a distance from us, the better.”

Nigel, seeing that it would be hopeless to attempt assisting the unfortunate man, did as his companion advised, and they accordingly waited till the troopers were out of sight, taking good care not again to overtake them. Their progress was thus considerably delayed, and not till they came to a road passing outside the town of Meaux did they again venture to push forward.

They managed before sunset to reach the Château de Tourville, a high conical-roofed pile, with numerous towers and a handsome gateway. Maître Leroux, conducting Nigel to a waiting-room near the entrance, went at once to the count, taking his letter of introduction. Nigel had not been left long alone when the steward returned with the request that he would accompany him to the hall, where, he told him, he would find the count and admiral with several other persons. Nigel, not being troubled by bashfulness, quickly followed his guide.

The count, who was of middle age and handsome, courteously rose from his seat at the top of the table to welcome him. At the right hand of the count Nigel observed a person of middle height, ruddy complexion, and well-proportioned figure, with a calm and pleasant, if not decidedly handsome countenance. On the other side sat a tall man, whose sunburnt features, though regular, wore an expression which at the first glance gave Nigel the feeling that he was not a person in whom he would place implicit confidence, though directly afterwards, as he again looked at him, his manner seemed so frank and easy, that the impression vanished. Several other persons of different ages, and apparently of somewhat inferior rank, sat on either side of the table.

“Which of those two can be the admiral?” thought Nigel; “the last looks most like a naval commander.”

“The Lady Mary Seton, your cousin, and my daughter, have written in your favour, young sir, and I am glad to see you at the château; you have, I understand, also a letter of introduction to Admiral Coligny, to whom allow me to make you known.” Saying this, the count presented Nigel to the gentleman on his right side, who requested the person next him to move further down, bidding Nigel to take the vacant seat.

Nigel observed that the meal was over, but the count ordered the servant to bring in some viands for the newly arrived guest.

“As I take no wine you will allow me to read the letter brought by this young gentleman,” said the admiral, turning to the count; “I never defer looking at an epistle if it can possibly be helped.”

The count bowed his acquiescence, and the admiral quickly glanced over the letter which Nigel had presented to him.

“I shall be glad to forward your object,” he said, turning round with a calm smile, and playing with a straw, which he was wont to carry in his mouth.

“Fortunately, I have an opportunity of doing so. I am about to fit out an expedition to form a settlement in the southern part of America, and if your qualifications are such as I am led to believe, I will appoint you as an officer on board one of the ships. You will have but little time to remain idle in France, as we wish the ships to sail as soon as the emigrants who are going on board them can be collected. They will undoubtedly be anxious without delay to leave our unhappy country, where they are constantly subjected to the cruel persecutions of their opponents in religious opinions. Would the service I propose suit your taste?”

“Though I might wish to engage in some more warlike expedition, yet I am willing and glad to go wherever you, sir, may think fit to send me,” answered Nigel.

“Well spoken, young man,” said the admiral. “War is a necessity which cannot be avoided, but there are other employments in which a person may nobly engage with far greater advantage to himself and his fellow-creatures. Such is the work in which I desire to employ you—the noble undertaking of founding a new colony, and planting the banner of pure religion and civilisation in the far-off wilds of the Western world.”

The admiral spoke on for some time in the same strain, till Nigel felt inspired with the same noble enthusiasm which animated the bosom of the brave and enlightened nobleman who was speaking to him.

Many questions were put to him concerning his nautical knowledge and religious belief, to which he answered in a satisfactory manner.

“I believe you are well suited for the undertaking, and I will forthwith make you known to the commander of the expedition, my friend Captain Villegagnon,” said the admiral.

The dark man Nigel had remarked, hearing his name mentioned, looked toward him. Nigel bowed. The admiral, after explaining Nigel’s qualifications, went on to inquire what posts were vacant in the squadron?

“That of the second officer on board my own ship, the Madeline; and I shall be pleased to have a seaman of experience to fill it, although he is not a native of France,” answered the captain.

“You may consider your appointment as settled, my young friend,” said the admiral. “I will desire my secretary to make it out, and as you assure me that you are a true Protestant, I willingly appoint you, such being the religious opinions of all those who are about to form the colony of Antarctic France, which I trust will be well-established under the wise government of Monsieur Villegagnon. Many other ships will sail forth with emigrants seeking an asylum from the persecutions they are subjected to in France on account of their religious opinions.”

Nigel warmly thanked the admiral for the prompt way in which he had met his request.

“Say nothing about that, my young friend; we are too glad to find Protestant officers ready to engage in the expedition,” was the answer.

The conversation now became general, and the plans for the future colony were freely discussed, the count, who appeared as much interested as the admiral, taking a leading part—indeed, Nigel gathered from what he heard, that he himself intended to go out among the first colonists.

The idea of establishing the colony had been started, so Nigel understood, by Monsieur Villegagnon, who had chosen the Bay of Nitherohy, since known as that of Rio de Janeiro, as the site of the first town to be built. It was a place which he had visited some years before on a trading voyage, when he and his companions had been well received by the natives, though they were at enmity with the Portuguese, already established in the country, who claimed it as their own. This latter circumstance Monsieur Villegagnon remarked was of little consequence, as they were few in numbers, and, with the assistance of the natives, could easily be driven out.

The repast being over, the admiral rose from the table, the other guests following his example. Calling to Captain Villegagnon, he took him and Nigel into the deep recess of a window to have some further conversation on the subject of the proposed colony.

“Monsieur de Villegagnon sets out to-morrow to take command of the squadron, and you will do well to accompany him, young sir,” he said, turning to Nigel. “You will thus be able to superintend the fitting out of your ship, and see that the stores come on board, and that proper accommodation is prepared for the emigrants; many are of rank and position in society, and there are merchants, soldiers, and artificers, and you will have to consider how best to find room for them. I am glad to say that the king himself takes great interest in the success of the colony, and under the able management of so skilled a leader as he who has been appointed to the command, we may hope that the flag of France will wave proudly ere long over many portions of the continent.”

“It will not be my fault if the noble enterprise fails to succeed,” said the captain, drawing himself up proudly, and then bowing to the admiral in acknowledgment of the compliment. “My chief satisfaction is, however, that a home will be found for so many of the persecuted Protestants who are compelled for conscience sake to leave their native land.”

“You are right, my friend; that is a noble sentiment,” observed the admiral; “and I would urge our friends who are dissatisfied with the state of affairs at home to place themselves under your command.”

“From the expressions our host has uttered, I may hope that he also will render valuable aid to our undertaking,” observed the captain.

“No one, be assured, more warmly enters into our views,” answered the admiral, “and he will both with his purse and influence assist us, if he does not do so in a more effectual way.”

They were soon after joined by the count, who requested the captain to reserve two cabins for some persons who intended going on board just before the squadron put to sea.

From the conversation which ensued, Nigel found that most of the persons present purposed joining the expedition. They were all, he found from the remarks they made, Protestants, and haters of the system of persecution which had so long been the curse of France. Most of them had already disposed of their possessions, and were only waiting till the squadron was completely equipped to go on board. Among them was a Protestant minister, and, notwithstanding the edicts against meeting for public or private worship, the doors of the château being closed, before retiring to rest all the inmates were collected, the Bible was read and prayers offered up, those for the success of the undertaking and the preservation of the persons about to embark not being forgotten.

Maître Leroux accompanied Nigel to his chamber. He expressed his pleasure on hearing that he had obtained the object of his wishes.

“Would that I could accompany you,” he said, with a sigh; “but my duty compels me to remain, and watch over my master’s property, should he be called away. Ah, he is a kind, good master, and his daughter is an angel. I would lay down my life for her sake, should she be deprived of her father—and we never know what may happen in these times. Alack! I fear that she is in society little congenial to her taste and opinion, for she is a true Protestant, as was her sainted mother, now in heaven.”

Nigel felt deeply interested in listening to the garrulous steward’s account of his young mistress, and encouraged him to go on. She had been compelled, against her father’s and her own wish, to reside at court, for the evident purpose of perverting her faith; “but she is too sound, and too wise to allow them to succeed,” he added, “though I would the dear young lady were back with us again.”

Chapter Four.

What Nigel overheard.

All arrangements having been made, the next morning, shortly after the sun had risen, Captain Villegagnon, with a considerable party, were ready to set out for Havre de Grace, the port at which the squadron was fitting out.

They purposed to avoid Paris, but had to pass through Meaux on their way to join the high road leading to Havre.

The good admiral and Monsieur de Tourville came out to wish them farewell as they mounted their horses, and Maître Leroux was waiting at a little distance, where he might have a few last words with Nigel.

“Farewell, my young friend,” he said, putting a small Testament into his hand; “you will find this an inestimable treasure. I dare not keep it long, as it is considered treason for a Frenchman to possess God’s Word, though I have hidden away another copy to which I may go when unobserved to refresh my soul; and, mark you, should my master and young mistress ever have occasion to seek for your assistance, you will, I am sure, afford it.”

“I promise you that I will most gladly,” answered Nigel, wondering what the old steward could mean. Wishing his worthy friend good-bye, he pushed on to overtake his travelling companions.

On entering Meaux, they found the town in a strange commotion, the people all rushing with eager looks to the market-place, in which, as they reached it, they found a large crowd assembled. They caught sight of a number of high gibbets erected at intervals round it, while in the centre was a circle of stakes surrounded by faggots. The travellers would have passed on, but the dense crowd prevented them from moving, and their leader himself showed no inclination to press forward.

Presently shouts arose, and, the crowd opening, a horse was seen dragging a hurdle, on which a human being lay bound, the blood flowing from his mouth. A party of soldiers next appeared with a number of persons, their hands bound behind them, in their midst; while priests, carrying lighted tapers, were seen among them, apparently trying to gain their attention. Some of the prisoners were singing a hymn of Marot’s, and all carried their heads erect, advancing fearlessly to the place of execution. On arriving, they were seized by savage-looking men, while some were speedily hoisted up to the gibbets by their shoulders, where they hung, enduring, it was evident, the greatest agony. Fourteen of the party were then bound to as many stakes, the unhappy man on the hurdle being the first secured. Among them Nigel recognised the person who had been seized in the forest on the previous day for shouting, “Brethren, remember Him who is in heaven above.” Though the cords were drawn so tight as to cut into their wrists and ankles, no one uttered a cry for mercy, but, lifting their eyes to heaven, continued singing, or exhorting their companions to be firm.

The faggots being now piled round them, the priests retired, uttering curses on their heads; while bands of music struck up to drown the voices of the sufferers. At the sight of two men approaching with torches, the people raised loud shouts of savage joy, and one of the piles of faggots surrounding the stake, that to which the chief person, whose tongue had been cut out, was bound, was speedily kindled.

“All! all! Let them all be burned together,” shouted the mob, dancing frantically.

The other piles were quickly lighted, the smoke ascending from the fourteen fires forming a dark canopy overhead.

The victims, as long as they could be distinguished, were seen with their eyes turned to heaven, singing and praising God with their last breath.

The savage fury of the ignorant populace was not yet satiated. Those who had been hung up by the shoulders were now taken down, and so dreadfully flogged, that some of them petitioned that they might be thrown into the flames amid the ashes of their martyred friends; but this was a mercy their cruel executioners had no intention of affording them. Bleeding, they were dragged off to be imprisoned in a monastery, where they were to be shut up for life.

At length Villegagnon, who had looked on with perfect indifference, called to his companions to follow, and, the crowd beginning to disperse, they were able with less difficulty to advance.

The lowest of the rabble only had exulted in the dreadful scene; the greater number of the people exhibited very different feelings. Nigel observed many in tears, or with downcast looks, returning to their homes; others exchanging glances of indignation; and he heard several exclaiming, “They died in a righteous cause. May we have grace to suffer as they have done.”

“Truly, as I have heard it said in Scotland, ‘The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,’” observed Nigel to another of his companions, whose tears and groans showed the grief he suffered at the spectacle he had just witnessed.

Villegagnon kept his party together, for more than once some of the more ferocious persons of the mob cast suspicious looks at them, and mutterings arose, “Who are these? They have the air of Lutherans, or they would look more joyous at the destruction of heretics.”

“I hold the king’s commission, and these are under my orders,” cried Villegagnon. “Make way, good people, make way, and allow us to proceed on our journey.”

Still the mob pressed round, and where showing a determination to stop the travellers, when a monk stepped forward, and exclaimed, “I know that gentleman, and he is a true son of the Church. Interfere not, at your peril, with him and his companions.”

Nigel fancied that he observed glances of intelligence exchanged between the captain and the monk, who had so opportunely come to their rescue. The mob, at length pacified, drew back, and the party were allowed to leave the town without being again molested.

They pushed on as fast as their horses could go.

“We have had a happy escape,” observed Nigel’s companion, “for although a large portion of the population of Meaux are Protestant, yet the rabble, supported by the troops and some of the government authorities, have the upper hand, and it would have fared ill with us had we been stopped and our object discovered.”

Night had already set in when they reached a hostelry where they were to remain till the morning. As most of the travellers were fatigued, they retired to rest as soon as supper was over, with their saddles as pillows, and their cloaks wrapped round them, lying down in the chief saloon, wherever space could be found. Nigel, with two or three others, sat up some time longer, when, having got his saddle and cloak, intending to seek repose, he found every place occupied. While hunting about, he entered a small room in which were a couple of truckle bedsteads. Neither was occupied.

“I am in luck,” he said to himself, and placing his saddle and other property by his side, having taken off his riding boots and some of his clothes, he threw himself upon one of the beds which stood in a corner.

Drawing the coverlid over him, he was soon, sailor-like, fast asleep. After some time, he was awakened by hearing the door open, and, looking up, he saw two persons enter the room. One was Villegagnon, who carried a lamp in his hand; the other was, he saw by the person’s costume, an ecclesiastic. They advanced across the room towards the window, where stood a table and a couple of chairs. Villegagnon threw himself into one of them, with his back towards him, the other imitating his example. The latter produced writing materials, and several papers, which Villegagnon held to the lamp to read.

“You have made a happy commencement of your work, my friend,” said the priest. “If you carry it out thoroughly, the Church, the Duke of Guise, and the Cardinal of Lorraine will be deeply indebted to you. Twenty Calvinist nobles, and some four score of the commonalty, have, I see, determined to accompany you, and they will entice many more. We shall be glad to be rid of them at present out of France, and we will then send out a larger number of faithful Catholics, so that you will reap the honour of founding a French colony in the New World, the Church will triumph, and the Calvinists be extirpated.”

“But the proceeding smacks somewhat of treachery, and it can matter but little to you at home whether the colony is established by Calvinists or Catholics, so that it is firmly grounded and adds to the honour and glory of France,” observed Villegagnon.

“Nay, nay, my friend,” said the priest, putting his hand on the captain’s arm; “remember that the means sanctifies the end. We can allow no Calvinists to exist, either here or abroad. They would be continually coming back with their pestiferous doctrines, or, finding themselves in the majority, would speedily put an end to our holy Church. They must be extirpated, root and branch.”

“I have no wish to support the Protestants, as thou knowest right well, reverend father,” answered the captain; “but they are countrymen, and fight well, and labour well, and count among their number the cleverest mechanics in France. I know not how it is, but it seems to me that everywhere the most intelligent men have become Calvinists.”

“Their father Satan gives them wisdom. Take care, captain, that you are not carried away by their doctrines. The true faith will triumph, depend on that,” said the priest, frowning as he spoke.

“Your arguments are conclusive. It will not be my fault if the plan miscarries,” answered Villegagnon. “I will keep on the mask till I feel myself strong enough to throw it off.”

“You will do well. Do not be in a hurry. We must get as many of these pestiferous sectarians into the net as possible.”

Further conversation of the same character was held between the two worthies for some time. Nigel had found himself most unintentionally acting the part of an eavesdropper. He had at first felt inclined to start up and make the captain and priest aware of his presence; but as the conversation went on he felt that he was justified in thus learning the character of the leader of the expedition, whose evil intentions he hoped he might be the means of counteracting. He determined, therefore, to appear to be fast asleep should they, on quitting the room, discover him.

As he saw them rise, he closed his eyes. He heard their footsteps as they approached the door. Just then the light which Villegagnon carried fell upon him.

“I had no idea that anyone was in the room,” whispered the captain, holding the lamp towards Nigel.

“Who is he?” asked the priest, in a low voice.

“A young pig of a Scotchman, whom the admiral insisted on my taking on board as an officer.”

“Should he have overheard what was said, he might interfere with our proceedings,” observed the priest. “Your dagger would most speedily settle the question, and prevent mischief.”

“I am not fond of killing sleeping men, holy father,” answered the captain, in a somewhat indignant tone. “Even had the youth been awake, he is so little acquainted with French that he could not have understood what we were saying; but, you see, he is fast asleep. I, however, will keep an eye upon him, and shall soon learn whether he knows anything. If he does, we have frequently dark and stormy nights at sea, when men get knocked overboard. Such may be his fate; you understand me.”

“A good idea. I will trust to your discretion,” said the priest, and, greatly to Nigel’s relief, they left the room.

He remained awake, considering how he should act. At length he heard some one enter the room; it was the captain, who, just taking a glance at him, threw himself on the bed, and was soon fast asleep.

At early dawn Nigel awoke, and, putting on his garments, went down into the yard to get some water to wash his hands and face. The rest of the party were soon on foot.

The captain met him in the morning with a smiling countenance, and, as he did not even allude to his having shared his room, Nigel thought it better to say nothing about the matter. He looked about for the priest, but he was nowhere to be found, nor did Nigel hear any one allude to him. It was evident that he had come and gone secretly.

The rest of the journey to Havre was performed without any other incident worthy of note. Three stout ships were found in the harbour, already in a forward state of equipment. Nigel went on board the Madeline, with several of his travelling companions, and at once took possession of the cabin intended for his use. The officers and the crew, as far as he could learn, were all Protestants, as were undoubtedly the passengers who had already come on board.

He found plenty of occupation in receiving and stowing the provisions and stores, and in setting up the rigging and bending sails. He was thus kept actively employed for several days, till the Madeline, the most advanced ship, was fully ready for sea. All the passengers, he observed, came off at night, to avoid the observation of their countrymen. Although the ships were already crowded with almost as many people as they could carry, there were still two vacant cabins on board the Madeline.

Chapter Five.

Under Weigh—Arrival.

Morn had just broken; a southerly wind blew gently down the harbour, and Captain Villegagnon gave the order to lift the heavy anchors from their oozy beds. “A boat is coming from the shore and pulling rapidly towards us,” said Nigel to the captain. “The people on board her are making signals. Shall we stop weighing the anchor?”

“Yes, without doubt,” answered the commander, looking towards the boat. “I thought that they had abandoned their design. We are still to have the advantage of the count’s assistance and company.”

Nigel looked eagerly towards the approaching boat. Besides the rowers, there were several passengers, two of whom he saw were females, and at length, as they approached, he recognised the Count de Tourville. His heart began to beat more violently than it was wont to do. He felt almost sure that the lady by the count’s side was his daughter Constance. All doubt in a few minutes was set at rest, when the count, leading his daughter, came up the broad ladder which had been lowered to allow them to ascend. Constance gave him a smile of recognition as he bowed low, as did the other officers standing round, to welcome her and her father on board.

The squadron was now quickly under weigh, and gliding rapidly down the river. The weather looked fine, and all hoped for a prosperous voyage. Many who had narrowly escaped with their lives from the Romanists began to breathe more freely as the ships, under all sail, stood down the channel. Yet there were sad hearts on board, for they were leaving their beloved France a prey to civil strife, and their fellow religionists to the horrors of persecution, so that for the time they forgot their high hopes of founding another France in the New World.

As Nigel paced the deck in the performance of his duty, he was often able to stop and speak to the count and his daughter, and to render her those attentions which a lady so frequently requires on board ship. Often they stood together watching the distant shore or passing vessels, or the porpoises as they gambolled in the waves. Insensibly they became more and more drawn together. Constance told him of the difficulty she had experienced in escaping from the court. Had not her father himself, at a great risk, gone to Paris, she would have been unable to accomplish her object. Fortunately for her, a relative residing in the capital having fallen ill, had sent an earnest request to see her. She had been allowed to go, and had the same night left Paris with her father in disguise, travelling night and day in time to reach Havre just as the ship was on the point of sailing.

“We may hope now, however, to get far away from the follies of courts and the trickeries of politics to found a new home where, with none but true Protestants around us, we may enjoy the exercise of our religion undisturbed,” she said, looking up at her companion with a smile.

“I trust that it may be so,” said Nigel.

“What! have you any doubts on the subject?” she asked.

“I would not willingly throw a dark shade across the prospect you contemplate,” he answered, “but we should be prepared for disappointment, and I believe few on board have thought sufficiently of the difficulties and dangers we shall have to encounter.”

Nigel had expressed his thoughts more plainly than he had intended, and he regretted immediately afterwards having said so much. The conversation he had overheard at the inn frequently recurred to him, and considerably damped his ardour. To whom could he venture to communicate the knowledge he had obtained of the commander’s character?

Who would, indeed, believe the young foreigner thus bringing so serious an accusation against the officer selected by Coligny himself, and of considerable renown as a naval chief? If he were not accused of malicious motives, the meeting would be looked upon as having only taken place in his dreams, for he should have to confess that he remained perfectly still during the time, with his eyes closed, as the captain and priest entered and quitted the room. He resolved, therefore, simply to keep a watch on Villegagnon, and to endeavour, if possible, to counteract his schemes.

Sometimes he thought of speaking to Count de Tourville, for he had, at all events, full confidence in his honour and discretion; but even he, knowing how much the admiral esteemed Villegagnon, might disbelieve him. He was compelled, therefore, to keep the knowledge he had obtained shut up in his own bosom. His chief satisfaction arose from the thought that Constance de Tourville was on board, and that it would be his joy and pride to defend her from all danger.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, gave signs of changing. The wind shifted more to the west, and dark clouds came rolling up. The vessels, instead of gliding smoothly on, were now tossed about. The storm increased. The sails were reduced to the smallest proportions, but yet the stout ships could with difficulty battle with the waves.

Under other circumstances, the emigrants would have loudly petitioned to put back; but as it was, they were afraid, should they again set foot in France, of being seized by their persecutors; nevertheless, as the storm increased, the terror of the emigrants, unaccustomed to the sea, became greater and greater. Loud cries of alarm arose; some mourned their folly in having left their native shores to perish in the ocean. Nigel and the other officers did their utmost to calm their fears, and assured them that should the ships be in real danger they would return to the port.

Constance was among the few ladies who exhibited no undue alarm, and expressed their confidence in the skill of the officers. But even they at length acknowledged that they should be thankful could they find themselves again safe in port. The Count de Tourville especially was unwilling to return; but for his daughter’s sake, however, he at length consented to ask the captain to do what he considered best for the safety of the ships.

“They will probably, if we continue at sea, become so battered, that we shall hardly reach our destination,” was the answer.

The signal thereon was hoisted from the commander’s ship, and the squadron stood back for France. On making the land, they found that they were to the eastward of the port from which they started, and at length they entered that of Dieppe. Here several of the artificers, and even some of the men of higher rank, resolved to abandon the expedition, rather than again risk the dangers of the sea. Their places, however, were supplied by others collected by the captain, who had gone on shore for the purpose. So many of these men were received on board each of the ships, that they became overcrowded; but the captain silenced all complaints by asserting that, if they would consent to suffer a little present inconvenience, they would have a greater number to defend themselves against any enemies they might meet with.

Once more the squadron sailed, and succeeded in getting clear of the Channel. They had not, however, been long at sea before Nigel began to suspect the character of the new-comers, of which his own ship carried the greater number. They herded together, and showed little respect to the services which the chaplain was wont to hold on board for the spiritual benefit of the colonists. They were even seen to mock while he preached, till complaints, being made to the captain, he ordered them to behave themselves.

Day after day the ships sailed on, keeping close together, the wind being fair and moderate. Sometimes it fell a calm, when the officers and gentlemen Calvinists of the different ships visited one another, and discussed their plans for the future. The chief delight, however, of most on board was to hold religious services, which they could now do without fear of interruption; and hymns of praise arose from amid the desert ocean, their voices, when the ships were close to each other, uniting together in harmony.

Often had Constance expressed her feelings at the thought that they might in future thus worship God. Before, however, they reached their destination, they encountered several violent gales, during which, whenever his duty would allow him, Nigel made his way to the side of Constance to afford her comfort and support.

“Do not be afraid,” he said; “our ships are strong, and our commander experienced. I have been in a worse found vessel in a more violent gale, and we reached port in safety.”

“But the waves look so terrible, threatening every moment to come down and overwhelm us,” said Constance, who was seated on deck, gazing at the tumultuous ocean.

“Remember, God tells us that it is He who rules the waves; and should it be His will, they cannot hurt us,” answered Nigel.

“Yes, yes,” said Constance; “I was wrong to express fear. Happy are we who possess the Bible, of which the followers of the tyrant Pope and his pretended priests are deprived.”

“Think how many thousands of our countrymen would thankfully go through far greater dangers than we are enduring to reach a country where they may enjoy freedom from persecution,” observed Nigel.

The young couple, however, talked on many other subjects; and when the storm ceased, and favourable breezes wafted them over the ocean, their spirits rose, and they spoke of the happy future in store for them. Nigel, however, was not altogether free from anxiety. He could not forget the conversation he had overheard between the captain and priest, though sometimes he almost fancied that it must have been a dream, Villegagnon was so courteous and polite to all his passengers, and expressed sentiments so in accordance with theirs.

At length “Land! land!” was shouted from the mast-head. The goal of their hopes was near, and the ships, getting close together, glided with a fair breeze towards the magnificent Bay of Nitherohy. Lofty and fantastic mountains, then unnamed by Europeans, rose out of the blue waters before them. On the left, appeared the conical-shaped height, since known as the Sugar Loaf. Further on, on the same side, the Three Brothers reared their heads to the skies, and still more to the south was seen the Corcovada and Gavia, the green mountains of the Three Brothers strongly contrasting with the latter-named peaks, while the distant ranges of the Blue Mountains rose in the interior. On the right was seen another range of varied-shaped heights, extending far away to the north. Passing beneath the lofty Sugar Loaf, the flotilla sailed through the entrance, when the magnificent land-locked expanse opened out before them, surrounded on all sides by hills and lofty mountains; while lovely little verdant and palm-clad islands appeared dotting the dark bosom of the water. Words, indeed, fail to describe the beautiful and varied scenery. The anchors were dropped close to one of the first isles they reached. On this spot Villegagnon told the eager crowd who surrounded him that he had determined to form the first settlement of the new colony. Here, at the entrance of the harbour, and surrounded by water, they might defy the attacks of enemies from without, or the Portuguese or natives who might venture to dispute their possession of the country. From this they might extend to others on either side, and then form a settlement on the shore, thus advancing till they had brought under subjection the whole of the surrounding country.

The settlers expressed their satisfaction at the captain’s plan, as they gazed at the richly coloured woods which covered the sides of the surrounding hills, at the purple blooming quaresma, the snake-like cacti, and the gorgeous flowering parasites hanging down even from the jagged and precipitous sides of the Sugar Loaf, and the rich verdure starting forth from every nook and crevice of the fantastically shaped rocks. Scarcely had the anchor been dropped, than the sun set behind the distant mountains, and, as darkness rapidly followed, they remained on board during the night.

Next morning, Constance and her father came on deck, where they found the young lieutenant attending to his duties. Again they gazed with renewed pleasure at the wild and the sublime outline of the surrounding mountains with their varied combinations, while the richness and beauty of colouring thrown over and around the whole, by the purple and rose colours and ethereal blue of the sky, imparted to the scene a beauty which no fancy sketch of fairyland could surpass. As they turned their eyes towards the nearest shore of the main land, they saw the beach and fringing rocks covered by a multitude of natives, waving green boughs as a sign of welcome; while, on the heights above, they had kindled numerous bonfires, to show their satisfaction at the arrival of the French, whom they believed had come to protect them from their enemies, the Portuguese. Preparations were being made on board the ships to land the officers and artisans, with materials for building the proposed fort. Villegagnon, in his barge of state, proceeded towards the shore to open negotiations with the native chiefs. He had requested the Count de Tourville to accompany him, and Constance begged that she might also go. As it was a mission of peace, no danger was apprehended; and it was thought that a lady being seen in the boat would give further assurance to the natives of the pacific intentions of their visit. Nigel, being one of the tallest and best-looking of the officers, was selected to steer the barge. Four other boats followed at a short distance. Their crews were fully armed, but were ordered to keep their weapons out of sight, and only to advance should the Indians show any sign of hostility.

As the barge neared the shore, a tall and dignified chief, his dress of the richest skins, and ornamented with gaily-coloured feathers, with a circle of plumes on his head, holding an unstrung bow of great strength in his hand, was seen standing on the beach to receive the new-comers. By his side was a youth, strongly resembling him in features, bearing his shield and quiver, and also handsomely dressed, while other chiefs were drawn up in a semi-circle a short distance behind him, with the rest of his people collected on either side. He advanced a few paces with dignified steps, and, stretching forth his hand to offer a friendly grasp to the captain as he landed, announced himself as Tuscarora, chief of the Tamoyos. According to Indian custom, he made a long harangue, welcoming the strangers to his country, and assuring them of his friendship.

“You come at a fortunate moment, when your aid may render us essential service in assisting us to defend ourselves against the assaults of a tribe of white men, who, for some years past, have attempted to establish themselves on our shores. They call us idolaters, and pretend to be of a religion which hates idolaters; but they themselves have numerous figures of men and women, before which they bow down and worship, and they fail not to shoot or cruelly ill-treat those of our people who fall into their hands; we, therefore, do not trust to their religion or promises.”

The chief concluded by assuring the French that they were welcome to take possession of the island off which their ships lay, or of any other they might select in the bay. Villegagnon replied that he and his people came in the character of true friends to the Indians, and his great object was to obtain their friendship and support, and that their religion taught them to consider all worshippers of figures and pictures and any visible object as idolaters; their desire being to serve the great Spirit who watched over the Indians as well as over themselves, and that by their acts they would show that they were worthy of the confidence their new friends were evidently disposed to place in them. He expressed a hope, also, that by an exchange of commodities, and by mutual support, they would learn to regard each other as brothers.

During this address the Indians preserved the most perfect silence, though the eyes of the young chief, who stood by his father’s side, wandered towards the boat in which the rest of the visitors still retained their seats. An attendant, now advancing, lighted the calumet of peace, which Tuscarora presented to the captain, who, after drawing a few whiffs, returned it to the chief, who performed the same ceremony. The rest of the party now landing, the pipe was passed round among them. Constance, who stood by her father’s side, regarded the scene with much interest. She could not avoid remarking the glances of admiration which the young chief cast at her, and was compelled more than once to turn round and speak to Nigel, who remained close to her. He himself observed the looks of the young chief, which created an undefined feeling in his breast, though his pride forbade him in any way to exhibit it.

“These Indians are of a far more martial and gallant bearing than I had supposed; but still they are savages, and we should be wise if we are on our guard against them,” he observed to Constance.

This was said aside, while Villegagnon was replying to the address delivered by the Tamoyo chief, who then introduced the handsome youth standing by his side as his son Tecumah, “who will ever, as he regards my injunctions, be a friend and ally of the French,” he added.

The young man in a few words expressed his desire to act according to his father’s wishes, winding up, as he pointed to the sky, “Should Tecumah fail to fulfil his promise, may the great Spirit punish him as he will deserve.”

Thus far the interview had passed off in a most satisfactory manner. The chief expressed his desire to visit his new allies, but Villegagnon thought it prudent to decline the honour till the fort was erected, and the colonists were in a position to defend themselves, and at the same time to make such a show of their strength as might overawe the Indians, in whom they were not inclined to place more than a very limited amount of confidence. The Portuguese were at this time settled in a town which they called Saint Vincente, about fifty miles to the south, the first colony founded by them under Martin Alfonso de Souza; and as there were many brave adventurers among them, Villegagnon thought it probable that as soon as they heard of his arrival, they would send an expedition against him.

The meeting with the chiefs having been brought to a conclusion, the boats returned to the ships, on board which every one was now engaged in landing stores for the construction of the proposed fort. As numerous trees grew on the island, they were cut down, and formed an abundance of material for the purpose. The artisans, who knew the importance of speed, laboured assiduously, and the work made rapid progress. The chief fort was built on the eastern side of the island, to resist the attack of a hostile fleet; and in the course of a few days the guns were mounted, and the colonists considered themselves fully prepared for defence. Houses were also commenced, and those weary of their long confinement on board ship hoped soon to take up their residence on shore. The natives brought over in their canoes an abundant supply of provisions, and, delighted with the beauty of the climate, the settlers felt thankful that their steps had been directed to so happy a spot, and looked forward with confidence to the time when they might see a handsome city rise on the shores of the bay. Now, too, they could all meet together to read God’s Word, and to listen to the preaching of their minister without dread of interruption.

The chief of the Tamoyos, with his son Tecumah, attended by a number of the principal men of the tribe, arrived in a fleet of canoes to pay their promised visit to the white men. Villegagnon received them at the head of his seamen, and all the settlers drawn up under arms. The Indians were evidently much struck by the martial appearance of their new allies, and almost as much so by the progress which had been made in the settlement, as the fort, with its guns, and the houses, were already erected. It was a Sabbath morning, and at the usual hour a bell summoned the settlers to worship. Tuscarora seemed to fancy that some magical ceremony was going forward, and was afraid to enter; but Tecumah, less superstitious than his father, and prompted by curiosity, begged leave to attend, accompanied by several other young men. Though they were unable to comprehend a word, their countenances exhibited the most perfect seriousness and apparent interest in what was going forward. The count, who had observed Tecumah, whose eyes, indeed, had seldom been turned away from the spot where he and his daughter sat, sent for the interpreter to inquire of the young chief what opinion he had formed.

“It is clear to me that you worship a great unknown Spirit, and that you sing to Him songs of praise, while your teachers exhort you to love and obey Him, and He is, I am sure, pleased with such worship. I remarked how it differs from that of the Portuguese, who make idols of painted wood, and bow before them as if such things could hear, or understand, or give help to the foolish men who put faith in such nonsense.”

“And is such the opinion you have formed without having the principles of our faith explained to you?” asked the count, astonished at the intelligence displayed by the young chief.

“I have said what I conceive to be the truth,” answered Tecumah. “I would like to know more of your faith, since it enables you to be as wise and powerful as I see you are. Some time since, during an interval of peace, I visited the settlement of the Portuguese. There I saw bearded men bowing down, some before a cross with a figure nailed on it, others before a woman with a child in her arms; others, again, were adoring an infant in a cradle; and others, men and women, in long robes, with books or staffs in their hands. Some were worshipping even pictures, and I thought that all these things were the gods of the Portuguese. When they told me that the woman with the child in her arms was the Holy Virgin, and that the child was also a god, I could stop to hear no more, feeling sure that the great Spirit to whom the Indian looks up as God would be displeased with such blasphemy.”

“Undoubtedly He is,” said the count; “but had you inquired further, you would have been told that the figure on the cross and the child in the woman’s arms and the one in the cradle represented the same person, the Saviour of mankind, who is now in heaven, at the right hand of God.”

“Then, how can He be in heaven and on earth at the same time?” asked the Indian. “And if He is in heaven, surely men of sense should lift up their hearts to Him there, and not bow before figures which can have no resemblance to him; for I observed that even the infants differed from each other. And who, tell me, does the figures of the woman represent?”

“She was one especially honoured among women, but who the Saviour expressly showed He did not desire should be worshipped,” answered the count. “She was chosen to be the earthly mother of the Son of God, who so loved the world, that He desired to become man, that He might be punished instead of all men; for all, being by nature sinful, deserve punishment, and God, who is all just and all merciful, decreed that all who believe that Jesus, His Son, was punished for our sins, should have those sins washed away, and be received into favour again by Him. Thus, Jesus came into the world as an infant, grew up to manhood, and, after setting an example to mankind by the obedient, pure, holy life He led, He allowed Himself to be put to the most cruel of deaths on the cross, such as the vilest of malefactors were alone considered deserving of. To prove that He was God, by His own will and power He rose again and ascended into heaven, there to be the Advocate and Mediator of those He had redeemed. Through Him alone the prayers of those who believe in Him can be offered and be received acceptably by God.”

The young chief listened attentively to what the count said, “This is very wonderful, very wonderful,” he observed, after being for some time lost in meditation. “I would wish to hear more about the matter; yet it strikes me as strange that God should allow His name to be profaned, and these senseless images to be worshipped instead of Himself.”

“You are right, my friend,” said the count. “God is a Spirit, and must be worshipped in spirit and in truth. He is also long-suffering and kind, and therefore He does not punish men as they deserve, that they may have an opportunity of turning from their sins and being reconciled to Him.”

The count gladly took the opportunity of explaining further the truths of the Christian faith to the young chief, who seemed to drink in eagerly every word he heard. It was the first of many visits he paid, and often was his canoe to be seen, as the shades of evening drew on, skimming across the tranquil waters of the harbour towards the mainland.

The Indians received such entertainment on their first visit as the French could afford; and while it was yet daylight they returned in their canoes to the shore.

One evening the count and his daughter were sitting in their house with several guests, among whom Nigel was one. They had met to read God’s Word and to sing the hymns of Marot, which the French Protestants loved so well. The weather, hitherto fine, had, before sunset, given signs of changing. Dark clouds were seen gathering eastward, and already a damp and chilly wind blew up the harbour’s mouth, while the sea rolled in, sending its billows with an angry roar against the foundations of the new fort. As the tempest increased, a gun fired from each of the ships summoned their respective officers and men on board, and Nigel had unwillingly to hasten away from the house of his friend. It was not without difficulty that the boats reached the ships. The topmasts and topgallant masts were sent down on deck, and fresh anchors were got out. The settlers, as they saw the masts of the ships through the gloom, rolling from side to side, and watched the furious waves rushing in from the sea, began to tremble for their safety. They had, however, to think of themselves. The wind rapidly increased, the tall trees still remaining on the island bent before it, and the waves washed over the walls of the fort with relentless fury, threatening every moment to overwhelm them. Villegagnon, who had remained on shore, fearing that the guns might be lost, ordered them to be dragged out of the fort to a place of safety. It was a task of no slight danger, for already the woodwork trembled at each assault of the billows, and scarcely were the guns removed than, crash succeeding crash, large fragments of the fort, the construction of which had cost them so many days of labour, were rent away, and either carried off by the retiring seas, or thrown high up on the shore.

Constance de Tourville anxiously watched the progress of the storm. She had accompanied her father and several of their friends to watch the ships which lay in the harbour exposed to its fury. They could see the foaming waves dashing against them, and breaking high over their bows. Soon one was seen to be moving, when a single sail was set, and away she sped into the darkness up the harbour. The others dragged their anchors, or were torn from them, and were likewise compelled to seek for safety in some sheltered spot. With good pilots on board, this might easily have been done, but no one had a knowledge of the upper parts of the harbour, and it was impossible to say in what direction they might seek for safety.

That night was one of deep anxiety to all the settlers. The furious waves, surging round the little island, swept over the lower parts, and threatened at times to overwhelm it. Many of the trees, deprived of the support of their neighbours, which had been cut down, bent before the gale. Branches of some were torn away, others were broken off, and some uprooted from the ground. Several of the newly built houses were unroofed, and others were thrown down altogether by the wind. That of the count stood firm, and he and his daughter gladly offered shelter to as many of their friends as it could contain.

Constance, who had had a sleepless night, waiting till dawn broke, sallied forth to look for the ships.

Not one of them was in sight. In vain she made inquiries of those who had come, like herself, to look for them. No boats remained on shore; indeed, with the waters of the harbour tossing about as furiously as they were, even the largest could not have made her way amidst them. The Indians, from whom alone they could obtain any information, dared not venture across, and thus they must remain in ignorance of what had become of the ships till, the tempest being over, those which had escaped destruction should return.

“Vain is the help of man. In God let us put our trust. He may think fit to preserve them; if not, we must say with confidence, ‘His will be done,’” said the minister Laporte, addressing those assembled on the beach.

Chapter Six.

Nigel’s Return to France.

Meantime the governor had been surveying the damages committed by the storm, and, summoning the count and other leading people, announced his intention of abandoning the island before more labour had been expended, and settling on another higher up the harbour. All approved of his proposal, for though they saw that the island was well placed for defence, it was also exposed to the fury of the sea when excited by tempests. They now awaited anxiously for news of the ships, but still the wind blew furiously up the harbour, and would prevent them from coming down, even should they have escaped shipwreck. Fears were entertained that they might have been cast on the northern shore, when their crews would most probably have fallen into the hands of the Portuguese. For two days more the tempest continued, and the hearts of the colonists remained agitated with doubts and fears. The third morning broke bright and clear, the clouds dispersed, and the wind, changing, blew with a gentle breath down the harbour. Had a boat remained on the island she would have been sent in search of the missing ships. Some proposed building a flat-bottomed raft, which might be finished in a few hours and serve to navigate the smooth waters of the bay. Villegagnon gave the order to commence the work, and already it had made some progress, when a shout was raised of “A sail! a sail!” It was one of the ships standing down before the wind from the upper part of the harbour. Another and another appeared, till at length the minds of the colonists were set at rest. They all had had narrow escapes, but had succeeded in bringing up under the lee of different islands, where, the water being smooth, they had ridden out the storm. Every one capable of labouring immediately set to work to reship the guns, and stores, and even the woodwork of the houses and forts, to convey them to an island Villegagnon had fixed on in a more secure part of the harbour. The task occupied several days, and sorely tried the patience of those who were anxious at once to commence their intended agricultural pursuits. The advantages possessed by the new spot selected were evidently superior to those of Lange Island which they had left. The count proposed that the name of their patron, “Admiral Coligny,” should be given to their present resting-place, and he was supported by the leading colonists. The governor, with a bad grace, consented, though it was evident that he had intended to bestow his own name on their new acquisition.

With the exception of the losses caused by the storm, all hitherto seemed to be going on well; and Nigel began to hope that Villegagnon had abandoned his design, and really intended to establish a colony on the principles proposed by the admiral. He was glad, indeed, that he had not spoken of his suspicions to Constance or her father, as they must have been, had he done so, greatly troubled about the future. He, in common with all the officers and men of the expedition, was busily engaged from morn till night in erecting the new fortifications, which were laid out on a much larger scale, and were built far more substantially than the last had been. The colonists’ dwellings were also re-erected, and, wood being abundant, many of them were of considerable size, though only one storey in height. Within the fort were the barracks for the soldiers, while a number of houses to afford shelter to the inhabitants, should the settlement be attacked, were erected. The larger residences were scattered about over the island, and a village sprang up on the shores of the chief landing-place. It was, however, well protected by the fort, off which lay the ships, and it was considered that while they remained it would be secured against an attack. Four smaller forts were also built on commanding situations in the more accessible parts of the island, so Villegagnon considered that the settlement was well able to resist the assaults of either a civilised or barbarous foe. The friendly disposition shown by the Tamoyos, the most numerous and powerful tribe in the neighbourhood, gave him no anxiety on the latter account; while, although by this time the Portuguese settlement in the south had greatly increased, the Portuguese had shown no disposition to advance towards the shores of the bay of Nitherohy. It was the intention of the French to form a settlement on the southern shore of the bay as soon as their numbers were sufficiently increased; and Villegagnon, relying on his secure position, resolved at length to send back the fleet for reinforcements.

Nigel had in the mean time been a frequent visitor at the house of the Count de Tourville, where he ever received that friendly welcome which made him hope that he would not disapprove of his aspiring to the hand of Constance, who appeared to have no doubts on the subject. She knew that Nigel was of noble birth though destitute of fortune, and she felt sure that her father would not refuse to give her to one, her equal in birth, who was of her own religion, and whose heart was hers, while he was well able to protect her. They had not hitherto spoken of love, but they were mutually aware of the state of each other’s affections, the most perfect confidence existing between them. Occasionally a holiday was allowed, when Nigel, having one of the ship’s boats at his command, took the count and his daughter, with other friends, across the bay, to visit its picturesque shores and the many lovely islands resting on its bosom. The party had gone higher up the bay than they had hitherto ventured to do, and reaching a small island which appeared to be uninhabited, they went on shore, proposing to dine and wander through its shady woods. The seamen remained near the boat, while Constance and two lady friends, with the officers and other gentlemen who formed the party, proceeded to a clear spot beneath the shade of some lofty trees, where for awhile they could enjoy the sea breeze, while discussing the viands they had brought. The repast being over, the three ladies strolled along the beach to the western end of the island, for the purpose of enjoying the view which extended almost to the extreme limit of the harbour. Constance’s two friends had seated themselves on the bank, while she, attracted by some flowers which grew near the edge of the water ran forward to examine them. She was on the point of picking one of gorgeous hue when a canoe, paddled by a single Indian, unobserved by her, darted round the point and approached the beach. The occupant sprang lightly on shore, when a cry from her companions made her look up, and she saw a tall and handsome native, with a circlet of feathers on his head, and a cloak and kilt richly adorned, standing before her. Her first impulse was to fly, but, giving another glance at the stranger, she recognised Tecumah, the young chief of the Tamoyos. She had already acquired some knowledge of the language.

“What brings you here?” she asked. “We thought that none of your people were on the island.”

She felt that it was better to speak, although she was not altogether free from fear. The respectful attitude of the young chief, however, reassured her.

“I often come here,” he answered. “Seeing your boat approaching, I waited for an opportunity of speaking to you, lady. For days and days I have longed for it. Since my eyes first rested on your countenance it has never been absent from my heart. My ambition has been to become like your people, and to gain the knowledge they possess, and thus be worthy of leading you home as my bride.”

Such in substance was what the young chief said, although his address was far longer, and more full of figurative expressions than have been here given. Constance at first could not understand what he said, but when its meaning broke on her she felt no small amount of alarm and uneasiness, yet her right feeling would not allow her to treat young Tecumah, savage though he was, either with contempt or anger.

“You have surprised and pained me,” she answered gently. “It is not the custom of the maidens of my country to wed with those of another race or of a different faith,” she answered. “I grieve to hurt your feelings but what you have asked can never be granted. Continue, as heretofore, to be the friend of my people, and you will also remain my friend. Let me now return to my companions, for they cannot fail to be surprised at seeing you; only let me ask that you will never repeat what you have just said, and banish me, I pray you, from your thoughts.”

“Not while Tecumah breathes the air of heaven can your form be banished from his heart. Oh, ask him not to perform a task beyond his power,” answered the Indian. “He obeys you now, as you will find he is ever ready to do. Farewell.” Saying this, greatly to the relief of Constance, the Indian with slow steps returned to his canoe, while she hastened back to her companions.

“Who is he? What object brought him here?” asked one of the young ladies in a tone of alarm.

“He certainly did not appear unfriendly,” remarked the other. “I should say, Constance, judging from his manner, that he is a devoted admirer of you. Come, my dear, confess—did he not ask you to become his bride? Ah! I thought so,” she continued, observing the colour rising on Constance’s cheek.

“I cannot reply to you!” exclaimed Constance, feeling excessively annoyed at her friend’s remarks. “You would not for a moment suppose that I should listen to such a proposal. I scarcely, indeed, could understand what he said. But we must not remain here, and it will be well if we return immediately to the boat, lest more of the savages should be lying concealed in the island and intrude themselves on us.”

This last observation induced her companions eagerly to follow her advice, evidently more alarmed than she was, and as they hurried on they frequently looked back, expecting to see a party of dark-skinned warriors suddenly start forth from the forest near them. They, however, reached their friends in safety. On finding themselves safe on board the boat they recovered their spirits, and the other ladies even ventured to banter Constance about her Indian admirer. Nigel naturally inquired what had happened. Constance then told him of the sudden appearance of the Indian, but the expression of her countenance prevented him from asking further questions. The expedition, which all agreed had been a very pleasant one, terminated without any further incident worthy of note.

Nigel, as usual, spent the evening at the count’s house; and he and Constance found an opportunity before the other guests arrived, for strolling out in the woods behind the house, through which several walks had already been cut. She then frankly told him what had occurred, begging him, at the same time, not to be anxious on that account, as she had every reason to believe that the young chief would not again molest her.

“I trust not, dearest Constance!” exclaimed Nigel, taking her hand. “Would that I had a right to protect you. Will you consent to become mine if your father will give his permission?”

Constance gave him her hand. He spoke of his want of fortune, but he reminded her that he had a strong arm and willing heart, qualifications of no slight importance in a new colony, and he had every reason to hope that he should be able to maintain her. She agreed that he should immediately speak to the count, and he offered to throw up his commission and cast in his fortune with her father and his associates; and before they returned to the house many a plan for the future was agreed on.

The count, almost to their surprise, without offering any objections, entered into all their views; and Nigel determined the next morning to ask permission from the captain to quit his ship and settle on shore.

“Impossible, sir,” was the answer. “Were I to give you the permission you ask all the officers and men would be desiring to turn settlers. I intend to send the ship back immediately, and you must be prepared to attend to your duty.”

In vain Nigel expostulated; Villegagnon threatened to put him in irons and send him back as a mutineer if he refused to obey his orders.

The ships were rapidly got ready for the voyage. Nigel, with a sad heart, bade farewell to Constance.

“Rest confident of my love,” she whispered. “We must wait till you can obtain the admiral’s sanction to quit the service. My father will write to him on the subject, and I doubt not that he will grant your request.”

Still, though Constance spoke with confidence, the hearts of the young people were sad, for they could not help thinking of the many dangers which they both would have to encounter. Those to which Constance might be exposed rose up before Nigel. The settlement might be attacked by the Portuguese, or the natives might prove treacherous, and he could not forget his doubts of Villegagnon’s honesty. Constance thought of the storms and the enemies Nigel might have to encounter during his voyage, and the risk he might run of being treated as a heretic by the Roman Catholics on returning to France. With forebodings she could not overcome, she saw the ship’s sails spread to the wind as they glided out of the harbour.

The voyage to Europe was accomplished without any disaster. While the ships were refitting, Nigel, accompanied by Monsieur Billard, captain of the Vesta, one of the ships of the squadron, made a journey to Rouen, where the admiral had come to meet a number of persons who proposed embarking. The advantages to be gained in the new colony had spread among the Protestants of France, and persons of all ranks and from all quarters were eager to embark. The undertaking was especially favoured by Calvin, Farel, and other Protestant ministers, who hoped ere long to see a large and flourishing community of their fellow-believers established in the New World, where many of those suffering in Europe might fly for refuge. Rouen was a large and populated place in those days, and the new emigrants had no difficulty in finding accommodation. Nigel and Captain Billard called on the admiral at his hotel, and were received with great courtesy and kindness. Nigel presented the count’s letter.

“I am sorry, my young friend, for one reason, that you desire to quit the navy of France, for I feel sure that you would have risen to distinction,” observed the admiral, “although I may congratulate you on another account; and I, therefore, do not hesitate to grant your request. You will, I hope, succeed in the new position you have chosen.”

Nigel thanked the admiral, and afterwards, accompanied by Captain Billard, went to call on several persons of distinction who were about to proceed with them to Nitherohy. He had particularly wished to go on to Tourville to see his old friend the steward, so as to be able to give to the count a report of the state of his property. So eager, however, were the emigrants to set out, that the ships were got ready with unusual rapidity, and he had no time to make the journey. He was walking in the evening through the streets, when he caught sight of a person in ecclesiastical dress, whose features he recognised, and on a second glance he felt sure that they were those of the very man he had seen in company with Villegagnon. He suspected that the priest was there for no good purpose. The Jesuit regarded him with his keen grey eyes, and evidently recognised him, and when Nigel and his companion passed on, followed them at a distance.

The next morning, accompanied by a number of emigrants, they set out for Havre. Most of the party were men who followed civil occupations; the gentlemen, however, carrying swords, while a few among them had pistols.

On reaching Honfleur they found a large crowd assembled in the market-place, through which they had to pass on their way to the boats, which were waiting to carry them on board their ships. In the crowd Nigel again caught sight of the priest, who was speaking to the people around him.

“Come, come, my friends,” cried Captain Billard, who rode at the head of the party; “we wish to react the boats waiting for us.”

“They are heretics, despisers of the Holy Virgin and the saints!” cried some one from the crowd. “Down with them. Cut them to pieces. Let none escape.”

Scarcely were the words uttered than a shower of stones was hurled at the heads of the Protestant emigrants, who immediately drew their swords to defend themselves, while they forced their way through the crowd. Scarcely, however, had they got many yards before they were met by a body of men, some with firearms, and others with spears and axes.

“We must fight for our lives, my friends,” cried Captain Billard. “On! on! But keep together.”

The bold front which he and his companions showed for a time kept back their assailants; but a voice, which Nigel recognised as that of the priest, was heard shouting, “Down with them! down with them!” and the mob again pressed them close. Many were wounded, and Nigel, with grief, saw his friend fall from his horse, shot through the body. He in vain endeavoured to rescue him. The savages dragged him into their midst, hacking and hewing his inanimate form. Nigel, seeing that he and his friends would be cut to pieces, urged them to keep close together; and by desperate efforts they at length cut their way down to the boats, from which the seamen, who were fortunately armed, leapt on shore, and, furiously charging the mob, turned them back and kept them at bay while the emigrants embarked.

On counting their numbers, it was found that, beside the captain, three others had fallen, while many were wounded. Providentially the women and children, with their baggage, had been sent on the day before from Rouen, or the whole party would have been cut to pieces.

On reaching Havre, Nigel and two other officers went on shore to complain of the outrage, but could obtain no redress from the authorities, who merely shrugged their shoulders and declared they could not restrain the religious zeal of the people. The anchors were speedily got up, and with sad hearts the emigrants left their native shores.

A fair wind carried the squadron down Channel, and for some time the voyage was prosperous. Before, however, they reached the latitude of Madeira the weather changed, and a heavy gale coming on, sorely tried the imperfectly prepared ships. The officers, exerting themselves to the utmost, encouraged their men, and the pumps were kept going till the storm ceased and the leaks could be got at and stopped. When the ships, which had been scattered by the gale, again joined company, all were found to have been sorely battered. One had lost her topmasts, another her bowsprit, and the rest some two or more spars. They had no friendly port into which they could put, as Madeira was in the hands of the Portuguese, so they had to wait for a calm to repair their more serious damages. The Line was crossed without having the opportunity, and when within three or four days’ sail of their destination, some strange ships were seen ahead, apparently waiting for them. There could be no doubt that the strangers were Portuguese. A consultation was held by the captains whether they should try to escape by altering their course, or stand boldly on and attack the enemy. Water and provisions were running short, and should they take to flight, days and even weeks might elapse before they could gain their port. They determined, therefore, to stand on, and should an attempt be made to stop them, to fight bravely as long as their ships should swim. Their enemies were not to be despised, they knew, for the Portuguese of those days were renowned for their hardihood and courage. Five sail were counted, the number of their own ships, so that each would have an antagonist to contend with.

The French, under all sail, keeping close together in line, stood towards the headmost of the enemy’s ships, which were somewhat separated from each other. Nigel’s being the leading ship of the French squadron, first came up with the headmost one of the enemy’s ships. They were sailing, it must be understood, on two sides of an angle, the French before the wind, the Portuguese close hauled. Captain Beauport, the commander of the Madeline, immediately hauled his wind and poured in his broadside at close quarters, bringing the enemy’s mizenmast, with its large mizen, down on deck. The effect was to make the ship pay off before the wind, and expose her stern to the fire of the Madeline’s guns, which had been rapidly reloaded and run out. Captain Beauport then running up on the larboard side of the Portuguese, so as to place himself between her and the rest of the enemy, continued the fight broadside to broadside, while he threw out a signal to his consorts to attack the other ships of the enemy. They, though considerably larger than the French, after exchanging a few shots at a distance, put up their helms and ran off before the wind, leaving the first ship attacked by Captain Beauport to her fate. This was soon settled, for though her guns and crew greatly outnumbered those of the Madeline, so many of her people had been killed and wounded, that as the French ship ran alongside for the purpose of boarding the enemy, the crew of the latter hauled down their flag and cried for quarter. This was immediately given, and efforts were made to stop the shot-holes through which the water was running into the prize. There seemed very little prospect of keeping her afloat. Her crew and passengers were in despair, and were eager to take refuge on board their captor. Many of the men, instead of endeavouring to save the ship, fell down on their knees, invoking the Virgin and saints to assist them. Captain Beauport and his officers, however, soon stirred them up, and insisted on their going below and attending to their duty. Among the passengers were two priests, who seemed especially anxious to save some cases and packages, loudly calling on their countrymen to assist them.

“Never mind your baggage, my friends,” said Nigel. “Let the men attend to their work. If your property is lost, patience. We must first save all the water and provisions, in case the ship should go down, as it will be difficult enough to feed all your people from our own stores.”

“But, Monsieur officer, our property is invaluable,” cried the priests. “It cannot be replaced. You do not know what precious things we have got.”

“Precious or not, they must stay where they are till the shot-holes are plugged, unless you choose to carry them yourselves.”

“Oh, sacrilegious heretic, we will be revenged on you some day,” muttered one of the priests, while the other hurled some curses at Nigel’s head, to which he did not stop to listen, remembering the proverb that “Curses, like birds, go home to roost at night.”

By plugging the shot-holes and setting strong gangs to work the pumps, the prize was kept afloat sufficiently long to get out some of the provisions and water, as well as a portion of her cargo. The priests again loudly called on their countrymen to assist them in transferring the goods to the Madeline, though few of them showed any disposition to do so, but by the assistance of the French crew, their valuables were at length got out of the sinking ship.

The rest of the fleet had now come up, and the prisoners were distributed among them. The priests, however, would not desert their baggage, which, they insisted, was their own private property.

“If it is found to be so on inspection you shall retain it,” observed Captain Beauport; “but as the cases may possibly contain munitions of war, we cannot allow them without examination to fall into the hands of your countrymen.”

The priests protested that there was nothing warlike in them, but the captain was determined to have the cases examined. On opening them one was found to contain a large coarsely painted figure of the Virgin and Child, another half a dozen small figure of saints, the third was full of flat leaden figures and crosses.

“What are these?” asked the captain, coming to a fourth, full of small boxes and parcels.

“Those,” answered the priest, who was looking indignantly on, “are the bones of saints and martyrs. Let them not be touched, I beseech you, by sacrilegious hands.”

Each package was labelled, a score or more having the name of Saint Anthony.

“Why, you must have got two or three saints’ bodies here,” exclaimed the captain.

“Only a very small portion of one, indeed,” answered the priest; “a hair from his beard or a paring from his toe-nail is of value equal to the whole of his leg.”

“And what are these other packages?” inquired the captain.

“Each contains some precious relic, efficacious in curing every disease to which the human body is liable,” answered the priest.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the captain; “we cannot allow such rubbish to remain on board.”

“You will be guilty of horrible sacrilege and unheard-of cruelty to the settlers and poor natives, if you throw these precious relics into the sea, and deprive them of the benefits they will bring.”

“We will see about it,” answered the captain. “What are these bales?” he asked, pointing to some canvas packages, which he ordered his men to rip open.

The priests made no reply. They were found to contain sheets of paper, printed some in Portuguese and some in Latin, but all sealed with the seals of the ecclesiastical courts in Portugal or at Rome. They were, indeed, “Indulgences”, or “Pardons” for various sins mentioned in the Romish Rubric, the prices, which varied from half a dollar to seven dollars, being marked upon each, the latter being for murder and the most heinous offences of every possible kind, which cannot be mentioned.

“Why, I see none for heresy, or sacrilege, or calling the Pope and his cardinals gross impostors, and you two worthies are arrant rogues and fools, or we might have become purchasers to a large amount!” exclaimed the captain indignantly. “Heave this trumpery overboard, and you, Senhores priests, may be thankful that you have been deprived of the means of cheating your countrymen and deceiving the ignorant natives by your abominable impostures.”

The sailors, with shouts of satisfaction, forthwith hove overboard the boxes of relics, the bales of “indulgences”, and the leaden charms, which quickly sank to the bottom. Some cases of trumpery rosaries were found and dispatched the same way. The images, or rather the idols, for such the natives would have regarded them, were lowered overboard, and went bobbing about astern of the ship, and the water soon washing off the paint, reduced them to the appearance of shapeless logs. There were still several cases of crucifixes of all sizes, having the appearance of silver but were found to be of iron, covered with the thinnest tinsel. The priests pleaded hard to have them preserved.

“No,” said Captain Beauport, firmly; “I will be no party to your impostures. These are images as well as the others, and more blasphemous still, seeing that they have in no way the appearance of the crucified Saviour; and He Himself has said, ‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God’—and that I am sure you would have taught the natives to do, for your own people do the same; and so, to prevent you or others from thus offending God, they must be put overboard with the rest of your idols.”

The priests swore oaths deep, but not loud, that they would be revenged on the heretics—oaths which they fully intended to keep. Sail was now made, and the ships stood towards the land. They had not gone far, however, before the signal was made from the prize that the water was again rushing in. The Madeline and the other ships sent their boats to her assistance, but all the efforts of the crew could not keep her afloat, and they had barely time to escape from her, when she went down head foremost, with most of her cargo on board. As the French had no desire to retain their prisoners, they steered into a small port some way to the southward of Nitherohy. Here the Portuguese were put on shore, with a supply of provisions and such arms as were required to enable them to protect themselves against the natives, who, they averred, would otherwise attack and cut them off—an event, considering the cruelties they had already begun to practise on the unfortunate Indians, very likely to happen. A bright look-out was kept during the time for the enemy’s squadron, but it did not appear; and the French, favoured by a fair wind, steered for Nitherohy, which they were all eager to reach. Nigel’s heart beat with anxiety. Besides knowing that the Portuguese, in considerable force, were in the neighbourhood, and being uncertain as to the fidelity of the fickle Indians, he could not forget his suspicions regarding Villegagnon, and he dreaded to hear that the governor had carried out the treacherous designs which he believed him to entertain. All eyes were directed towards the island-fortress, as the ship sailed up the harbour. Great was the satisfaction of the voyagers as they beheld the flag of France blowing out above the fortifications. Cheers burst from their throats, and a salute fired from the shore was returned by the ships, as, gliding on, they came to an anchor before the landing-place.

Chapter Seven.

Treachery.

Villegagnon stood waiting on shore to receive the new-comers, who landed amid the cheers of their countrymen. He expressed himself highly pleased with this accession of strength to the community, and loudly declared that he believed ere long their Protestant colony would be established on a firm basis. His letters, he said, informed him that many thousands of French settlers were about to sail and join them. Nigel hastened on shore as soon as his duties would allow, and was welcomed with all the marks of affection he could desire by Constance, and kindly greeted by her father. Great progress had been made, the count told him, and he hoped that they should soon be able to form a settlement on the mainland.

“But we have been so happy here, that I should be sorry to move,” said Constance, pointing to a pretty garden seen from the window of their sitting-room. “Think of all the pains we have bestowed on it, and, should it be deserted, in a few months, in this climate, it would again become a wilderness.”

“We must keep it as our country residence, and come here occasionally from our house in the new city,” observed the count; “or perhaps you and Nigel will like to make it your home.”

“Oh, that will be delightful,” exclaimed Constance, “though I suspect that Nigel will require a larger sphere of action than this little island would afford.”

They talked much more about the future, which, to the eyes of Constance, looked bright and happy. The count, however, when alone with Nigel, expressed his anxiety on several accounts. The governor had of late shown especial favour to the men he had collected to supply the place of those who had abandoned the expedition; and they were engaged in erecting a building, which it was very evident was intended for a church. Why there should be any secrecy about the matter the count could not tell; but it was a suspicious circumstance, as chiefly those who had refused to attend at the Protestant service were engaged on it. Still the governor professed to be as warm a Protestant as ever.

“Have you any suspicions of the honesty of his intentions?” asked Nigel.

“From this circumstance, and others which may seem trifling, suspicions have arisen in my mind,” answered the count.

Nigel then told him the reason he himself had to doubt the governor’s honesty.

“I wish that you had told me of this before,” said the count. “I should probably have returned with you to Europe, rather than have supported such a man by remaining. However, your explanations satisfy me that you acted, as you thought, for the best. We must now endeavour to counteract his designs.”

They agreed not to speak to Constance about their suspicions of the governor, as the matter would not fail to make her anxious.

Nigel had to return to his ship at night; but, early the next morning, he again went on shore to visit his friends, intending also to apply to the governor to be discharged from the naval service. As he was nearing the landing-place, he observed a canoe, urged on towards the shore with rapid strokes by an Indian who plied his paddle, now on one side, now on the other. In the stern sat another person, a young girl, whose dark tresses were ornamented with a wreath of natural flowers, which gave an additional charm to her beautiful features, the rest of her costume being also adorned with gaily-coloured feathers, further increasing the picturesqueness of her appearance. She lightly stepped out of the canoe, followed by her companion, who hauled it up on the beach at the same time that Nigel landed. They together made their way to the village as if well accustomed to traverse the path. Nigel was a few paces behind them, and observed that they entered the house of the minister, Monsieur Laporte. On reaching the count’s house, he mentioned the circumstance to his friends, and inquired who the Indians were.

“They must be, without doubt, the young chief Tecumah and his sister Cora, who come frequently to receive from our good minister instruction in the truths of Christianity, of which, I trust, they have gained considerable knowledge,” answered Constance. “First the young chief came by himself, and then he begged permission to bring his sister. She is a sweet young creature; a perfect child of nature; and has already become even a more faithful believer than her brother, who cannot, as yet, understand why he should not destroy his enemies wherever he can find them.”

Constance had before told Nigel of her meeting with Tecumah; she now assured him that the young chief seemed to have got over any attachment he might have felt for her, so Nigel felt no sensations of jealousy. Nigel proceeded afterwards to call on the governor to present his letter from the admiral. Villegagnon received him in his usual courteous manner, and complimented him on his gallantry with the Portuguese. When, however, he read the letter, his manner changed.

“The admiral does not command here,” he observed, “and I require officers on board my ships. I cannot accept your resignation.”

Nigel expostulated in vain. Instead, however, of at once refusing to serve, he resolved to take time to consider the matter. He went back to consult the count, who advised him to do nothing rashly; as, should he throw up his commission and come to live on shore, he would offend the governor and put himself completely in his power.

While they were speaking, Tecumah and Cora, with Monsieur Laporte, came to the house, to pay their respects, they said, to the count and his daughter. Tecumah recognised Nigel, and spoke to him in a way which showed that he desired his friendship. While Constance was conversing with Cora in a mixture of their respective languages, each doing her utmost to make herself understood and understand what the other said, Nigel found that Tecumah had made considerable progress in his knowledge of French; also, which was of more consequence, he was well acquainted with the fundamental truths of Christianity. Had they, however, touched his heart? There was the question; his actions alone would show that. Nigel inquired about the state of the country. Tecumah assured him that his own tribe and those in alliance with them were sincerely attached to the French. “But others in the north, who have had emissaries from the Portuguese among them, are not to be trusted,” he observed. The Portuguese themselves were also increasing rapidly in numbers, and their town of Saint Vincente was already of some size.

“My people, however, will keep a vigilant watch on their proceedings, and I will give you notice, should we gain any intelligence of an expedition being prepared. Should one come, with your ships and with the assistance of our tribe, you will, without doubt, be able to drive back your enemies,” he added.

While the young people were speaking, the count drew Monsieur Laporte aside, and was earnestly discussing with him the state of affairs.

The minister looked grave. “We must trust to Him who overrules all things for His own wise purposes,” he observed; “and should reverses overtake us, we must not lose confidence in His love and justice.”

Nothing occurred for some time to interrupt the usual occupations of the colony. At length, one morning a signal from the fort announced that a fleet was in sight. The gunners were summoned to the batteries; all the men got under arms, and the ships prepared for battle; getting springs on their cables, so as to haul themselves into a position to defend the landing-place.

As the ships approached, they were, to the infinite satisfaction of those on shore, seen to have the French flag flying at their mast-heads. There were five large ships and two smaller ones. It was hoped that they were bringing reinforcements of sound Protestants who would establish their faith in the land, and contribute to the material progress of the colony. As they drew nearer, salutes were exchanged, and they came to an anchor close to the fleet. The voyagers when they landed were warmly received by their countrymen, who did their best to treat them hospitably. There were people of all ranks, and from all parts of France. Several who had come in one of the larger ships were known to the count, who received them into his house. They stated that the fleet consisted originally of but three ships; but, as they were on the point of sailing, they were joined by two others conveying persons of whom they had been able to obtain no certain information. Villegagnon received all in his usual courteous way, but it was observed that he paid the most attention to those on board the latter ships. Before long it was whispered that among those people had been seen two men, who, though in secular dresses, were recognised as having been Romish priests. Still, though the people who had come in these two ships did not make their appearance at the Protestant place of worship to return thanks for their safe voyage, they were not seen to practise any of the rites of the Romish Church. Unpleasant rumours were, however, going about among the settlers, and the people asked one another how it was that the governor, who had professed to form a pure Protestant colony, should have allowed Romanists to come out among them. No satisfactory answer could be given to these questions, and some thought that the new-comers were possibly lately converted from Rome, and would soon come to receive instruction from Monsieur Laporte. Others, however, shook their heads, and observed that, had they been new converts, they would have exhibited more zeal, and would have been the first to join hands with the older brethren; instead of that, they associated entirely with the suspicious characters who had all along shown a disrespect to the Protestant form of worship. All the settlers were, however, so busy in erecting dwellings, and cultivating the ground, that no one had time for polemical discussions.

Thus matters went on for some time till the church was finished. After it was roofed over, no persons, except those employed on it, were allowed to enter. Numerous cases, which had formed part of the cargo of one of the ships, were landed and conveyed to it, and a large bell was hoisted up into the tower. One Sunday morning the bell began to toll forth in a way which astonished the Protestant settlers. The church was thrown open, and those who had been suspected by their fellow-colonists were seen with triumphant looks wending their way towards it. Some of the Protestants, influenced by curiosity, went in, and, on their return, reported that they had seen the two priests clad in their sacerdotal dresses, standing before a richly adorned altar, with a crucifix over it, and the figure of the Virgin and Child, with those of several saints placed in chapels on either side. Mass, with all its accompaniments, was being performed, while the governor himself was taking part in the ceremony. The Count de Tourville, and several other leading Protestants, called on him afterwards to express their astonishment and regret at what had happened. He received them with a haughty air, and declared that it was his intention, for the good of the colony, to encourage both forms of worship equally.

The count expostulated. “The colony,” he observed, “had been established for the express purpose of affording a home to Protestants, where they could, regarding religious matters, avoid those dissensions which had sprung up in the old country.”

“You may still worship as you think fit; but others, who discover that they have erred in quitting the Catholic Church, have a right to enjoy the form which suits them best. I, as governor of this colony, am bound to please all parties, and I desire to hear no more complaints on the subject,” he answered.

The deputation, being thus dismissed, retired to consult what steps should be taken. Though the Protestants still outnumbered the Romanists, the whole of the former could not be relied on, while the latter formed a compact body, most of them being thoroughly drilled by the priests, who had done their utmost to excite their fanaticism, while it was evident that they were supported by the governor. The Protestants, therefore, arrived at the conclusion, as people often do under similar circumstances, that nothing could be done, and that they must wait the course of events. The two priests appeared to be quiet, well-disposed men; they made no outward show, but were observed to be going about quietly, from house to house, especially among the soldiers; and every Sunday saw an increase in their congregation.

The count watched these proceedings with feelings of dismay. Monsieur Laporte exerted himself among his congregation, and urged them to study their Bibles, and to seek to live lives consistent with their Christian profession. Many listened to him and followed his advice; but there were not a few careless ones who went over to join the party of the governor and the priests. The women were induced to go to the church to listen to an organ which had been brought out from France, while one of the priests, who was a good musician, instructed them in the art of singing. Fresh saints were set up, and additional ornaments were introduced, and on festal occasions the whole church was wreathed with flowers, imitating the custom of the heathens at their feasts of “Flora,” and other festivals. These attracted the careless and giddy among the young, who found the idolatrous system, which their fathers had repudiated, well suited to their tastes. Thus rapidly the traitor Villegagnon and his priests won over the larger part of the population. In vain the elder people, who had seen the effects of Romanism in the old country, warned them and protested against the fearful errors which were being introduced. Many of the young girls and youths were induced to go to confession and receive absolution for their past sins; the result being that they sinned and sinned again with their eyes open, under the belief that they could be again absolved. Morality, which had been strictly maintained among the settlers, fast disappeared. The priests now openly sold indulgences, and went from house to house abusing those who refused to purchase them, and warned them that they would be considered as Protestants and heretics. The count and other Protestant elders, met and discussed what was to be done, but they had to confess themselves powerless. The minister preached more earnestly, and some few were won back to the truth; but the popular party still increased daily. The governor, it was observed, promoted only professed Romanists, and managed by degrees to dismiss the Protestant officers.

Villegagnon at length threw off the thin mask he had hitherto worn, and declared that the majority being in favour of Rome, the settlement must become what he called a Catholic colony. The Protestants complained loudly of the governor’s treachery; and several of them were arrested on charge of mutiny, and for plotting against the established authorities. Captain Beauport coming on shore one day, as he was on the point of returning to his boat, was seized and carried off to a prison Villegagnon had lately erected in the fortress. He was not informed of the crime of which he was accused, nor could he conceive what it was, as he had carefully abstained from making any remarks on the conduct of his chief. The following day he was brought into the public hall of the fort, where the governor was seated as judge, supported by several of the officers whom he had promoted. One of the crew of the Madeline, with the two priests, appeared as his accusers, and his officers and several of his men were ordered on shore as witnesses, Nigel being among them. When the priests were called on to make their statements, one of them charged the brave captain with the crime of sacrilege, which, as it had been brought to his notice, he said that he felt bound to make it public. A seaman, then stepping forward, stated that by his orders, a number of holy images, crucifixes, and sacred relics captured from the Portuguese, intended for the conversion of the heathen and the comfort of believers, had been sacrilegiously thrown overboard on their voyage to Nitherohy.

“Of what immense value they would have been to us in the conversion of the heathen had they been preserved!” exclaimed one of the priests. “They were undoubtedly offered to us by Heaven, to enable us to convert the barbarous natives.”

Nigel and the other officers were then called on for their evidence. They had to confess that they saw the articles mentioned thrown overboard; but Nigel observed, as they were part of the cargo of the prize, he could not suppose that the captain in any way acted contrary to what he was fully justified in doing.

“Beware, lest you are made a party to his crime!” exclaimed one of the priests. “I know well the malignant and impious disposition of your countrymen, and, had you not been imbued by their sentiments, you would have endeavoured to prevent so sacrilegious an act from being committed.”

The governor, as judge, declared that no further evidence was necessary. In vain the captain asserted that he had acted as he believed right. The priests shouted out that he deserved to die, and the traitor, Villegagnon, forthwith pronouncing him guilty, condemned him to death.

Nigel, on quitting the court, hastened to the residence of the count, to tell him of the result of the trial.

“This must not be,” he said, on hearing it. “It would be a most atrocious murder. Every Protestant in the settlement must unite, and insist on having his life spared. It would be useless to petition; we must demand our rights.”

Nigel fully agreed with the count, and other leading Protestants coming in were of the same opinion.

“We must stake our lives on the issue,” exclaimed one of the boldest.

The count observed, that as it was their lives and liberties were in jeopardy, and that a bold front could alone save them. On separating they went among their friends to stir them up to action. That night every true Protestant capable of bearing arms assembled, and the next morning marched together to the fort. On their way they met a Roman Catholic, who thought that Captain Beauport had been unjustly condemned, and willingly undertook to convey to the governor the resolution to which they had arrived. They waited, advantageously posted for defence on the brow of a hill a short distance outside the fort, while their envoy went forward with their message to the governor. They had also sent messages on board the ships, the officers and crews of most of which were sound Protestants, and would, they had every reason to believe, support them in their endeavour to rescue the brave officer, who was loved and honoured by all, especially by his own crew. While waiting the return of their envoy, a messenger arrived from the fleet conveying the promise of the officers and men to afford them their full support. This made them still more determined to remain firm to their purpose. Their envoy soon afterwards returned with the reply of the governor, stating that he would take their demands into consideration. On hearing this, they desired him to go back again, insisting that whether right or wrong, with regard to the act, it was committed on the high seas, beyond the jurisdiction of the governor, and that, if guilty, Captain Beauport must be sent to France to be tried. The governor, finding so strong a force opposed to him, saw that he had been premature in showing his colours, and that it would be his wisest course to try and conciliate those whom he could not for the present crush. He accordingly, accompanied by several officers, went out to meet the Protestants. In the blandest style he could assume he assured them that he wished to act fairly towards both parties. He therefore stated his readiness to send Captain Beauport home for trial, and inquired whether any of the colonists who were dissatisfied with his government would wish to return to their native land. The idea had not before been entertained by them. Several, however, at once replied that they were willing to return home, and others said that they would take the matter into consideration.

“Captain Beauport, then, will be kept in safe custody, till the ships are ready to sail,” said the governor. “They will be prepared in a few days; and, before that time, I wish to be informed of the number who desire to embark.”

The Protestants, on receiving this announcement, returned to their homes. These were mostly situated together, and, as they had now ample proofs of the treachery of the governor, they stationed men on the look-out to give notice, should he send a force to attack them, that they might immediately reassemble and defend themselves. A meeting was held to discuss their future prospects. A considerable number of the most influential people resolved to return to France, hoping to live there in obscurity, or to make their way to Geneva. Some, among whom was the count, resolved to go to England, should he find France in the same unsettled state as he left it. Nigel was now thankful that he had not abandoned the naval service, as he hoped that the Madeline would be sent home, and that he might again have the happiness of having Constance and her father on board. Still, the prospects of all the party were gloomy enough: many of them had embarked all their fortunes in the undertaking, and they would return without the means of support to their native shores.

On the following day, a considerable number of the colonists sent in their names as desirous of returning, when they were informed, to their dismay, that the three smallest ships only would be got ready to receive them. Reports had before been spread that so weatherbeaten and unseaworthy were these ships, that they were not again to be sent to Europe, but to be retained in the harbour for the protection of the colony. Nigel was almost in despair at receiving this information. He urged the count rather to remain than to run the risk of the voyage. The count, influenced by his daughter, was greatly disposed to follow the advice of Nigel, who observed that the Madeline would probably before long be sent home, and that he might then take a passage on board her. The whole community were in a state of alarm; and it was increased when the governor sent directing them to be prepared to embark on the following day, with the information that only two of the ships could be got ready.

That night the greater number of them met in their place of worship, to offer up their prayers to God, that He would protect them from the dangers they might have to encounter during their intended voyage. The meeting was almost concluded; Monsieur Laporte, in a loving address, was exhorting them to hold fast to the Gospel, whatever persecutions they might have to endure, when a loud knocking was heard at the door of the chapel. On its being opened, an Indian appeared in full war costume, with one of those formidable bows in his hand, with which the Tamayas boasted they could send a shaft through the mail-clad body of a foe and fix him to a tree.

“I am Tecumah!” he exclaimed. “Many here know me as a faithful friend of the French. I come to give you warning that a large force of your enemies and ours are on their way down the harbour to attack the island. They consist of Portuguese and their Indian allies the Tuparas, who have transported their boats and canoes overland from the place where they have been secretly built for the purpose. They come in expectation of taking you by surprise, when, should they gain the victory, not a human being they may discover will be left alive. They have sworn to exterminate you and us by all the false saints they have taught their Indian friends to worship.”

Some doubted the information brought by Tecumah; but the count and Monsieur Laporte urged their countrymen to believe him, as they well knew the warm affection with which he regarded them, and were convinced that he would not have alarmed them needlessly. Some time was thus lost, but at length it was agreed that the count, with two other of the principal persons, should at once haste with Tecumah to carry the information to the governor, and urge him to take steps for the protection of the settlement. Unhappily, the Protestant officers having all been removed from their posts, there was no one of authority in the congregation to send a direct order on board the ships to prepare for action. The night was unusually dark; not a breath of wind rippled the surface of the mighty estuary; and the ships, which were at anchor close together off the usual landing-place near the fort, could not move to any other position, where they might assist in the defence of the island, three sides of which were thus left unprotected. The enemy would certainly make their attack where they would not be exposed to the fire of the ships or that of the fort.

Chapter Eight.

Attacked by Enemies.

Tecumah urged the count and his friends to make all haste. Even now he feared that there would be barely time for the French to assemble and prevent the enemy from landing. Once on shore both parties would be on equal terms, and the most numerous would probably gain the victory. He had despatched a messenger, however, he said, to his father, to come with his warriors to the assistance of their friends, as, unfortunately, they were at a distance from their usual dwelling-place, engaged in hunting, and might not be able quickly to collect. The count had sent word to Nigel to warn him and the other officers of the squadron to be prepared for an attack, and also to entreat as many as could be spared to come on shore to be in readiness for the defence of the island. The Protestants had also got under arms, so that they might be able to march in any direction where their presence might be required.

The governor received the count and his companions in the haughty and insolent manner he had of late assumed, and at first appeared inclined to discredit the account Tecumah had brought; but when the young Indian, with all the eloquence of his race, assured him of the truth of his statement, and warned him of the danger of delay, he changed his tone. He was too sagacious an officer not to see in reality that the warning must not be despised, but, without deigning to thank the count and his companions for the information they had brought, he desired them to go back to their friends. They obeyed his orders; while Tecumah, having fulfilled his mission, hurried away to his canoe, intending to cross to the mainland for the purpose of urging his tribe to use all speed in coming to the assistance of the French. The governor, meantime, ordered the troops to get under arms, and sent off a despatch to the ships, directing the captains, some to get under weigh and to sail round to the other side of the island, others to remain ready for an attack near the landing-place. The calm, however, prevented the first part of his order from being obeyed.

The whole population of the island was speedily aroused, and began to assemble at a central spot appointed by the governor. Scouts were also sent out along the shore, and every precaution was taken which the sagacity of an experienced officer like Villegagnon could suggest. The women and children, whose houses were in the more exposed situations, were brought to the fort, though it was hoped that the enemy might be driven back before they could effect a landing. Scarcely, however, had the armed men collected, than the sound of firing was heard coming from the end of the island, where a little bay was situated. It was a spot which afforded an easy landing-place; but a fort had been built upon it, which it was supposed was of sufficient strength to drive back any enemy who might approach it. Several shots followed the first, and then came through the calm night air the sounds of strife, the victorious warwhoops of the Indians, and the shrieks and cries of the conquered.

“Forward, my men, and drive back the enemy,” exclaimed Villegagnon. “The fort has, I fear, been surprised, and the garrison cut to pieces, and, if so, the enemy have landed, and we must be prepared to encounter them on shore.”

Saying this, the governor, who was not destitute of courage, led forward the main body of his men, while he despatched a messenger to the ships with an order for the seamen to advance to his support. The count with a small number of his men was ordered to keep in the rear, to act as he might think necessary. The darkness of the night prevented the French from seeing their invaders. They had not got far when they found themselves in the face of a force which they could only estimate by the hot fire which was opened on them. They fired in return with equal vigour, but it was soon evident that they were greatly outnumbered. Several of them fell. Showers of bullets whistled amidst them, while flights of arrows came flying into their ranks. In vain the governor endeavoured to repel the foe. At last he gave the order to sound the retreat, intending to fall back on the fort. The unseen enemy pressed him hard, and their fire increased rather than diminished, showing that more had landed. The count had now led his men up to take part in the fight, but they could do no more than check the advance of the enemy, and prevent them from overpowering the party under the governor. Even the bravest began to despair of success. The flashes of the guns lighted up the darkness of the night, and where the fire was the hottest there the governor and Count de Tourville threw themselves fearlessly, exposing their own lives to encourage their followers. It was very evident that they had not only Indians, but civilised Europeans to fight against. Notwithstanding their bravery, they were quickly driven back; and, before long, the count saw that his own and the surrounding houses would be exposed to destruction. At length a shout was heard on one side. It was recognised as coming from the body of seamen who were advancing to their support. The governor immediately despatched an officer to lead them to a position he wished them to occupy; but, before they had reached it, they found themselves engaged with a strong party of the enemy who had been sent to intercept them. The fight was now raging in two quarters, but still the enemy appeared to be gaining ground.

Constance de Tourville had remained at home unwilling to desert the house till compelled to do so. Several other ladies, whose houses were in more exposed situations, had come there for shelter, and stood listening with anxious hearts to the hot strife going forward within a short distance. At length some of the party proposed that they should fly to the fort; though, dreading the governor, they were unwilling, if it could be avoided, to place themselves in his power. Constance preferred remaining, her father having promised to send timely notice to her should the French find themselves compelled to retreat. The sounds of the battle came nearer and nearer. Several of the ladies declared that they could remain no longer, and hurried to the door to make their escape; Constance remained firm.

“I will obey my father,” she said; “and when he sends me word that it is time to fly, I will go.”

The other ladies, influenced by her example, hesitated, when a shower of bullets came whistling above their heads, and shouts and shrieks and cries of the combatants sounded as if they were close at hand. It was too evident that such was the case. Constance herself began to await anxiously for the order from her father to quit the house; when suddenly, in addition to the other sounds, a chorus of wild warwhoops burst on their ears. The savage cries were replied to by the shouts and cheers of the French. The musketry rattled as loud as ever, but none of the shots came near them. In truth, the Tamoyos had arrived just at the moment the governor had determined to retreat and take shelter in the fort, leaving the rest of the island to the mercy of the invaders. Tecumah was at the head of his tribe, who fought with the most desperate fury against their hereditary enemies the Tuparas. The Portuguese were now in their turn compelled to retreat; the French and Indians pressed them hard, and, finding their expectation of surprising the settlement defeated, they took to flight towards the bay where they had left their boats. Nigel had landed with a naval force, and, feeling that he was fighting for everything he held clear, he was regardless of his own safety. Again and again he led his men on against greatly superior numbers of the enemy, but till the arrival of Tecumah and his party all his efforts had been in vain. Again he was leading them on, when he felt himself struck by a bullet, and, staggering a few paces, fell to the ground. Still he called on his men to advance. The Portuguese and Tuparas every now and then faced about in order to cover the embarkation of those who first reached the boats. Their bravery secured the retreat of their friends, but the greater portion of the rear-guard were overtaken and cut to pieces, while the main body shoved off from the shore and made their escape.

Constance and her friends had been anxiously awaiting the issue of the strife. When they heard the sounds of battle receding, their courage rose, and they hoped that their countrymen were gaining the victory. Still they were left for a long interval. At length Constance determined to go out and ascertain what had taken place. They provided themselves with lanterns, several of which had been brought to the house by those who had taken refuge in it, and, aided by their light, they went courageously forward. They had a higher motive also. They knew too well that many must have fallen, and they hoped to carry succour to some of the wounded, who might have been left behind by their advancing comrades. After going some way, they reached a spot where the strife had been hottest. Here lay friends and foes mingled together, Frenchman and Portuguese; the Indians only being distinguished by their war-paint and fantastic costume. On all the bullet, or arrow, or the deadly hatchet, had done its work. As they cast their lanterns on the forms stretched on the ground they saw that their help could not avail. The wounded had either been carried off by their companions, or had dragged themselves away to seek assistance. Still they persevered in their mission of mercy, searching for others who might be still breathing. They were attracted by the sound of a groan, which proceeded from a spot not far off. Again all was silent.

“Here is a wounded man!” exclaimed one of the ladies, calling to Constance. “He is a naval officer, I see, by his dress.”

Constance and her other friends hurried to the spot, and, by the light of a lantern cast on the countenance of the officer, Constance saw at a glance that he was Nigel. She threw herself on the ground, and endeavoured, with the help of her companions, to staunch the blood flowing from a wound in his side. He was pale as death, but another groan escaping from his lips showed her that he still breathed. At length they succeeded in stopping the effusion of blood. She called on his name, but he was too weak to answer, though once she felt, as she took his hand, a slight pressure returned, which showed that he recognised her voice.

“Oh, Marie, hasten to the house, and entreat some of our friends to come and assist in carrying him there!” she exclaimed to one of her companions. “Bring a bed, or a door torn from its hinges, on which he can be placed. We must not allow him to remain here longer than is possible. Quick, my dear, if you love me!”

Her friend hurried away, eager to bring assistance which the young officer so greatly needed. Constance in the mean time sat by the side of Nigel, resting his head on her arm, while she bent over him, and assured herself that he still breathed. Though dreading every moment to hear his last sigh, with loving and gentle words she endeavoured to recall him to consciousness. How fearfully long the time seemed. The sounds of the strife still going forward reached her ears, though she scarcely heeded them, for all her thoughts and all her feelings were centred on Nigel. Anxiously she and her friend waited the arrival of the party from the house. The latter every now and then got up and advanced a few paces to listen. At length lights were seen in the distance, and footsteps were heard approaching. Constance uttered an exclamation of thankfulness when she saw her friends approaching with a litter they had hastily constructed with three poles supporting a mattress. With gentle care Nigel was placed upon it, and the ladies lifting it from the ground proceeded towards the house. Soon after they had reached it, the count arrived with the intelligence that the enemy had been driven off the island, and that the boats of the squadron had gone in pursuit of them. His sorrow at hearing of Nigel’s dangerous state was very great, and, ordering restoratives to be given him, he immediately set off in search of the surgeon, who had come out with the first party of the settlers, and had remained faithful to the truth. He happily discovered him attending to some of the wounded men who had been carried to one of the neighbouring houses. As soon as he could leave them he hastened to Nigel’s side. After examining his wound, he expressed a hope that, by constant watchfulness and care, he would recover, though the loss of blood had greatly exhausted him, and all would depend on his being kept perfectly quiet. One thing was certain, that he would be unable to move for many weeks to come, without risking his life. On hearing the surgeon’s report, Constance entreated her father not to carry out his intention of proceeding to Europe.

“I will certainly on no account leave him,” he answered. “Possibly the ships may be delayed, or the governor will be unwilling to let them sail, on the probability of the island being again attacked; but if so, he must treat the Protestants with more justice than he has been doing for some time, and we must live in hopes that fresh arrivals from Europe will again turn the scale in our favour.”

Whether or not the governor suspected that the Protestants hoped, with increased numbers, to recover their influence, it was difficult to say.

The next day was devoted to rejoicings for the victory. The bells of the Romish church rang out, the fort fired salutes, and a procession with crucifixes, banners, and images, marched through the island. The priests sang praises in honour of the Virgin Mary, whom they asserted had given them the victory, in answer to their petitions. The Protestants assembled in their place of worship to return thanks to God for their deliverance. While the service, which had taken place at an earlier hour than usual, was going forward, an officer and party of soldiers arrived in front of the chapel. Without knocking, or asking for admission, the officer entered the chapel with his hat on his head, and, in a loud voice, exclaimed—

“I bring you an order from the governor to disperse. He will allow of no meetings, except in the church he has built for the use of the colony.”

“Allow us, sir, to finish the service in which we are engaged,” answered the minister, in a deep tone. “It may be the last many of us will enjoy for some time to come.”

“My orders are to put a stop to your meeting,” said the officer. “If you refuse to obey, I must use force to compel you.”

Several of the persons present showed an inclination to dispute the point, but the minister and count urged them to yield obedience to the orders of the governor, and they quickly departed, when the officer, closing the door, put a seal on it, cautioning the people not again to enter, the governor having threatened severely to punish any who might do so. With sad hearts they returned to their homes. The victory over their enemies, instead of having improved their condition, appeared to have made it still more unbearable. Many who had before intended to remain on the island now determined to proceed in the ships which the governor announced would sail in a couple of days. When, however, they went on board to arrange their sleeping places they found the vessels in so battered and unseaworthy a condition, and so overrun with vermin, that many resolved to remain rather than undergo the risk of a voyage on board them. The officers and crews confessed that they were very unwilling to sail; at the same time, as they were all Protestants, they were anxious to get away from the island. The governor had also threatened them with punishment should they refuse. They promised, for their own sakes, as well as for that of their passengers, to repair the ships as much as time would allow. Indeed, the crews were already working hard to fit them for sea. If the governor would permit them to remain another week, they might, it was hoped, be placed in a tolerably efficient state to cross the Atlantic. The governor, however, would only allow them two more days, at the end of which time he insisted that all who intended to go must embark. A third of the original number, therefore, abandoned their purpose and resolved to remain and endure all the indignities to which they were likely to be subjected, while the rest, with many forebodings, went on board the two ships. They were, as it was, much overcrowded, and it was with difficulty that they could obtain sufficient provisions for the voyage, the governor asserting that no more could be spared from the stores of the garrison.

When all were on board, and the anchors were about to be weighed, Captain Beauport was led out from prison in chains under a strong guard, and, not being allowed to communicate with any of his friends on shore, was conveyed on board; the captain to whose charge he was committed being directed by the governor to deliver up his prisoner to the authorities at the first port at which he could touch, charged with rebellion and heresy. Captain Dupré merely replied that he would do his duty, as far as he had the power. He was a silent undemonstrative man, not given unnecessarily to express his opinions. He had never shown a disposition to disregard the orders of the governor, who was, therefore, persuaded that he would carry them out on the present occasion. With sad hearts those remaining saw their countrymen sail away. They were anxious about their fate; but they had still greater cause to be anxious about their own.

In the mean time, Nigel, under Constance’s unremitting care, and that of the good surgeon who remained, was progressing favourably. Some days passed before he had sufficient strength to speak, and not till more than a week had elapsed would the surgeon allow him to be told what had happened; he was then deeply grieved to hear that the count and Constance had remained behind for his sake. He dreaded even more than they did the treachery and cruelty of Villegagnon, knowing him as he did to be so completely under the influence of the priests.

“He is but a wretched tool in their hands; and they, acting according to the dictates of their accursed system, which they call ‘The Church,’ are determined to drive every Protestant out of the island, so that they may again be masters over the consciences of all the inhabitants. Why,” exclaimed poor Nigel to Constance, “did I not denounce the traitor to the admiral, who would not then, I feel convinced, have trusted the colony to his government? Even had I failed to convince him, it would have been better to have been dismissed, and to have sought my fortune elsewhere. But then, Constance, I should not have met you; and even now, if God wills that I should recover, I may be the means of preserving you from the dangers by which you are surrounded.”

“You acted as you believed right, and you must not blame yourself,” said Constance. “We must trust in God, and remember that, whatever happens, He orders all things for the best. Should He permit these wicked men to triumph, let us feel sure that He has some object in view, though we may not see it.”

The count also exonerated Nigel from any blame, and was much inclined to find fault with himself for having quitted France, instead of remaining at his post, and looking after his dependants.

“We are but weak fallible creatures at best,” he observed. “We often fancy that we are following God’s will when we are pursuing only the promptings of our own inclinations. It shows how absolutely necessary it is to seek for guidance at the throne of grace in all our actions, even in what we may consider the most minute. When we remember that the hairs of our head are all numbered, and that God has told us that not a sparrow falls to the ground but He knows of it, we should remember that no act is too minute and inconsiderable to seek for counsel from Him regarding it. I might say that at every word we utter we should ask Him to direct us, for a single word may have an effect for good or for evil on those who hear it.”

Still Nigel was not satisfied with himself. Few people can be so, when they review their past actions, unless they have acted as the count advised, and sought for guidance from above.

For a short time the Protestant settlers were left to act as they thought fit; but their place of worship continued shut up, and they were not allowed to enter it. They met, however, at each other’s houses to read the Scriptures and offer up prayer and praise together. But they thought it wise to do so with closed doors, and they always had some one on the watch outside to give notice of the approach of any of the Papists. Indeed, they found it necessary to use the same precautions which they had been accustomed to employ in France. They were now subjected to the same persecuting spirit as that from which they had attempted to escape. Their only hope of being freed from their present galling condition was by a large influx of Protestant settlers, when the scales might be again turned in their favour. Would Villegagnon, however, allow such to land? In all probability he would send them over to settle on the southern shore.

This state of affairs continued for some weeks, during which Nigel slowly recovered, much owing to the loving care of Constance, and the skill of their friend, the surgeon. At length his health was considered fairly re-established. The count, however, advised him not to return to his ship until absolutely compelled to do so; indeed, having the permission of the admiral to quit the service, Villegagnon could not legally insist on his remaining in it.

“Indeed, my dear friend,” said the count, “I feel that my own life is so uncertain, and should I be taken away, my daughter would be left without a protector in whom I could place confidence, that I desire forthwith to commit her to your care. You will, I know, devote yourself to her, and, as far as a human being has power, defend her from all dangers.”

Nigel grasped the count’s hand, and with a proud joy at his heart, promised not to disappoint his expectations. He took no vain oath: he did not call on God to witness that he intended to fulfil his promise, for he and the count knew that what he uttered was heard in heaven, and required no other ratification. Constance willingly agreed to her father’s wishes, and it was settled that in a few days the marriage ceremony should be performed by their minister and friend, Monsieur Laporte. Their love was mutual and equally intense, and they felt that they could together face the dangers of many sorts surrounding them far better than apart. Constance implicitly confided in Nigel, and he felt unspeakable pride and joy in having the power of supporting and protecting her.

Chapter Nine.

Proceedings of “The Inquisition.”

Ten days had passed since Nigel and Constance were united. He had not ventured beyond the precincts of the garden; and it might have been supposed that Captain Villegagnon had forgotten his existence, as no order had been sent him to join his ship. He intended, should he receive one again, to plead the admiral’s permission to quit the service, Coligny having indeed accepted his resignation. As long, however, as he was not interfered with he resolved to remain quiet. He employed his time in assisting the count in the cultivation of the ground, and in devising plans for the future. Rumours were abroad that the governor intended on the arrival of fresh colonists to found a town on the north side of the harbour, to be named Nitherohy. The count determined to move there, and to purchase a plot of land on which to build a residence and form an estate, as he hoped before that time to receive remittances from his steward.

“I should not have thought of it, my dear Nigel, had it not been for you and Constance,” he observed. “Though as regards myself all worldly pride and ambition have been laid aside, I should like to see you the master of a property suitable to your birth and education.”

The idea was naturally consonant with Nigel’s wishes, and he promised to labour hard in bringing the proposed estate into cultivation.

“It will afford me ample employment for the future,” he observed; “and employment, of course, I must have.”

Tecumah and Cora had during this time made frequent visits to the island. Tecumah was welcomed by the governor, as he was always well informed of the movements of the Portuguese and hostile Indians, besides having already rendered important services to the colony. The governor only looked on him in the light of an intelligent young savage and a faithful ally to the French. He had, however, already advanced in a knowledge of Christian truth, and had become an earnest and believing follower of the Lord. He one day came over to report that a party of the Tuparas had been seen on the high ground beyond the southern extremity of the harbour, making their way to the Portuguese settlement. He advised that boats should be sent out and advanced posts stationed, to give due notice of an attack, should one be contemplated. These arrangements having been made, the governor invited Tecumah to accompany him in a walk to a part of the island which he was about to visit. The strains of solemn music reached their ears. Tecumah attentively listened with much delight, and inquired whence they proceeded.

“The ministers of our religion are performing a sacred service, my friend,” answered the governor. “If you please, we will enter and pay our devotions to the Holy Virgin and saints.”

“I thought that Christians worship God alone,” observed the Indian.

“Of course, so we do,” said the governor; “but we worship also, in a different way, the mother of God and His holy saints and apostles.”

“I have heard that God is a jealous God, and will have none other gods worshipped but Himself,” said the Indian.

“But the mother of God; surely He will have us worship her?” observed the governor.

“The Bible does not say so,” answered Tecumah, boldly, “When Jesus hung on the cross He said to John, ‘Behold thy mother,’ and to His mother, ‘Behold thy son;’ and looking round on His disciples, He once observed, when He was told that His mother and brethren were near, ‘Behold My mother, and My brethren.’”

“Where did you learn all that?” asked the governor, in an angry tone.

“From one of your good ministers; and I am sure he spoke the truth,” answered Tecumah, innocently.

“He shall suffer for it,” muttered the governor.

They had just then reached the door of the church, and Tecumah followed the governor, who went up towards the so-called “holy altar.” The Indian gazed around with astonishment at the gorgeous drapery, the images, the lighted candles, and the large silver crucifix, with the figure of the Virgin on one side, and Saint John on the other, and the vases of flowers, and numerous other ornaments. He said not a word during the whole ceremony, but watched attentively what took place. There was the usual chanting in Latin, and so-called prayers muttered over in the same language; while the church was filled with incense from censers waved to and fro. Then, during a solemn silence, the chief officiating priest lifted up something (what it was he could not make out) above his head. He then observed that they put something into their mouths and drank wine, which they had mixed with water from a silver cup. Then the people came up and the priests put something into their mouths, and there was more chanting and prayers in an unknown tongue. Then those who had been on their knees rose and filed out of the church, laughing and talking and making jokes with each other. Tecumah followed the governor, anxious to know what had taken place, and inquired what the priests were about when they muttered prayers over the silver dish and wine.

“They were then performing the greatest miracle of our Church,” answered the governor. “They were converting the wafer and wine into the body and blood of Christ.”

“What?” asked the Indian. “Christ has assumed His glorified body, and is now in heaven at the right hand of God. Which body, may I ask, do they think they eat, His human body or His glorified body? I cannot understand the matter.”

“Nor can I enlighten you,” answered the governor, looking much perplexed. “I am not fond of having such questions put to me.”

“Pardon me if I ask one more,” said the Indian, who was eager to gain information on the subject. “What were they doing when they lifted the wafer above their heads?”

“They were then offering up to God the great sacrifice, the real body and blood of His dear Son.”

“Christ was once offered up as a sacrifice for sinners on the cross,” said the Indian; “surely they cannot offer Him again?”

“Our Church says they can; and that’s all we know about the matter,” answered the governor, in a tone of irritation.

“Let me then ask you another question,” said Tecumah. “What were they doing when they ate the wafers and drank the wine, and then put the wafers into the mouths of the people?”

“They were eating the real body and drinking the blood of Christ,” answered the governor, “and feeding the people with the body, for the priests alone are allowed to drink the blood. They were, in other words, performing the sacrifice of the mass.”

“What?” exclaimed the Indian, starting back. “It is too solemn a thing to joke about; but do you wish to make me believe that the people can really believe that they eat the body of their God, and that human beings can change pieces of paste into that body? No, no, no! Monsieur Governor. We Indians have not a knowledge of the numerous arts you Frenchmen possess, but we are not so foolish as to believe such a gross imposture as that. I am afraid that your priests are like our medicine-men, in whom we trusted till we found them to be rogues and deceivers.”

These words were uttered by Tecumah in a loud, indignant tone, and were overheard by one of the priests, who, having changed his gorgeous robes, had followed the governor out of the church in order to speak to him.

“Beware, young man, what you say!” he exclaimed, in an angry tone. “How can you understand the mysteries of our faith? But I know well where you received your instruction, and he who taught you shall have his just reward.”

Tecumah stood calmly listening to the priest’s angry threats. “He who taught me is under the protection of my tribe,” he answered, “and those who injure him will be our foes. I now see that you are one of the men who played the tricks in the church hard by, and deceived the people by persuading them that you have the power which belongs to God alone, to work a miracle.”

These words so enraged the priest, that he would have struck the Indian had he dared. The governor observed his anger, and being well aware of the importance of not offending their Indian allies, on whose support their very existence depended, now interfered and tried to soothe the angry priest as well as Tecumah. The latter, however, felt more scorn than anger towards the man whom he, with his acute and unprejudiced mind, looked upon as guilty of practising a gross imposture, and he was therefore quickly pacified; but the priest, grinding his teeth, continued to mutter threats of vengeance, till the governor, drawing him aside, reminded him of the importance of not offending the Indians.

“You may do what you like with the heretic minister,” he observed; “but the services of these Indians are required, and we cannot afford to lose them.”

“The guilty one shall feel the vengeance of our Church, then,” answered the priest. “We cannot allow a doctrine which so greatly supports our authority to be called in question.”

“Of course not, my friend, of course not,” said the governor; “though, as men of sense, you and I no more believe in it than does that clever young Indian.”

“As to that, Monsieur Governor, we keep our opinions to ourselves,” said the priest, with as near an approach to a laugh as he ever indulged in. “At the same time, the sooner we put that acute, clever-minded young Indian out of the way, together with his instructor, Monsieur Laporte, the better for the maintenance of our holy religion.” The countenance of the priest had assumed its usual undemonstrative expression as he continued, “Listen, Monsieur Governor. I believe that the Count de Tourville and his daughter and son-in-law are equally dangerous. That young Indian and his sister are constantly at their house, and have imbibed their pestiferous notions from them. I have had my eye on them for some time, when they were not aware that they were watched. I do my duty in looking after the spiritual interests of my countrymen”—the priest crossed his arms and cast his eyes on the ground—“but I feel that my humble efforts unaided are not sufficient. When our community increases, we shall have many of these accursed Protestants among us, and it will be absolutely necessary to devise effectual means for the preservation of our authority. I would therefore suggest the establishment of the Holy Inquisition, by which alone heresy can be rooted out. It will prove our zeal for religion, and gain the approbation of our patrons, the excellent Duke de Guise and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine.”

“You will have my permission to carry out your plan as you may wish, holy father,” said the governor. “You may exercise your authority on our countrymen as you may deem necessary to bring them under the wholesome control of the Church; but I cannot have the Indians interfered with until we are strong enough to do without them. When we are, you will have my full permission to manage them as you think best for the purpose of bringing them into the true fold; but in the mean time their savage relatives may not understand your object in burning them for the good of their souls, and may be apt in their ignorance to revenge their deaths by cutting us to pieces.”

“I understand your wise policy,” answered the priest. “We will bide our time, then, for commencing the conversion of the Indians. But I have your permission to act towards the count and his family, and that pestiferous heretic minister, as I may judge necessary for the full establishment of the faith in our colony?”

“Certainly, certainly,” answered the governor; “I willingly grant you all the power you ask.”

The priest returned into the church to hear the confessions of several of his congregation, who were waiting to get absolution that they might sin again without having too great a load on their shoulders; as also to put out the candles, which he in his hurry had left burning. The governor returned to the fort, while Tecumah went to pay his usual visit to Monsieur Laporte. He naturally expressed his astonishment at what he had seen and heard.

“Surely,” he exclaimed, “sensible men do not really believe that, by the words of a priest, Jesus Christ, sitting at the right hand of God, really does allow His body to descend into the bits of paste which the priest puts into the mouths of the people. The Bible, as you read it to me, says that He is seated at the right hand of God, to make intercession for us sinners, and that He acts as our great High Priest.”

“I cannot tell what the poor ignorant people may really believe, though it does seem astounding that they should be so imposed on by their priests,” answered Monsieur Laporte. “It was many centuries even before the corrupted Church of Rome introduced the dogma or notion, which was invented by a monk in the eighth century, when it was eagerly seized upon by the Pope, who saw that it would enable him and his army of subordinates to become sacrificing priests, which would give them immense influence over the minds of people, if they could persuade them to believe it. They had taught the great mass of the people to believe in the power of dead men’s bones and other relics to work miracles; in the heathen notion of purgatory for cleansing the soul by fire; to worship idols with the names of saints; to pray for the dead; and to pray to dead men whom they had dubbed saints, as well as to put faith in many other abominable falsehoods. They found, therefore, no difficulty in persuading the more ignorant people to believe this most blasphemous fable, which from henceforth became one of the most powerful engines for increasing the influence of the priests over the minds of men, though many, both learned and unlearned persons in our own and other countries loudly protested against the novel doctrine, as contrary to the true meaning of our Lord’s language at the last supper and the teaching and practice of the apostles.”

“I thought that you and other sensible men could not possibly believe so outrageous a notion, and so contrary to God’s word,” observed Tecumah. “But how comes it that men can be so wicked as to teach what is in direct opposition to the Bible?”

“Influenced by Satan, they make use of every means, however impious, to gain an influence over their fellow-creatures. It has been the same everywhere from the earliest ages of the world. They are like your medicine-men, whom you now know to be gross impostors. In all countries there have been found men, for their own ends, or for the support of the authority they serve, willing to deceive their fellow men, in many instances, as is often the case with these priests of Rome, being deceived themselves. Our only sure guide and prevention against such impostures is the study of God’s Word and constant obedience to its holy precepts. As Jesus withstood the temptations of Satan by replying to him with the Scriptures, so must we arm ourselves, and ever be ready to withstand our foes, in whatever form they come, by the same blessed word of God. A sure sign that the Romish system is the invention of Satan is that it dreads the Word, and whenever it has the power, keeps it from the people or grossly misinterprets its meaning.”

“I would that I could have that blessed Book translated into the language of my people,” exclaimed Tecumah. “I can now understand it in French, and may be able to explain it to those who are willing to hear me; but I should desire to send it throughout the whole country, that all the native tribes might hear the glad tidings that there is a loving Saviour ready to receive them into the kingdom.”

The above conversation occupied a much longer time than we have in repeating it, and both the minister and young chief used very different language to that which has been employed. Tecumah showed by his questions and replies how completely he understood it, and how his pure unprejudiced mind revolted against the falsehoods of Rome, while it quickly embraced the truth of the Gospel.

After quitting Monsieur Laporte, he paid a visit to the count. He found Nigel hard at work in the garden, and Constance helping him. He repeated to them what he had seen and the impression formed on his mind, and they explained the truth much as the minister had done; to which Constance added an account of the horrible system of the confessional, which she had heard from some of her Papist friends, who had been subjected to it, and the abominable questions which had been put to them by the priests.

“That alone would have been sufficient to convince me that this system is not of God. And He tells us from the mouth of the Apostle Paul that we may come boldly to the throne of grace, trusting in the all cleansing blood of Jesus; and Jesus Himself says, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ I am sure that He never refuses to hear when a human being comes trusting to His blood shed on Calvary. Monsieur Laporte was reading from the Epistle of Timothy a prophecy that there should come ‘some who shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron; forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth,’ who would advocate will-worship and their own good deeds in opposition to the all perfect atonement of Jesus. Such truly is what the priests of Rome teach, though nearly for a thousand years after Christ came Christian ministers, whom they acknowledged as belonging to their communion, were allowed to marry like other men; and certainly those who did so were less corrupt than the celibates who, having no family ties, became the servile tools of Rome’s tyranny.”

Constance had now to go in to prepare for dinner, and Nigel then asked Tecumah what remarks he had made to the governor and the priest. The Indian told him.

“You spoke truly; but knowing what these priests are, I fear much that they will endeavour to entrap you; and if they find that they cannot compel you to believe in their false doctrines and to acknowledge their authority, they will use other means to bring about your destruction.”

“I will be watchful, and keep out of their power,” said Tecumah. “I fear much, though, that they will equally endeavour to persecute you whom they look upon as my instructor; but I will be on the watch, and try to defend you as well as myself.”

Tecumah spent the rest of the day with his friends, and it was late in the evening when his canoe was seen gliding rapidly across the harbour towards the mainland.

Villegagnon and the priests did not long allow the Protestant settlers to remain in quiet. The governor announced that he had received orders from France to allow no Bibles to remain in the hands of any of the people, declaring that they made a bad use of them by seeking an excuse from their pages for rebellion. The count resolved to go in person to the governor, and reminding him that he had ever been loyal, to claim exemption from the tyrannical law. He went, but was haughtily told that rich and poor must be treated alike, and that no exception would be made in his favour. Should he not deliver up all the Bibles in his house, he must be prepared for the consequences. Monsieur Laporte and the good surgeon were treated in the same manner. Nigel, however, resolved, as he was not a Frenchman, not to part with his Bible; and, in case a domiciliary visit should be paid by the “inquisitors,” having placed it in a box and buried it in the garden among some thick trees, he and Constance could thus take it out and read it, which they did every day, without risk, as they supposed, of being discovered. Before long a party of men appeared, headed by an officer, with an authority from the governor to collect all the Bibles and Protestant sermons and hymns to be found. The count, knowing that resistance was vain, delivered up those he possessed, protesting, however, against the injustice of the act.

“That’s not our affair, Count de Tourville,” answered the officer; “but I will report what you say to the governor. Now, let me ask you, have you any other books?”

“I have given you all that are to my knowledge in the house,” answered the count. “If you are not satisfied you must search for them.”

“We cannot take the word of an heretic,” said the officer, insolently. “We intend to search, and if we find any it will be the worse for you.”

Providentially, Nigel was away, and thus escaped having questions asked him. Poor Constance endeavoured to console her father while the officers were searching in every corner and cranny of the house. No books, however, were discovered; and at length, threatening to pay another visit shortly, the inquisitors went away to search other houses in the neighbourhood; and in two or three, meeting with opposition, they carried the owners off to prison. The most severe sufferer was Monsieur Laporte, the whole of whose library was carried off, all his books more or less being of a theological character.

The following day, in an open space in front of the fort, a pile of faggots was seen, when the books were brought forth from the house into which they had been thrown. Most of the population turned out to witness the expected sight, shouting and jeering as book after book was thrown on the pile, to which fire had been set. As each fresh batch of books began to burn they shouted loudly, and when it was seen that most of the books were Bibles, their shouts and cries and fierce execrations grew louder and louder. This went on till all were consumed. The Protestants remained at home during the period, sorrowful and cast down. No one knew what persecutions they might be doomed to bear. Monsieur Laporte went from house to house, endeavouring to console and support his flock, reminding them all of the sufferings Christ’s people had been called on to bear from the earliest days to the present time, and urging them to keep in view that crown of glory which He had prepared for all who hold fast to the truth. So much had his faithful and gentle character won the love of all except the most brutal, that many even among those who had been perverted regarded him with affection, while the priests, hearing him so highly spoken of, were afraid for the present to persecute him further. They were, however, very active among his congregation, whom they endeavoured by soft words and plausible arguments to win over; but finding that they did not succeed, as in reality only the frivolous and irreligious had hitherto been gained to their side, they determined to use harsher measures.

One evening Nigel and Constance had gone to their bower in the woods, where, concealed by the thickness of the surrounding foliage, they took out their Bible and sat down on a bench Nigel had placed there. He had been reading for some time to his young wife, occasionally stopping to explain a verse or to ask her opinion; now turning back and comparing text with text, both of them being so absorbed that they did not know how long they had been thus engaged, when they were suddenly aroused by hearing a footstep, and looking up they saw a priest standing before them, while a little way off appeared a party of armed men.

“You have been discovered engaged in an unlawful act, Monsieur Nigel, by which you have made yourself liable to the just vengeance of the law!” exclaimed the priest, in a triumphant tone. “You have been suspected for some time. In the name of the governor, therefore, I order you to yield yourself prisoner. Take this gentleman into custody,” he added, turning to the armed men, who, as he spoke, sprang eagerly forward.

Nigel was too much astonished for the moment to reply. Constance uttered a cry of alarm, and clung to his arm.

“You cannot, you must not take him from me!” she exclaimed, in a terrified tone.

“You are equally guilty, young lady, in listening to him,” said the priest. “In all probability you will share his fate.”

“Oh, let me go with him now, then, if you insist on taking him,” she said, still holding Nigel’s arm.

“No, no, lady. Don’t fancy that you will be allowed to keep him company,” said the priest, in a harsher tone. “For the present you may remain with your father, till the governor thinks fit to summon you.”

“Fly rather to the faithful Indians,” whispered Nigel; “do not put yourself in the traitor’s power.”

He could say no more, for the armed men seizing him took him off, while the priest held Constance in his arms. She in vain struggled to free herself from his loathsome grasp, while she entreated to be set free, ever and anon uttering shrieks for help; but not till the priest was sure that the party with Nigel were out of sight did he allow her to escape, when seeing her father, who had been attracted by her cries, coming from the house, she flew towards him, the priest in the mean time hurrying after his companions. It was fortunate for him that he got away, for the count, with a thick stick in his hand, forgetting the danger of doing so, would have made him feel the effects of his just anger.

“Oh, save him, save him! They have seized Nigel. What will they do to him?” cried Constance, as she sank into her father’s arms.

The count saw that pursuit was hopeless, for the priest, tucking up his long dress to enable him to scramble over the fences, had already got to a considerable distance; besides, it would have been vain to attempt rescuing Nigel from a party of armed men. The count could only say, “Trust in God, my child. He alone can help us.”

Poor Constance, overcome with grief and terror, could scarcely, even with her father’s assistance, reach the house. He placed her on a couch by his side, vainly endeavouring to console her. He indeed feared that the priests would not allow them to escape with impunity, and he guessed truly that it had been only for the sake of inflicting a greater cruelty that Nigel had first been carried off.

Monsieur Laporte with the good doctor happily came in, having heard a rumour of what had occurred. Both were required, for Constance became seriously ill; but the words of the former were of more value than any medicine the latter could prescribe. The minister at, once turned to God’s word; not to the Book itself, for that he did not dare to carry about, but to the numerous blessed texts which he had committed to memory, and from these he was able to draw that effectual comfort which could alone avail with the poor young wife. No one dared to speak of the future, for they knew well the bitter hatred felt by the governor and priests towards Nigel, and that they would rejoice at having a victim in their power on whom they would wreak their vengeance. While they were seated with Constance and the count, Tecumah and his sister arrived, on their way to pay their usual visit to Monsieur Laporte. They were overwhelmed with grief and indignation when they heard what had occurred. Cora threw herself by the side of Constance, and poured out her expressions of sympathy from her woman’s heart. Indian as she was, she could feel for her white sister, her affectionate tones tending somewhat to soothe her friend’s outraged feelings.

“Do not give up hope,” she whispered, “We will gladly devote our lives, if necessary, to save him. We Indians are accustomed to do many things which would astonish the white people, and if a friend is in danger, every one of our tribe is ready to help him.”

“They dare not kill him!” exclaimed Tecumah, “and if a hair of his head is injured I will arouse our people, and instead of being friends and ready to fight on their side, we will come over with our strong bows and attack them.”

“Even for the sake of a friend we would not urge you to use violent measures,” said the minister. “Remember the precepts of our blessed Lord and Master; He who was ever mild, gentle, and forgiving, doing good to those who injured Him.”

“Yes, I know that, and desire to obey our Saviour’s law; but He does not forbid us to help our friends,” exclaimed the young Indian.

Chapter Ten.

Imprisonment and Rescue.

Tecumah and his sister remained for some time with their friend. Tecumah then accompanied the minister to his house. They passed on their way through the count’s garden, as it afforded them a shorter cut than the public path. As they got to the further end of the garden they turned aside to visit the spot where Nigel had been seized. On reaching it, Tecumah sprang forward, for there he saw before him on the ground the Bible, which the priest, in his eagerness to hold back Constance, had let drop, and had forgotten to take with him when the count appeared.

“Blessed Book!” exclaimed Tecumah. “Let me be its guardian. Your cruel persecutors shall not burn it while I have it in charge, and you may come over to read it, or when the search is over I will bring it back to you.”

To this proposal Monsieur Laporte willingly agreed; and while the Indian, wrapping it up carefully, concealed it beneath his cloak, the minister closed the box in which it was wont to be put, and covered it over again with earth and leaves.

Cora begged that she might be allowed to continue with Constance till the following morning or longer. “We were not observed coming into the house,” she said, “and it will not be known that I am here. I have my reasons for wishing to remain.”

The count and Constance of course agreed to what Cora wished. Before her brother quitted the house she had a short and earnest conversation with him. Tecumah, having spent some time with the minister, hurried to his canoe and rapidly crossed to the north side of the harbour.

Meanwhile, Nigel was dragged along by his captors. He had been so completely surprised that it was impossible for him to escape; and finding this, he walked along without making any further resistance.

The priest soon overtook the party. In vain Nigel tried to learn from him what had become of Constance.

“It’s not my duty to answer questions,” he replied; “but I have some, notwithstanding, to ask you. How is it that, knowing the orders of the governor, you ventured to read that book from which you draw all your heresies?”

“I am not aware that I have drawn anything but truth through the teaching of the Holy Spirit,” answered Nigel.

“That is the notion all you heretics hold!” exclaimed the priest. “It is the origin of your pestiferous principles.”

“I was not prohibited from reading it in my own country, and I claim as a Scotchman the right to do so wherever I am,” answered Nigel.

“No person of whatever country has the right to act contrary to the commands of the Catholic Church,” answered the priest, furiously; “and that Church positively forbids laymen from reading the Bible, or putting their own interpretations on it, therefore to whatever nation you belong you are under its rule, and are equally guilty. But I waste words in arguing with a heretic. Your only hope of escape from death is to recant without delay and become a faithful Catholic, and the governor, at my intercession, will overlook your offence. Come, you will be wise; so give up your errors.”

“Never will I give up my faith,” answered Nigel, firmly.

“Ah, my young friend, you say so now; but think of the advantages you will gain. You will at once be restored to your young wife, and will undoubtedly be raised to a post of honour and wealth in our new settlement; and when the count dies you will inherit his property and found a noble family in Antarctic France.”

Nigel felt that the temptations held out were powerful, but he prayed that were they ten times more so he might have grace to resist them. He doubted also very much whether the wily priest was not mocking him. He knew full well from the accounts he had heard in France of the treachery of which the emissaries of Rome were guilty, and he would not place any confidence in the most specious promises any of them might have made to him. He therefore let the priest talk on, endeavouring as far as he could not to listen to him. At length the fort was reached. Nigel was forthwith thrust into a cell, ordinarily used for the confinement of a refractory or drunken soldier, and was there left to his own meditations. He walked up and down, considering what he should do and what he should say. Now and again he stopped, and earnestly prayed for guidance and direction. The governor and priests were too eager to condemn the Protestants to allow an accused person to remain long in prison without trial.

That very afternoon Nigel was carried into the public hall where the governor held his court. The priest was his accuser, and the men by whom he was captured were the witnesses against him. Of course he had no defence to make, except his claim of right to read whatever books he pleased.

“Before he is condemned there is another charge of a still more heavy nature,” said the governor. “Stand forward, men, and say what you have got to state;” and Nigel was, to his astonishment, charged with abetting Captain Beauport in heaving overboard the images of the saints, the relics, and papal dispensations.

“Even had I actually assisted I should only have been obeying the orders of my superior officer,” said Nigel.

“You confess that you were guilty of standing by and witnessing such a proceeding without remonstrating?” exclaimed one of the priests who was seated near the governor. “Such enormities must meet with severe punishment, or our holy religion will be held in disrespect.”

“Undoubtedly Captain Beauport escaped with too lenient a sentence,” said the governor, “though probably the vengeance of heaven has overtaken him ere this: he and all on board the ship in which he sailed are beneath the ocean.”

“Because one has escaped, are other criminals to go unpunished?” exclaimed the priest who had before spoken. “Death by shooting or hanging would be too mild a sentence: he deserves the stake, unless by confessing his fault and abjuring his errors he returns to the loving bosom of our holy Church.”

Similar remarks were made by the other priest in a manner not usual in a court of law. For some time this mockery of a trial went on. Nigel prayed for strength, for he felt how greatly he needed it. He stood calm and apparently unmoved, listening to the abusive remarks of the vindictive priests. No one raised a voice in his favour. There might have been many who felt for him, but they feared to speak. The men who were judging him were also his accusers. Still he felt bound to defend himself, although he knew full well that the most able defence would not avail him. He pleaded that, with regard to reading the Bible, he was a foreigner and was but doing what was allowed in his own country; that he was not even attempting to make proselytes, and was simply obeying the command of his Lord to search the Scriptures. And that, as to the second accusation, whether or not he approved of what had been done, had he acted otherwise and interfered, he would have been guilty of an infraction of naval discipline; therefore he could not be made answerable for what had been done.

“He acknowledges himself guilty of sacrilege, for ecclesiastical law is above all other law, and that would have compelled him to interfere,” cried the priest. “Death, death, to the heretic!” and several voices echoed the savage cry.

“You are undoubtedly guilty of the crime alleged against you, Monsieur Lieutenant,” said the governor, after consulting in an undertone with the two priests at his side. “Your being a foreigner, as you are in the service of France, will not avail you. You will have two days given you to consider whether you will recant, and if not, your sentence is ‘That you be bound to a stake, with fire kindled around you till your body is consumed, and your soul is carried off by the emissaries of Satan, who are certainly waiting for it.’”

Nigel listened calmly while the governor was pronouncing his terrible doom—one to which the Church of Rome had already condemned tens of thousands of human beings for simply reading the Bible.

Without being allowed to say another word, he was seized by the guards waiting the beck of the governor, and dragged out of the court. Instead, however, of being led back to the prison where he had previously been confined, he found that he was actually leaving the fort. The governor was, in truth, afraid to keep him there, for a considerable number of the Madeline’s crew, who were much attached to him, were doing duty on shore, and, although they attended the Romish service, he was well aware that still in their hearts they were Protestants, and he feared that they might rescue him and assist in his escape.

The priests had of late erected close to the church a small building which they intended should serve as an inquisitorial prison where they might keep in confinement any heretics on whom they were desirous of expending their religious zeal. To this place Nigel was taken, and thrust into one of its dungeons built especially under the priests’ directions. It was, in truth, little better than a pit dug in the ground, with a small aperture towards the roof to admit light. On this occasion they had obtained a party of soldiers from the governor to guard their prison.

Nigel had not been long shut up in this dreadful place when night came on, and he was left in total darkness, with only a bundle of dry grass on which to lie down and rest himself. Brave as he was, he could not but look forward with painful feelings to the fate prepared for him. He thought, however, more of his young wife and the poor count. He feared, too, that the hatred of the priests might drag them into the same fate. Perhaps even now they were seized and accused of crimes for which their tyrannical oppressors might condemn them to death. Sleep was impossible, while the darkness prevented him from pacing up and down his narrow cell, which would have been some relief to his tortured mind. He felt for the pile of grass and lay down, considering that it would be wiser to try and obtain some rest to prepare himself for the future trials he would have to go through. The sudden destruction of all his happiness, separation from his beloved Constance, and the agonising death speedily to overtake him, made him have recourse to prayer to obtain that strength ever awarded to those who seek it from on high.

Nigel had been sleeping for some time, when, suddenly awaking, he became conscious that some one was in the vault, by hearing a footstep and a low sound of breathing. A feeling of horror for a moment ran through him. Could it be an assassin sent by the governor or priests to put him secretly to death, and so to save themselves from carrying out the sentence passed on him, from which even they might shrink, aware of the horror it would create among the greater number of the colonists, who, not having been educated in their school, would, whatever their religious sentiments, look at it with disapprobation. Still, for himself it would matter nothing, except being deprived of a few hours of life, and he would thus be saved from the tortures of the flames. Such thoughts rapidly passed through his mind; but in another moment he had nerved himself, like a brave man, to meet whatever might occur. His very natural feeling was to struggle desperately with his supposed assassin. He might even gain the victory and thus make his escape. Full of youth and strength, he felt that it would be better far to die struggling bravely, should the guard set upon him, than to sink down tamely where he lay. Springing to his feet, he stood with his arms prepared for defence.

“Hush!” said a voice. “I thought you were still sleeping. Make no noise—give me your hand and come quickly; there is not a moment to lose.”

Nigel knew by the voice and the mode of expression that it was the Indian Cora who spoke. He put out his hand and felt it grasped by her small and delicate fingers. To his surprise he found himself led almost instantly into a narrow passage, with room sufficient only for one person to pass through at a time.

“Stoop low,” said Cora, as she conducted him into apparently a small alcove on one side. “Step back and remain a moment,” she added, disengaging her hand, immediately after which he heard a grating sound as if a heavy stone were being moved.

Quickly returning, she again took his hand, and led him down a slope of some feet, and then again along a level; when once more they ascended another slope, at the top of which, mounting a few steps, he found himself standing in the open air, surrounded by a thick grove, beyond which he could distinguish the wooden tower of the church. Once more Cora desired him to remain, while she was engaged in closing up the aperture through which they had emerged. Putting her finger on her lips to enforce silence, she once more led him forward at a rapid rate, keeping under the shelter of the trees; where the gloom was such that he could not possibly by himself have made his way. At length they reached a small beach with low cliffs on either side. Keeping under their shade they proceeded till he discovered a canoe concealed beneath a rock. Cora, without requiring his assistance, quickly launched it, and then again taking his hand, bade him, in a whisper, step in and lie down his length at the bottom. Instantly grasping a paddle, she began to make her way rapidly from the shore. She had not got far, when a voice from the cliff hailed, ordering the canoe immediately to come back. Cora took no notice, but paddled on with renewed efforts. Again the person on the cliff shouted, and threatened to fire if his orders were not obeyed. A few seconds only had passed when a shot whistled close to the canoe. Cora bravely paddled on. The man on the cliff must have reloaded quickly, for soon afterwards another shot came, but happily without touching the canoe. The darkness must have soon hid so small an object from the soldier’s sight, though the shore was still visible. A third and fourth shot followed, but still wider of the mark. Cora did not relax her efforts till they had got more than half way across the harbour. She then stopped for a moment to listen, but no sound of oars indicated that they were pursued.

“We are safe now,” she said, “and you may raise yourself; but don’t attempt to stand up. Thankful I am that we have escaped. I have no fear for myself, but I dreaded every moment lest you might have been retaken by your cruel enemies. My brother gave me the task to do, and I gladly accepted it. He himself has gone to summon our tribe to arms, having resolved to rescue you by force had my undertaking failed.”

“I am most grateful to you,” said Nigel. “But by what wonderful means were you able to enter my prison and liberate me without apparent difficulty?”

“By means which these cruel priests themselves afforded,” answered Cora. “When they were building their prison-house, Tecumah and I happened to pass that way and observed that they were placing it on the ground once occupied by an ancient temple at which, in days gone by, our tribe were wont to worship. One of our medicine-men, who had listened to the truth from Tecumah’s mouth, told us that there were several passages running underground which had possibly been undiscovered by the builders. He is a sagacious man, and, finding that the new building was intended for a prison, advised us to visit the ancient passage and endeavour to keep it concealed, so that a way might be made if necessary into the dungeon. ‘The whites treat us at present with respect,’ he observed; ‘but the time may come when they may act towards us as the Portuguese have long been acting towards the Indians in their neighbourhood, imprisoning and murdering those who refuse to adopt their faith.’ My brother accordingly, with several other young men, led by the medicine-man, paid numerous visits, at night, to the place, unknown to the French. It was thus discovered that an underground passage was being formed between some of the cells of the prison and the church. Fortunately this was found out before the old passage was cut through, and by placing a large stone, turning on a sort of hinge, on one side, they were able to secure a way into the new passage without betraying the existence of their own. By constantly being on the watch, they ascertained that only one cell had as yet been formed into which the passage led. I had resolved when you were made prisoner to attempt your rescue even from the fort; but when I found that you were, carried to the priests’ prison my hopes of success arose. I had one night, from curiosity, gone with my brother to visit the spot. We then discovered that the door which led into your prison had no lock, but was merely closed with smooth sliding bolts. I thus knew my way, and was able to set you free.”

Nigel had no doubt that the object of the passage was to enable the priests either to work on the minds of the prisoners by pretended miraculous appearances; or else, should they desire to murder one of their captives, to convey the body secretly away. He, indeed, knew that such arrangements were common throughout Europe, and that numberless impostures had thus been carried out.

They quickly reached the shore, which had of late been entirely deserted by the Tamoyos, who had, influenced by what had been told them by Tecumah, moved some distance further inland. Cora, who feared that the direction they had taken would be suspected by the French, when Nigel’s escape was discovered, advised that they should go forward till he was safe among her tribe.

Dark as the night was, she knew her way, and, light and active, she led him forward at a rapid rate. They had gone some distance, when she exclaimed, “Here come my brother and his people. They will indeed rejoice to find you free.”

Nigel was welcomed by Tecumah and his party. They were on their way to the shore, intending immediately to cross, and hoping before daylight to reach the prison. Tecumah, in his anxiety to save Nigel, had induced his followers to swear that they would rescue him by force if they could succeed in no other way. Their intention was to attack the guards and break open the prison, expecting to get off again before the governor and his people had time to pursue them. Nigel assured them how thankful he was that they had not been compelled to resort to such a proceeding. Too probably the governor and priests would wreak their vengeance on his wife and father-in-law. As it was, he felt very anxious as to what would happen when his escape was discovered. It would certainly baffle the sagacity of the priests to ascertain how it had been accomplished, and would undoubtedly make them more savage, as they might naturally suspect that some of their own followers had proved treacherous, and yet not know whom to accuse.

“They shall not injure the count or any of our friends,” exclaimed Tecumah. “We can distinguish between the true men and the bad. The last, as God’s Word tells us, are always the most numerous, and it shall be our care to defend the innocent and weaker ones. My people shall remain ready with their canoes to cross over at a moment’s notice, while I go to the island and learn what has taken place.”

Nigel expressed his wish to accompany the Tamoyos, but both Tecumah and Cora urged him to proceed to a further distance, as, should the governor suspect where he had gone, he would in all probability send an expedition over to bring him back, and as they would refuse to give him up, an open rupture would be the consequence. Nigel at last agreed to accompany Cora to her father’s abode, which was above five miles from the shore of the harbour, while Tecumah carried out his proposed project.

Leaving his people encamped on the shore with their canoes ready to embark, he paddled across towards the island. He was well aware of the risk he was running, for the governor, should he suspect that he had been instrumental in rescuing Nigel, would in all probability seize him and shut him up in prison. He had taken the precaution, however, of charging the next chief in common after him to come across and demand his liberation.

Daylight broke as he reached the place at which he was accustomed to land. He proceeded at once to the house of the count, who was already on foot, and he had the satisfaction of giving him tidings of Nigel’s safety.

“The knowledge that he is free will restore life to my poor daughter,” said the count. “But we are still in the power of the governor and those revengeful priests, and I fear much that they will not allow us long to remain in quiet.”

“Then come over and live with us!” exclaimed Tecumah. “We will build a house for you and hunt for you, and do our utmost to enable you to live as you are now doing.”

“We cannot be thus burdensome to you; and we should have no means of paying your people for labouring in our service,” answered the count. “Still, I am most grateful to you, and will think over the matter.”

Constance came out of her room as soon as she had risen to thank Tecumah, who then, hoping that his friends would not be interfered with, went on to see the minister.

He had been there for some time, and was about to return, when one of the count’s servants rushed into the house, out of breath from running.

“Sad news, Monsieur Laporte!” he explained. “Just ten minutes ago one of those ill-conditioned priests, with half a dozen ruffians of soldiers, came to my master’s house and carried him and Madame Nigel off on an accusation of having assisted Monsieur Nigel to escape, and of reading the Bible. What will they do with them? They say Monsieur Nigel was condemned to be burnt, and they will burn them in revenge;” and the poor fellow wrung his hands and burst into tears.

“God will protect them, though I don’t see how,” said the minister. “Alas! alas! These persecutors of ours have already put many innocent persons to death, and will not scruple to destroy all those who oppose them.”

“They must not be allowed to suffer,” exclaimed Tecumah, when he heard what had occurred. “I will away to my people before they can stop me; and we will one and all perish before we allow a hair of their heads to be injured.”

“I would seek to avoid bloodshed, and must urge you, my friend, to try peaceable measures first,” said Monsieur Laporte.

“We will endeavour, at all events, to rescue the innocent. You, my friend, come with me; you are in danger here, for they will assuredly seize you,” said the Indian, taking the minister’s hand.

“I must remain at the post where duty calls me,” answered Monsieur Laporte. “I may be the means of leading some perishing soul to turn to God, and should I be imprisoned with my friends I may be a comfort to them. But bear my love and blessing to Nigel, should I be destined never again to see him.”

At length Tecumah, finding that the minister was firm, set off, keeping himself concealed as much as possible among the trees, and made his way to his canoe. He had scarcely pushed off from the shore, when he saw several people rushing down to the beach. They had, he guessed rightly, been sent to capture him. There was no boat near at hand or they would have pursued him, though had they done so, his light canoe would quickly have left them astern.

On landing, he found his father and several other chiefs. He narrated to them what had occurred, but, greatly to his disappointment, he found that they objected to do anything which might put an end to the peaceable terms on which they had hitherto lived with the French. They had seen how the Portuguese treated the Indians who opposed them, and they dreaded, they said, the vengeance of the white men.

Tecumah was indignant. The white men who now were in the ascendency were no longer deserving of their friendship, he argued. By treachery and deceit they had overcome those who were their proper leaders, and they were even now about to put them to a cruel death. Tuscarora was grieved that his son’s friends should suffer; but he could not for their sakes risk the safety of his tribe. Again Tecumah addressed them with all the eloquence of which he was master. “If,” he observed, “they were treacherous towards their own people, they would surely be more likely to ill-treat their dark-skinned allies should it at any time be to their interest to do so, and it would be better to strike a blow at once and prevent them from doing harm, rather than allow them, after they had cut off all those who were worthy of confidence, to destroy us.” Tecumah saw that he was winning many to his side, and persevered. At length one of the chiefs proposed that he should be allowed to go over with a select body of men, and rescue the prisoners.

To this Tuscarora agreed, and Tecumah was obliged to content himself with this plan, trusting that no harm would be done in the mean time to the count and his daughter.

Some hours had passed when, as Tecumah was eagerly waiting on the beach for the moment fixed for the expedition to set out, he saw a canoe paddling down the harbour. He recognised it as one of those sent up the estuary to keep watch and to give timely notice of the approach of an enemy. As the occupant leapt on shore, he exclaimed—

“Haste! haste! The Portuguese and Tuparas, and several other tribes in alliance with them, are on the war-path. They have hundreds of canoes, and they will soon after nightfall attack the island unless they first land and try to destroy us.”

Chapter Eleven.

Capture of the Fort.

Constance and her father, rudely dragged from their home, were hurried off to the fort. No allowance was made for the weakness of her sex, and no pity was shown her by the savage priests, who, supposing that she was not aware of her husband’s escape, endeavoured still more to wound her feelings by telling her that he was condemned to death, and that, unless she and her father recanted, they would meet with the same fate.

“Silence, priest, silence! It is cowardly and unmanly to speak thus to my daughter,” exclaimed the count. “Add not insult to the injury you have already inflicted. We have broken no laws; we have done harm to no one; and we find ourselves treated as if we were the vilest of malefactors.”

The count’s address had no effect upon the priest, who took a cruel pleasure in annoying them. Such is ever the character of the emissaries of Rome when they are in the ascendency and are opposed; when in the minority, they are humble and meek, plausible and silver-tongued; and when there are none to oppose them, haughty, indolent, sensual, and self-indulgent. Such they have been in all ages and in every country, with the exception of the devoted Jesuit slaves, who have gone forth to carry their spurious gospel into heathen lands.

On arriving at the fort, the mockery of a trial was gone through; the priest’s myrmidons swore to having seen Constance reading the Bible, and that, as the crime had been committed on the count’s property, he was therefore equally guilty. Having been a lawyer in his youth, the count was able to defend himself, and had a jury of twelve honest men been present, he would have undoubtedly been acquitted; but, unhappily, that system being unknown among the French, he had no such advantage. The governor and the priest, exasperated at Nigel’s escape, grossly abused him, and interrupted him with shouts and execrations whenever he especially pointed to the proofs of his innocence. The count, of course, defended Constance, and argued that she was but listening to her husband, whom she was bound to obey, and was therefore guiltless.

“It is false!” exclaimed the priest, starting up; “her duty to the Church is above all others. It was for her to denounce her husband rather than to listen to him. Such heretical notions as yours, Count de Tourville, must be destroyed. The Church would lose her authority and power were they to prevail.”

“Ma foi!” exclaimed the count; “in that case no husband can venture to trust his wife with the slightest secret. It would not be confided to her keeping, but to that of the confessor. For that reason, and many others, we repudiate the system you, for your own ends, are anxious to maintain. I advise those who are husbands never to tell to their wives words they would not have known where the system prevails.”

“Silence! Count de Tourville,” exclaimed the priest, foaming with rage, “you shall answer for these insulting words.”

The count, it must be confessed, regretted having touched on the subject, as it was like throwing pearls to swine; but he felt for the moment that he might shield his daughter by drawing the anger of the priests on himself.

The mockery of a trial came to a conclusion, and the governor, who had taken upon himself the office of judge and inquisitor-general, found the count and his daughter guilty of the crimes with which they were charged, and condemned them both to death. In consequence of Nigel’s escape, the priest begged that they might be kept for safe custody in the prison within the fort; the same wretched place in which Nigel had first been confined, and utterly unfit for the reception of any female. Poor Constance shuddered as she was led into it. Her father begged that he might send to his house for such necessaries as his daughter required, but his request was roughly refused. It was not without difficulty even that he obtained some matting, and a few armfuls of rushes on which she might rest.

“Lie down, my child,” said the count to Constance, when they were at length left alone. “We will not altogether despair, but look to Him who is always ready to protect us. You require rest; and we know not what we may have to go through.”

Constance obeyed her father, while he continued pacing up and down the narrow space allowed him, to collect his thoughts. He harboured no ill-feeling towards his persecutors, but, following the example of his Master, he prayed for their forgiveness, while he looked forward with joy, rather than fear, to the time when he should be welcomed into His presence. He knew, too, that his beloved daughter, should her life be taken, would bear him company to that home where their Saviour had gone before to prepare a place for all those who love Him.

The night passed on. Constance was sleeping. Still the count felt no desire to lie down and rest. The whole fort seemed wrapped in silence, except when the voice of a distant sentry reached his ear. The silence was suddenly broken by a shot fired from the fort. Others followed in rapid succession. Then arose loud shouts and shrieks, and the Indian warwhoop rising above all others. Constance started from her slumbers, and clung to her father. The noises grew louder and louder.

“The fort is attacked. The enemy are scaling the walls!” exclaimed the count. “Both parties are fighting desperately. Constance, there is hope for us, for even the Portuguese would scarcely wish to injure those who are unable to oppose them.”

The sounds of strife increased. The count could with difficulty judge how the fight was going. Supporting his daughter on his arm, he awaited the issue. The great guns roared, the bullets rattled, and presently there came an uproar which showed that the assailants had gained the fort, and the shriek and cries of the combatants, and other sounds of a desperate struggle, approached their prison. Just at that juncture the warwhoops of apparently a fresh party burst forth within the fort. The count recognised the cry as that of the Tamoyos. On they came from the opposite side of the fort, and the battle seemed to rage hotter than ever. In the midst of the fierce turmoil the door of their prison was burst open, and Tecumah, leaping in, seized Constance in his arms, while a companion took charge of the count, and hurried him off.

“I promised to save you or perish,” said the Indian. “We had a hard matter to enter the fort, and it will be no less difficult to escape; but I have succeeded thus far, and trust to place you in safety.”

These words were uttered hurriedly, as Tecumah, surrounded by a faithful band, was fighting his way across the fort, in all parts of which a furious battle was raging; the Portuguese and their Indian allies, the Tuparas, having forced an entrance, being engaged with the French and Tamoyos, who were struggling desperately for life.

Bullets were whizzing and arrows flying in all directions; the fierce shouts and shrieks of the combatants sounding above the clash of steel and the rattle of musketry. Numbers and discipline favoured the Portuguese, who had well trained their native allies, while the French mistrusted each other, and had but little confidence in the natives, who, however, were gallantly doing their utmost to assist them, headed by their brave chief, Tuscarora. Tecumah and his faithful band had but one object in view, to rescue Constance and her father. Like a wedge, with their most stalwart warriors in the van, they fought their way through the mass of foes entering the fort towards the outlet which had allowed the latter ingress. Several of their number fell; scarcely one escaped a wound. Still Constance was untouched. Often they were almost overwhelmed. Still on they went, their track marked by the bodies of their foes, and many of their own party. The gateway was reached. Constance felt Tecumah stagger. A fear seized her that he had received a wound; but no cry escaped him, and, recovering himself, he bore her onwards. Scarcely had they emerged into the open, when they encountered a fresh party of the Portuguese. The Tamoyos halted for a moment to draw their bows, and not a shaft failed to pierce a foe, the shower of bullets, which came in return, passing mostly over their heads.

“On! on!” shouted Tecumah, though his voice no longer rang with its usual clear tone.

Constance observed with grief that he was faint and hoarse. His band, obeying him, turned round and shot their arrows as they advanced. Scarcely, however, had they moved forward, when the Portuguese, seeing the handful of men opposed to them, fiercely charged their ranks, Tecumah and only a few of the warriors surrounding him, having got some way in advance, escaping the onslaught; the rest, who had the count in charge, were compelled to halt, in a vain endeavour to withstand their overwhelming foes. The darkness enabled Tecumah, and the few who remained by him, to push on without being observed.

“On! on!” again cried Tecumah. “The rest will follow when they have driven back our enemies.”

“Oh, my father! my father! Where is he?” exclaimed Constance.

Tecumah did not answer her.

Making their way towards the shore, they reached it at length.

“Where are the canoes?” exclaimed Tecumah, looking along the beach where they had been left hauled up.

His companions dispersed on either side to look for them. Their cries told what had happened. Some had been sent adrift, and others had been battered in, and utterly destroyed by a band of Tuparas, as the Tamoyos truly surmised.

“We must make our way to the spot where they have left their canoes,” exclaimed Tecumah; and he again attempted to lift up Constance, who had earnestly entreated to be placed on the ground.

The din of battle still sounded as loud as ever, and the rattle of musketry was heard close at hand. It was evident that the combatants were approaching the shore.

“On! on!” again cried Tecumah; and, lifting up Constance, he was staggering forward, when, faint from loss of blood, he sank on the ground.

At that moment an Indian rushed out of the wood behind them. “Fly! fly! our enemies are at hand. All, all have been cut to pieces. I alone have escaped.”

His arm, as he spoke, dropped by his side, while the blood flowed rapidly from his head, giving evidence of the truth of his assertion.

Constance was kneeling down, trying to staunch the blood flowing from Tecumah’s wound. He raised himself on one arm.

“Think not of me,” he said, “but endeavour, with my faithful friends, who will accompany you, to find concealment among the rocks.”

“We cannot leave you,” answered Constance; “better to yield ourselves prisoners, than to allow you to perish alone.”

“You know not the nature of our enemies,” said Tecumah, faintly; “they spare no one. Fly, fly, while there is time.”

The sounds of fighting were drawing rapidly nearer. All prospect of escape seemed cut off. Constance gazed up for a moment from the task at which she was engaged. Bullets were striking the branches of the trees a short distance from them. Her heart sank with grief. She felt the probability that her father had been cut off with the rest of the brave Tamoyos. Just then one of the Indians exclaimed, “See, see! a canoe approaches.” Constance cast a glance across the waters, and caught a glimpse of a canoe emerging from the darkness. It rapidly approached the beach. The shouts of the Indians showed that friends were on board. Their hails were answered. In another moment Nigel leapt on shore. Tecumah recognised him.

“Save her first—care not for me,” he exclaimed.

Nigel was not likely to disobey such a command, and, taking Constance in his arms, he bore her to the canoe.

“Oh, save our brave friend,” she cried, as she pressed her lips to her husband’s, who immediately sprang back to the beach, and, listening not to Tecumah’s request to be allowed to die where he lay, he carried him, with the assistance of the Indians who still had strength to exert themselves, to the canoe.

Holding the steering paddle in her hands, stood Cora. The instant her brother and Nigel were on board, she gave it a dexterous turn, and the canoe shot away from the shore, impelled by the strokes of two lads who formed the crew. Nigel and an Indian seized two other paddles, and with all their strength urged on the canoe. There was no time to be lost; already they could see a number of dark forms emerging from the wood, while numerous bullets splashed into the water astern. The veil of night would prove their best protection, and every effort was made to get ahead. Cora, believing that they could no longer be seen, directed the canoe on a different course, to one side parallel with the shore, thus avoiding the bullets which were fired in the direction it had last been seen. After going on for some distance, she again steered directly for the opposite shore, which her keen sight could distinguish through the darkness. Meantime, Constance, seated at the bottom of the canoe, supported Tecumah’s head. He gently took her hand, and pressed it to his lips.

“I have more to thank you for than I can express by words,” he whispered, in a low, faltering voice. “I first followed a shadow, but you showed me the glorious reality, and led me to Him, whom to know is life eternal. I die happy, resting in His love, with the thought also that I have preserved your life to be a blessing to one who is worthy of you. I am going quickly, but do not mourn aloud, lest you paralyse the efforts of our friends.”

Constance felt the hand which held hers relax its grasp, and ere long she knew that the spirit of the young Indian had taken its flight to the realms of bliss. She placed his hand on his breast, and, obeying his dying injunctions, refrained from giving way to her feelings. Not till they were near the north shore, and safe for the present from their enemies, did she speak. She then endeavoured to prepare Cora for the discovery of her brother’s death.

“I feared it was so,” replied Cora, when Constance had told her clearly what had happened. “I know, however, that no joy on earth could be more exquisite than that he felt in the consciousness that he had given his life to save yours. I must not mourn for him as those who have no hope. We must not remain here,” continued Cora, as they disembarked from the canoe. “They will certainly pursue us, and we shall not be in safety till we reach our village, where the remnant of our tribe is collected. Alas! there will be bitter grief and loud wailing for the many who have, I fear, fallen.”

With perfect calmness Cora gave directions to her people to convey the body of her brother, and follow quickly, while she led Nigel, who supported Constance, through the woods. Faint and overcome with grief as Constance was, Cora urged, notwithstanding, that they should continue their course without stopping, for she felt convinced that a fearful loss had overtaken her tribe from the account which the last-arrived Indian had given her. He had, he affirmed, before Tecumah and his party had cut their way out of the fort, seen Tuscarora and many of their tribe shot down by the enemy; and he had also witnessed the death of the count. Nigel questioned him narrowly, but could elicit nothing that could shake his testimony.

Sad, indeed, as Cora had expected, was the way in which they were received at her village, and it was feared, indeed, that even it might be attacked while there only remained the old men and boys for its defence. It was proposed, therefore, that they should move further into the country; but Cora urged them to remain, and, as a precaution against surprise, sent out scouts to give timely notice of the appearance of an enemy, or the return of their friends. They all, however, packed up their property, and remained prepared for instant flight.

Chapter Twelve.

Conclusion.

Just as dawn was breaking, a warrior was seen approaching the village. His bow was broken; his dress torn and besmeared with blood. The inhabitants, who were on the watch, anxiously went out to meet him. He hung down his head without uttering a word, and not for some time could he be induced to speak.

At length, a groan bursting from his breast, he exclaimed—

“All, all, are lost! In vain our warriors, led by Tuscarora, fought to the last. One after another they were shot down by the bullets of the white faces, or cut to pieces by the war hatchets of the hated Tuparas. Our French allies, deserting the fort, fought their way to their boats, and, embarking, fled to their ships, leaving us to our fate. Two only with myself escaped by leaping over the walls, and swimming to a canoe floating by. Both of my companions were wounded. As we were paddling on, as fast as our strength would allow, we caught sight of a canoe with two Portuguese boats in pursuit. We were unobserved, but we had too much reason to fear that the canoe was overtaken. Just as we reached the shore, the paddles dropped from the hands of my two companions, and they sank down from loss of blood. When I called to them, they gave no answer. They were both dead. I waited in vain for the arrival of our friends, but none appeared, and I at length came on to bring the sad tidings.”

As the wounded warrior finished his narrative, loud wailings rose from the women in the camp. No threats of vengeance were uttered, for they felt their utter helplessness, and they knew that they themselves might become the prey of any of their foes who might be induced to attack them. At length an old man arose in their midst.

“Give not way to despair, my daughters,” he exclaimed; “you have still many sons. We will fly with them to a place of safety, and there teach them how their brave fathers fought and died with their faces to the foe. They will grow up, and, hearing of their deeds, will imitate their valour, and revenge the deaths of their sires.”

The words of the aged warrior restored the drooping courage of the poor women, and they resolved to follow his counsel. A few men, who from sickness or other causes had not gone forth to battle, and the youths who had not sufficient strength to draw their mighty bows, vowed to defend them and the chief’s daughter to the last gasp. Cora deputed the old warrior to take the lead, and, as they believed the Tuparas, flushed with victory, would ere long pursue them, they immediately set out on their sad journey to the north.

Surrounding Nigel and Constance, they vowed fidelity, promising to obey the last behests of their beloved young chief Tecumah, and to afford them all the support in their power. A small band only of the bravest and most active remained behind to collect any stragglers who might arrive, and to cover the retreat of the main body. Nigel, communicating with the old chief, found that he proposed proceeding northward to a region bordering the sea, inhabited by a scanty tribe, with whom the Tamoyos were on friendly terms, the former having been driven from their own hunting-grounds by a more powerful tribe. This intelligence was satisfactory to Nigel and Constance, as they thus had hopes of being able to communicate with some English or French ship which might appear off the shore.

The spot to which the Tamoyos were directing their course was at length gained. It was a deep wide valley, surrounded by rugged hills, and could not be approached towards the sea except by a narrow gorge, which could be defended by a few brave men, who could lie concealed among the rocks, and hurl down stones on the heads of invaders. The Indians carried with them, as was their custom, cuttings and roots of fruit trees and plants, which they had cultivated in their native district. Without loss of time, they began erecting huts and laying out plantations, the old men and women being generally employed in such occupations, while the young men went out hunting, they having at present to depend on the produce of the chase for their subsistence. The tribe showed the greatest attention to Nigel and Constance, whom they considered committed to their care by their beloved young chief, doing their utmost to secure their comfort and convenience. Indeed, they treated them with the same respect they bestowed on Cora, who was now the acknowledged chieftainess of the tribe. They built a cottage after the model of those they had seen on the island, and laid out a garden, which they planted with fruit trees and vegetables. Nigel and his wife in return, aided by Cora, instructed them in Gospel truth. They also taught them, as far as they had the means, the arts of civilised life. Thus the days went rapidly by. Still, though the young couple enjoyed much happiness, they could not help wishing to return to Europe, while they often thought, with grief, of the loss of the count and of their other beloved friend.

Besides the account brought by the Indian who escaped from the fort, they could gain no further tidings of their fate. Nigel would, had he had himself only to consider, have set out to try and ascertain what had become of the colony, but he could not bring himself to leave Constance, even though he had full confidence in the fidelity of their Indian friends. Cora, to whom Constance expressed Nigel’s wishes, at length promised to send out a scout, who would endeavour to find out what had happened. Nigel gladly accepted Cora’s offer.

Nearly a month had passed since the scout set out, and fears were entertained that he had perished. At last, however, one evening, he was seen descending the side of the hill, along the steep and difficult path by which, as has been said, the valley could alone be reached from the southward; he was accompanied by a white man, whose tottering steps he supported in the difficult descent. As they approached the village, the gaunt form and haggard features of the latter prevented Nigel, who went out to meet them, from recognising him.

“You don’t know me, Monsieur Lieutenant; I am Jacques Baville, whom you knew well as a true Protestant. I assisted the escape of our good minister, Laporte, who was committed to the care of some of the brave Indians by the young chief Tecumah. We fought our way to the water’s side, and embarked in a canoe; but before we had got far, we were chased by two of the enemy’s boats, and captured. We expected instant death, but were reserved for a more cruel fate. We were conveyed to the south shore, where we heard that the forts on the island had all been destroyed, and our countrymen, with the traitor Villegagnon, had sailed away, leaving most of the Protestants to the cruel vengeance of our foes. To commemorate their victory, the Portuguese had resolved, we found, on building a city. One of the first edifices erected was a prison, into which the good minister and several other persons were thrown; while the Tamoyos, who had been taken prisoners, with two other artisans, like myself, were employed, with many people of other tribes, who had been reduced to slavery by the Portuguese, in labouring at the work going forward. A church was next built, and filled full of idols for the people to worship. As soon as it was finished, the minister and other captives were led from the prison, and dragged into it, when they were ordered to worship, as the other people were doing. They refused, however, to bow their heads to the saints, or other false gods, but stood motionless, with their arms folded. The priests, on this, reviled them, and threatened them with death if they refused. Still they were firm, declaring that they would not mock God with such senseless ceremonies. On this they were taken back to prison; and we, seeing how they behaved, resolved to imitate them. Several times they were carried before the priests, who sat in the church to try them for what was called their heresy. The trial was still going on when two priests arrived, who declared they had been on board a Portuguese ship, bringing over numerous images and relics and indulgences to Saint Vincente, when she was captured by a French man-of-war, the captain of which had sacrilegiously thrown them into the sea. I, of course, knew that they spoke of the Madeline; and, as you remember, Monsieur Lieutenant, I was on board, I began to fear that I might be recognised. Monsieur Laporte, of course, stated that he was not there, and could, therefore, not be considered guilty of the act of which they complained, supposing that it had taken place. The priests, however, who were eager to find some one on whom to wreak their vengeance, declared that it mattered nothing, even had he not been there, as the act was performed by those of his faith, and was the result of the pernicious doctrines he taught. He defended himself nobly, but was condemned to be burnt alive in the centre of a wide spot, which had been marked out for a square.

“Hoping that I had not been recognised by the priests, I was making my way out of the church, when the keen eyes of one of them fell on me. He instantly ordered me to be seized, and at once declared that he had seen me on board the Madeline, engaged in throwing the trumpery overboard. I would not deny this, but said that I was but doing my duty, and obeying my captain, and that, had he ordered me to throw the two priests themselves overboard, to look after their saints, I should certainly have done so. This enraged them more than ever, and they threatened to burn me with the minister. As I was, however, known to be a good carpenter, the civil officers were not willing to lose my services, and I was sent back to prison.

“In vain they tried to make the good minister recant. He refused to do so. They promised him his life and full pardon, and a good post under government, but he refused all their offers, saying that he would rather die a hundred deaths than abandon the faith of the pure gospel. The next day he was led to the place of execution. We were compelled to be present. The faggots were piled round him. Some of the people, moved with pity, cried out that he should be strangled first, and the executioner himself seemed unwilling to light the pile; when one of the priests, seizing the torch, set fire to the faggots, which quickly blazed up, and our good minister’s soul went to that happy home prepared for him. The priests, having caught sight of me, insisted that I should be thrown into prison to await their pleasure, which I knew very well would be ere long to burn me at the stake.

“Some of our countrymen, I am sorry to say, recanted, and were set free, but others held fast. I determined, however, if I could, to make my escape, should I have strength enough to do so; for we were so poorly fed that I expected, before long, to be starved. All the prisoners had hitherto been confined in a common cell; but after I was condemned, I was placed in one by myself. It was in a new part of the prison, which I had actually been employed in building. The whole structure was of wood, though, at the same time, very strong. I knew that I could not make my way through the walls, nor underground, as the stakes were driven down deep, and no human strength could force them up; but I recollected the way I had put on the roof; and, though the slabs were heavy, I was certain that I could force one of them up sufficiently to allow me to get through. I had not been long shut up, when a priest came, and endeavoured to make me recant, picturing the horrible tortures I should suffer in this world, and in the next, if I refused. I asked him whence he got his authority. He answered from the Church. I replied that the Bible was before the Church; and that the Bible says, ‘Whosoever believeth on Me shall not perish, but have everlasting life;’ and that, though he might burn my body, Christ could save my soul. He replied that the Bible must not be interpreted by laymen, and that the Church had alone the power to explain it. I observed that the Church of Christ had ever explained it exactly as I did, and to that Church I belonged; that the system which he called ‘The Church,’ was built up at Rome by pagan priests, and had ever since been employed in adding falsehood to falsehood, for the sake of imposing on the minds of the people, and compelling them to do their will; and that, if he wished to serve Christ, he must leave his false church, as thousands of my countrymen had done, and tens of thousands in Germany and England, or that he himself would perish eternally. Without saying another word, he left the cell, and I felt pretty sure would not come back again.

“I had a sheath knife, which I had managed to conceal inside my trousers, and immediately set to work, and wrenched up a stool fixed against the wall. There were several nails in it, which I cut out; and then, making a couple of deep notches in one of the angles of the wall, I fixed the bench a certain height below the roof, which enabled me, by standing on it, to force up one of the slabs with my back. Knowing where the nails were driven in, I carefully cut around them, making as little noise as possible. It was, I calculated, about midnight when I had finished my preparations. The slab lifted even more easily than I had expected. I listened for some minutes, expecting to hear the tread of a sentry, but not a sound reached my ears. I had great hopes that he had fallen asleep. Creeping through, I replaced the slab, and dropped without noise to the ground. There were numerous Indians in the camp, many of whom had canoes, for the purpose of fishing. Without loss of time, I crept away, stooping low down, so that, had I been seen, I might be mistaken, in the darkness, for a large dog, or some wild animal prowling about in search of food. I thus, without interruption, made my way down to the shore. There were several canoes hauled up, as I had expected, with paddles left in them. To launch one and to shove off did not occupy much time. The night was dark, but I could make out the opposite shore. With all my might I paddled towards it. On landing, I shoved off the canoe, in the hopes that it would float away, and thus not betray the direction I had taken. Scarcely had I got a hundred yards from the beach, when I encountered this my friend, who conducted me here. I am grieved to bring such tidings, and I fear much that those who remain will be put to death, if they refuse to abandon their faith; and I pray that they may have grace and spirit to continue in it. But I myself must not boast, as I know not what torture and starvation would have led me to do.”

Nigel and Constance heard, with deep sorrow, this account of the martyrdom of their beloved friend and minister; but they were comforted with the knowledge that he had exchanged a life of trial and suffering for a glorious existence in heaven.

Several months passed by. Jacques Baville completely recovered, and was of great assistance in improving their cottage home. He felt, however, even a greater longing than they did to return to his native land.

“Ships may come and go, and we may not see them, unless we are constantly on the watch,” he observed. “I have bethought me of building a hut on the height near the shore; and if you, Monsieur Lieutenant, will supply me with food, I will undertake to keep a bright look-out as long as my eyes last me. We will have a flagstaff and flag, and it will not be my fault if we don’t manage to communicate with any ship which appears off the coast.”

Nigel gladly entered into honest Jacques’s plan, and assisted him in building his hut, and putting up a flagstaff. Still week after week passed by, and Jacques had always the same answer to give when Nigel visited him. Nigel himself had ample occupation in cultivating his garden, varied by hunting expeditions with the Indians. He was returning home one evening, when, as he approached his cottage, Constance came running out to meet him. Her agitation would scarcely allow her to speak.

“Come, Nigel, come! I have been longing for your arrival,” she exclaimed, taking his hand. “An old friend has arrived, and is waiting to see you.”

She led him on, when great was his joy and surprise to see standing in the porch, with outstretched hands, his former commander, Captain Beauport. They entered the cottage, when, sitting down, the captain briefly narrated his history, and the circumstances which had brought him again to the coast of South America. He little expected to find Nigel and Constance alive. The crew and passengers of the ship which was conveying him as a prisoner to France, who were all Protestants, had insisted on his liberation; and the commander, who was well-disposed towards him, had, without much difficulty, yielded to their wishes. By great exertions the ships had been kept afloat; and, after enduring severe hardships, had reached Hennebonne, in France. Here the commander, as directed, delivered his despatches to the chief magistrate, who, providentially for the passengers, was a staunch Protestant. On opening them, he found that the traitor, Villegagnon, had denounced them as arch-heretics, worthy of the stake, and advised that they should be immediately delivered up to punishment. The worthy magistrate, indignant at the treachery with which they had been treated, assisted them by every means in his power; while Captain Beauport, knowing that his life would not be safe should he remain in France, immediately embarked on board a vessel bound for England. He there found many Protestant friends, who had fled to escape the fearful persecutions to which they were subjected in France. By their means he obtained the command of an English ship. He had made two or three short voyages, and had, some time before, come out on an exploring expedition to South America, from which he was returning. He was sailing northward, on his way to England, when he observed Jacques Baville’s signal.

As may be supposed, Nigel and Constance, with honest Jacques, did not lose the opportunity of returning with him. They parted from Cora with sincere regret.

“It is but natural that you should wish to dwell in your own country, and among your own people,” said the Indian girl. “My love makes me wish to accompany you, but my duty compels me to remain with my tribe. On our hearts your images will remain engraved as long as they beat with life.”

She, with all her people, attended them to the beach, as they put off towards the ship, which lay at anchor in the harbour. As long as any object was visible on the shore, Cora was seen waving her adieus. The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship glided out into the ocean on her destined course towards the shores of England.

They reached that land of freedom in safety, and Nigel resolved to take up his residence here, with his young wife, rather than expose her to the dangers to which she would be subjected in her native land. He wrote to honest Maître Leroux, who had heard from the count of Constance’s marriage, and was ready to pay over to Nigel the rents of the estate.

During the occasional intervals of peace, Nigel paid several visits to Tourville, and, on the death of the steward, sold the estate, and invested the money in an English property, both he and his wife agreeing that it was far better to live on moderate means in a land where they could enjoy the blessings of civil and religious liberty, than in any country under the galling yoke of Papal tyranny.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Voyage of the Steadfast"

Chapter One.

Captain Graybrook’s Home.

A heavy gale was blowing, which shook the windows of the little drawing-room in which Mrs Graybrook and her daughter Hannah were seated at their work.

Their cottage was situated close to the sea on the north coast of Wales, so that from it, on a clear day, many a tall ship bound for Liverpool, or sailing from that port, could be seen through the telescope which stood ever ready pointed across the water.

A lamp burning on the table, for it was night, shed its light on the comely features and matronly figure of the elder lady, as she busily plied her needle, while it showed that those of Hannah, a fair and interesting-looking girl just growing into womanhood, were unusually pale. Every now and then she unconsciously let her work drop on her lap while, with her eyes turned towards the window and lips apart, she seemed to be listening for some sound which her mother’s ear had not noticed.

A glance into the little room might have shown why both mother and daughter should feel anxious when tempests were raging and the sea was tossing with angry waves.

The mantel-piece was ornamented with some beautiful branches of coral, several large and rare shells, and two horns of the narwhal, or sea-unicorn, fixed against the wall, and above it was the picture of a ship under all sail, with boats hoisted up along her sides, and flags flying at her mastheads and peak. On the top of a bookcase stood the perfect model of a vessel; another part of the wall was adorned with Indian bows and spears and clubs, arranged in symmetrical order; while one side of the room was hung with pictures, in which boats in chase of the mighty monsters of the deep formed the chief subjects, or which represented scenes on the coasts of far-distant lands.

Hannah had more than once risen and gone to the window, across which—for the weather was still warm—the curtain had only partially been drawn.

Another fierce blast shook the whole house.

“Oh, mother, what a dreadful night it is!” she exclaimed, at length. “I fancied I heard the sound of a distant gun; it must come from some ship in distress. What can she do if embayed off our shore in this terrific gale?”

Mrs Graybrook looked up from her work.

“I was thinking, my child, how thankful we should be that the Steadfast has long ago been far away from this. Your father and Harry are enjoying, I hope, smooth seas and gentle breezes, and may such, I pray, follow them wherever they go.”

“I trust that they are, mother; but still I cannot help feeling anxious on such a night as this, with the wind howling and raging round us, when I think in what condition a ship must be placed, exposed on the wild sea to its fury.”

“Your father has often said that he cares little for the heaviest gale, provided he has plenty of sea-room; and a better-found ship and stauncher crew than his, he declares, does not sail out of the port of Liverpool.”

“I know that he has great faith in the Steadfast’s good qualities; but even the finest ship may meet with accidents; and oh, how many are the dangers she must have to run before she returns home!” said Hannah, with a sigh.

“Your father is a careful navigator, my dear, and he has vigilant officers. His first mate is a tried hand, and he considers Leonard Champion, his second mate, young as he is, an excellent seaman and fully capable of taking charge of a ship; he hopes, indeed, to get him the command of one when he returns, though he would be sorry to lose him.”

“I know that, mother; and I am wrong to express my fears,” answered Hannah. “Still I cannot help feeling for the poor seamen who may be battling with the tempest to-night; and that makes me more anxious, perhaps, about those who are far away, and of the dangers to which they may be exposed. Surely there was another gun!”

She again went to the window, and, throwing it open, looked out into the darkness. The fierce wind coming in made the curtains flutter, and almost blew out the lamp.

“I saw the flash of a gun, mother. It is in the direction of those dark rocks which lift their heads above the water!” exclaimed Hannah. “Ah! I heard the sound also. There is another flash! They must have come from some unfortunate ship. Perhaps she is already on the rocks. Can any boat venture out to her assistance in a storm like this? I will shut the window directly, mother,” she added, looking round, and trying to catch the fluttering curtains.

Again she looked out. “I cannot be mistaken!” she exclaimed, the tone of her voice showing her anxiety. “There is another gun. The ship must be in fearful peril! Can nothing be done to help the poor people?”

Mrs Graybrook, convinced that Hannah was right in her conjecture, came to the window, and mother and daughter stood gazing out for some minutes, and trying to penetrate the thick gloom which hung over the wild, tempestuous sea raging below them.

A fiercer blast than before, which drove the rain and spray against their faces, compelled them to close the window; yet Hannah could not withdraw herself from it, for she still caught an occasional flash, and could distinguish the roar of the guns even amidst the howling of the wind.

“What help can we render to them?” she again asked.

“We may give them aid—all the aid which we have the power to give,” said Mrs Graybrook, placing her work on the table. “We can pray for them as we pray for those who are far away.”

“I never cease to pray for those dear ones, mother, morning and evening, and every hour of the day,” said Hannah. “Oh, that they had learned to pray for themselves,” she murmured; “to seek that aid in time of need which will never be withheld!”

Together the mother and daughter knelt, and offered up their prayers to the throne of grace, that help might be sent to those near at hand, while their petitions went up also for those loved ones at a distance. They knew that the all-seeing eye of the God of mercy could follow them, that His far-reaching hand could protect them, and that, feeble as were their petitions, He heard and would grant them if He saw fit.

They rose with hearts cheered and comforted.

“I should indeed be happier if Harry had known and accepted the truth,” said Mrs Graybrook, continuing the conversation just before begun. “He is so light-hearted, and, enjoying health and strength, so confident in himself, that his mind has hitherto appeared incapable of attending to spiritual things; though, when I have spoken to him, he has respectfully listened with a grave countenance; but the subject has evidently not been to his taste. My grief is, also, that your father so admires his bold and daring spirit, that he encourages him to think more of the things of this world than of the future. Excellent as your father is, too, he has not had the same advantages of receiving religious instruction which we have possessed, and is therefore unable to impart it to Harry. This made me very unwilling that your brother should go to sea before he was a confirmed Christian; but your father was so determined to take him that I was compelled to consent.”

Mrs Graybrook would not have spoken thus to Hannah of her father’s want of religious principle, but that she knew her daughter was well aware of it, and mourned for it with her, while she had often joined with her in prayer that he might be brought to know the truth. Mrs Graybrook had far too much delicacy and sense of what is right, under other circumstances, to have spoken to her daughter in any way which might have appeared disrespectful of Captain Graybrook, for whom they both entertained the deepest affection. Her true and faithful love for her husband made her feel as she did; for, having learned the value of her own soul, she was anxious about his and that of her dear boy.

“I at first had hoped that Leonard Champion would have proved an advantageous companion to Harry,” continued Mrs Graybrook. “But, if not inclined to laugh at religion, he is, I fear, ignorant of its vital truths or indifferent to them, and Harry therefore cannot be benefited through his means.”

Hannah sighed.

“You are right, mamma; Mr Champion cannot lead Harry to the fountain in which he does not see the need of being washed himself. I spoke to him earnestly on the subject, but without avail, though he accepted some books which I offered him, and promised to read them when he had time.”

The two ladies had, since they settled in Wales, enjoyed the ministry of one of those gifted servants of God, to whom the honour has been given of winning souls to Christ by their preaching and private exhortations. He had been a frequent visitor at the cottage; and mother and daughter, having accepted the truth, had been built up in their faith, becoming earnest yet humble Christians.

This was after Harry went to school. During his short holidays, though his mother and sister had often earnestly and lovingly spoken to him, they had made no apparent impression on his mind, all his thoughts being set on going to sea. His mother had now deeply to regret that she herself, ignorant of the truth during his childhood’s days, had been unable to instruct him while his young mind was ready to receive the religious knowledge she might have imparted.

How many a mother must feel as she did!

Captain Graybrook had been constantly at sea, and when he came home for a brief visit, though he remarked the change in his wife and daughter, and found that they were unwilling to engage in any of the frivolous amusements of society, he looked upon the opinions they expressed as mere passing fancies, and begged to be excused from listening to the preacher of whom they spoke so highly.

“Those sort of things are very good, my dear wife, for some people,” he answered, carelessly; “but sailors have no time to attend to them; I, at all events, have not, for I have to see to the refitting of the ship; and you must acknowledge that I have been a good husband and father. I have done my duty; and what more can you want of me?”

“The best of human beings are sinful by nature, and have committed numberless sins, and require to be washed in the blood of Jesus to fit them to enter into the presence of a pure and holy God,” answered Mrs Graybrook, gently.

“I dare say it is all true,” said the captain, kissing his wife. “You are a good creature, and mean well; but I have not time to listen now, and must be off; so good-bye, Betty, good-bye!” and he hurried away.

Hannah had entertained hopes of inducing her father’s young mate, Leonard Champion, to listen to the subject which occupied her thoughts. He had been a frequent visitor at the house while the ship was undergoing repairs in the dockyard, for he was an especial favourite of her father.

He was a young man of superior attainments, not having gone to sea till he had completed his education at school and had entered college. At that time, his father, who was a merchant, dying just as his firm, by unforeseen circumstances, had become bankrupt, Leonard was left destitute. He had always had a predilection for the sea, and Captain Graybrook, an old friend of his father, at once offered, in the most liberal way, to give him an outfit and to receive him on board his ship.

Leonard thankfully accepted the offer, and, devoting all his energies and talents to acquire a knowledge of the profession he had entered, soon became an excellent navigator and a first-rate seaman. Delighting in his new calling, generous and good-natured as he was cool and daring in danger, he won the confidence of his captain, and was beloved and willingly obeyed by the crew.

He had not seen the captain’s daughter till the last time the ship returned home, and had not expected to find her so engaging and refined a girl. He was, in her sight, superior to any one she had ever met, and her affections were engaged before she was aware of the state of her own feelings. He did not conceal his, and, little versed in the ways of the world, while utterly free from deceit, he expressed his opinions with a freedom which many persons under the circumstances would not have done. Hannah, though admiring his many fine qualities, could not forget that he was destitute of the most important of all things—sound religious principle. Not denying the interest she felt in him, she distinctly told him that she would never engage herself to marry one who did not desire faithfully to serve the same God and Master whom she did.

Leonard did not clearly understand her meaning, as, indeed, no one still following the ways of the world can comprehend the spiritually minded.

In vain she spoke to him. Perhaps not till he had sailed did she discover how completely, in spite of her resolutions, she had given him her heart. All she could now do was to pray that the young sailor might be brought to a knowledge of the truth.

That evening, while the storm was raging, her mind had been far away on board the Steadfast, and her heart sickened as she remembered the dangers to which he might be exposed, and the hazardous pursuit in which he was engaged.

“Perhaps Mr Champion may give Harry some of the books to read which he took with him,” observed Hannah. “I chose such as I thought most likely to interest him.”

“I fear Harry is very little addicted to reading,” answered Mrs Graybrook.

“Is there no one else on board likely to speak to Harry on religious subjects, mother? Are none of the other mates Christians?” asked Hannah, anxiously.

“I fear not,” said Mrs Graybrook. “There is, however, old Tom Hayes, who has sailed for many years with your father, and has frequently been at our house. I have at times heard him let drop expressions which induced me to believe that he is a Christian man. Your father has spoken of him as a Methodist, and observed that, though he did not think much of his opinions, he was the most sober and steady man he ever had with him, and one of his best boat-steerers and harpooners. I remember being struck by the old man’s calm and intelligent countenance and his gentle and unassuming manners, which true and simple religious faith could alone impart. When we were last on board the ship he expressed himself more openly to me than he had ever before done. I spoke to him about Harry, and he assured me that he would do his best to look after him and keep him out of danger. He was going to say more, when he was called away to attend to some duty, and I had no other opportunity of speaking to him.”

“I remember the old sailor,” said Hannah. “How I wish that I had thought of talking with him! But I am afraid that Harry will not be inclined to listen to anything which a person whom he will look upon as his inferior may say to him. Still the old man may be able to speak to him, and if he is, as you think, a true Christian, he will certainly endeavour to do so.”

“After all, dear Hannah, while we rest assured that God will hear our petitions, we must remember that He knows best how to answer them,” observed Mrs Graybrook. “Confiding in His love, let our hearts be comforted.”

More than once the conversation of the mother and daughter had been interrupted by the loud uproar of the storm, and Jane, their maid-servant, who had been sitting by herself in the kitchen, came running in, exclaiming that she was afraid the whole house would be blown away.

“It has stood many a severer gale than this, Jane,” answered her mistress. “But bring your work in here, as you are alarmed at being alone,” she added, kindly. “We should be worse off if we were to run out into the garden.”

The girl thankfully took advantage of Mrs Graybrook’s permission to sit in the drawing-room; and her presence prevented the two ladies from speaking further on the subject which occupied their thoughts.

The usual time for their evening prayers arrived.

It seemed to Hannah, even while they were on their knees, that the gale blew with less fury than before. It was, indeed, one of those storms which occasionally, during the equinox, sweep along the coast, and, though brief, cause much damage to vessels caught near the shore, especially to such as are ill-found and ill-manned. So do the trials of life wreck those persons destitute of sound faith and religious principle, while those who are resting on Jesus are carried through them and preserved.

Next morning the wind had ceased, and the sun shone forth.

Hannah anxiously looked through the telescope in the direction she had seen the flashes of the guns. There lay a large ship on the rocks, but her masts were standing, and boats were passing to and fro from the shore. She was greatly relieved when she soon afterwards heard that, though the ship had received much damage, no lives had been lost.

“I was wrong last night in giving way to my faithless fears and running the risk of alarming you, my dear mother,” she said, with a smile. “I feel my heart happier this morning, and believe that God will protect those we love, and that we shall yet see the Steadfast, with a full cargo, sailing back towards the Mersey, and, better still, that father and Harry” (she could not bring herself to utter the name of Leonard Champion aloud) “may have accepted the truth, and then—” and she looked upwards—“when we are called upon to part, we may know that we shall meet together to enjoy the glorious happiness which our gracious Saviour has prepared for all those who love Him.”

Chapter Two.

Whaling in the Pacific.

The Steadfast, South Sea whaler, having doubled Cape Horn, was traversing the broad waters of the Pacific. Royals and studding-sails were set to catch the light breeze which sent her gliding majestically along over the calm ocean; her six whaleboats, with stem and stern alike, hung from the davits above her black sides. A tropical sun shone down on her deck, making the pitch hiss and bubble in the seams, and driving all on deck whose duty did not compel them to keep elsewhere, into such shade as the sails and bulwarks afforded.

Captain Graybrook, a fine-looking man, with an open, intelligent expression of countenance, stood aft, sextant in hand, prepared to take a meridional altitude. Near him was his second mate, Leonard Champion, with two boys, one of whom also held a sextant.

“You can now, Harry, take an observation as well as I can, and before long, if you pay attention, you will become a good navigator,” observed the young mate.

“Thank you for teaching me, Mr Champion; that’s just my wish,” answered Harry.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way; and you, Mr Bass,” said the mate, turning to the other boy, “ought to do as well as Harry by this time.”

“Dickey is fonder of skylarking than shooting the stars,” remarked Harry, laughing.

“Not fonder than you are, Harry,” retorted Dickey Bass, who was the son of a former shipmate of Captain Graybrook, and brought by him to sea through regard for the boy’s father. “I don’t happen to understand sums as well as you do, and so I don’t always get my day’s work done as correctly as yours.”

“Always! why, if we were to go by your reckoning, Dickey, we should have been in the middle of the forests of South America, or on the top of the Andes, before now. When did you ever make a right calculation?” asked Harry, who delighted in bantering Dickey, though they were really great friends.

“Why, for the last fortnight I don’t suppose I have been more than eight or ten degrees out at the utmost.”

Mr Champion and Harry laughed heartily.

“Rather a serious error, Mr Bass.”

“I meant minutes,” said Dickey, “or perhaps seconds; I always forget which is which.”

At that moment Captain Graybrook lifted his instrument to his eye, and the mate and Harry followed his example.

“The sun has dipped; make it noon,” said the captain; and the ship’s bell was struck.

Having written off their observations and quickly made their calculations, the ship was found to be about seventeen degrees south of the line, off the coast of Peru.

Look-out men were sent aloft, for they were now approaching a part of the ocean where whales were in those days likely to be found. As they looked over the side, many polypi, medusae, and squid were observed floating on the surface; and occasionally a covey of flying-fish, rising from the water, darted rapidly over it, quickly again, as their brilliant wings dried, to sink down and become the prey of their enemies, the dolphin or bonito. A seaman had just hauled a bucket of water on deck. Within it was a gelatinous-looking mass. The mate and his young companions examined it.

“That is part of a squid,” he observed, “the whale’s food. Probably the remainder is down the monster’s maw. We shall sight a whale before the day is over, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” said Harry. “I long to see one killed and brought alongside. We have had a dull time of it since we touched at Valparaiso. I thought we should have captured a dozen or more before this.”

“You will have to learn patience at sea, my boy,” observed the mate. “We have three years to remain out, and may consider ourselves fortunate if we get a full ship at the end of that time.”

The sextants had been returned to their cases in the cabin, and Harry and his chum, Dickey Bass, finding it very hot, seated themselves in the shade by the side of a gun, of which the Steadfast carried eight, besides a good supply of muskets and cutlasses and other weapons; for, having to visit regions inhabited by fierce and savage tribes, she was well armed.

“I say, Harry, what was old Tom talking to you about in your watch last night, and what made you look so grave this morning? I could not tell what had come over you,” said Dickey Bass.

“He asked me whether I was prepared to die. I thought it an odd question.”

“I should think it was,” said young Bass. “What did you say in return?”

“I told him that I had not thought about it, and that, as I enjoyed life, I had no intention of leaving it,” answered Harry. “He then reminded me that I might fall overboard any day, or the ship might be lost with all hands, or the boat in which I happened to be might be capsized, or I might die of fever, or be cut off by savages, or that I might lose my life in a number of other ways. He asked me, if any of these disagreeable things were to happen, where I expected to go. I told him, of course, that I wished to go to heaven; and he then inquired what right I had to go there.”

“I do not think he had any right to ask you any such questions,” observed Harry’s companion. “I should have told him to mind his own business. I do not like to be bothered by that sort of questions.”

“I could not answer him in that way,” replied Harry, “for he spoke very kindly. He is, besides, an old man, and has been for a number of years with my father, who thinks highly of him, for I have heard him say so. Besides, he has taken great pains to teach me seamanship, always tells me anything I ask him; and if it were not for him I should not know half as much as I do.”

“Still, I do not see why he should try to frighten you about dying, or ask you where you expect to go if you do. It looks as if he doubted that you would go to heaven,” said Dickey.

“He told me very distinctly that I had no claim whatever to go there, and that unless my sins were washed away, the Bible says that I should be unfit to go there; that heaven is a pure and holy place, and that all people are impure and unholy,” said Harry, in a graver tone than usual.

“But I suppose he wants you to become religious, and read good books, and give up laughing and singing and being the capital jolly fellow you are now, Harry,” interrupted Dickey Bass. “If I were you, I would not listen to him; neither your father nor Mr Champion ever speaks to us in that way. Just forget all he said, and drive dull care away.”

“I have already forgotten, I am afraid, a great deal that he said,” answered Harry; “but he seemed, at all events, very much in earnest, and I cannot help remembering some of the things. Besides, Mr Champion has lately spoken to me more seriously than he has ever done before; and only last Sunday he gave me a book to read, and told me that he thought it would do me good. As I found my sister Hannah’s name in it, I suppose she asked him to give it to me, and that he had forgotten to do so till then.”

“I saw you with one in your hand. Did you read it?” asked young Bass.

“It seemed very dry, and I fell asleep over it, so that I cannot say I know much about it,” answered Harry.

“The best thing you could have done,” remarked Dickey. “Whatever you do, Harry, don’t turn Methodist. I cannot say that I admire old Tom, and do not want you to become like him. To my mind he is a dull, stiff old fellow, with a very good opinion of himself, and I have never felt inclined to be intimate with him.”

“I did not at first; but he seemed so anxious to help me, and to put me up to all sorts of things, that I could not help liking him, though I own that I would rather he did not talk to me about religion. The next time he does so I shall try to get him to change the subject.”

“Of course you must,” said Dickey Bass. “It’s all very well for parsons and ministers, but an old boat-steerer has no business to trouble one with such things. Why, I only yesterday heard him lecturing Rob Burton there, the merriest, happiest fellow in the ship;” and he pointed to a fine, active-looking young seaman at work on the other side of the deck. “I have a notion that he was talking to him about his soul and death, as if he was not likely to live as long as any one on board, and longer too than most of the old hands. Why should he put melancholy thoughts into his head, and take the pluck out of him?”

“I suppose he thought Rob Burton careless about religious matters, and wanted to get him to read his good books and tracts,” observed Harry. “Old Tom means well, at all events.”

“He may mean well, but for my part I don’t like those well-meaning fellows,” answered Dickey. “If I catch him lecturing you I will join in, and we will soon put a stop to his preaching.”

The thoughtless lads talked on for some time in the same strain, till any good effect which the conversation Tom Hayes had held with Harry might have produced on him was completely eradicated.

They were interrupted by a startling cry from the masthead, so welcome to a whaler’s ears, of “There she spouts!” and in a moment the crew, hitherto so lethargic, were aroused into action. Some flew to the falls, to lower a couple of boats, others sprang up the shrouds, to observe the position of the whale; and soon afterwards the boats, of which the first and second mates had the command, shoved off from the ship’s side. Another cry came of “There again!” indicating that the whale had once more come to the surface, and was spouting. The monster was at no great distance. Mr Gibson, the first mate, took the lead, pulling the bow oar of his boat, that he might be ready to strike the harpoon into the animal as soon as it was reached.

Harry and his friend were in the rigging watching the proceedings.

Quitting his oar, the mate stood up, harpoon in hand; it flew from his grasp just in time to strike the monster, which was about to “sound,” or dive. The line attached to the weapon led aft to a tub, in which it lay coiled at the bottom of the boat. The mate, who acted as boat-steerer, now came to his proper place in the stern, where he guided the boat by an oar passed through a ring called a grummet, while the headsman, who had before been steering, took his place in the bow, armed with several lances, ready to plunge into the body of the whale the instant it again appeared.

After some minutes, up came the monster, lying somewhat exhausted with its exertions to escape and the effects of the harpoon in its body. The boat pulling close up to it, the headsman thrust first one lance and then another into its body, near the fin, shouting as he did so, “Stern all.” Instantly the boat backed away as fast as the crew could use their oars, only just in time to avoid the violent movements of the monster, which now reared its tail, lashing the water into foam, and, lifting its enormous head, threatened destruction to its assailants with its formidable jaws. Suddenly its movements ceased, and the boat-steerers, believing that its last struggles were over, and eager to secure their victim, urged their men to give way towards it.

The first mate’s boat still took the lead, and approached with less caution than usual. The apparently vanquished monster, as it saw her, without a moment’s warning whirled round its enormous tail, which, striking her, sent the boat flying into the air, scattering her crew on either side in the blood-stained water, when it rushed forward with open mouth to attack Mr Champion’s boat. He narrowly avoided the fierce assault, and then boldly steered to the assistance of his shipmates, who were struggling for their lives. Once more the whale turned, dragging the boat after it, swimming directly through the midst of the men in the water.

The accident had been clearly seen from the ship. Several had been picked up. Mr Champion then steered towards the whale, which was in its death struggle a short distance off. Another boat had been lowered to go to his assistance, under the command of Tom Hayes.

In a short time, the first mate’s boat having been righted, all three were seen returning.

“Any one hurt, Mr Gibson?” inquired the captain, as the whale was brought alongside.

“Sorry to say, sir, that Rob Burton has gone,” was the answer. “Either the whale or the boat struck him, and he went down like a shot.”

“Poor Rob Burton!” exclaimed several voices. “The gayest and best-hearted fellow aboard.”

“Dickey, you said he was likely to live as long as any of us,” remarked Harry, very much shocked. “I wonder whether he listened to what old Tom said to him?”

“It’s not a subject I like to think about,” answered Dickey. “I wish it had not happened.”

“So do I. But our wishes cannot bring poor Burton to life again,” observed Harry. “I cannot help thinking that old Tom must be right; and when he speaks to me I think I ought to listen to what he says.”

“Now, Harry, don’t let this thing make you turn Methodist!” exclaimed Bass, after a silence of some minutes. “It is very shocking, of course; but that’s no reason why we should mope and grow serious, and fancy that the same is going to happen to us. I don’t feel quite comfortable myself, I own; but we shall get over it in a few days, and all hands will be as merry as ever.”

Such, indeed, was the case. Poor Burton’s clothes were put up to auction and disposed of among the crew, and his name was seldom or never mentioned afterwards. Too often the same thing happens on board ship when a seaman is lost, much as his shipmates may mourn for him at the time.

Old Tom did not, however, fail to speak to Harry about Burton.

“I was talking to him on the state of his soul only just two or three days before he had to go and stand in the presence of his Maker, and give an account of the deeds done in the body,” said the old man. “I asked him whether he knew that it was washed in the blood of the Saviour, or whether he had his sins still clinging to him. He did not know, poor lad, that his soul needed cleansing; and when I said that it was vile and foul, and loaded with sin, and that unless it was washed he could not enter heaven and stand before the all-righteous Judge, he asked me how that was to be done. So I told him the way God has appointed—the only way by which it could be done—through faith in the blood of the risen Saviour shed for us on Calvary. And I tell you, Harry, that it gives me great joy to think that his answer was, ‘I do believe Jesus died for me. May God in His mercy help my unbelief.’ I told him to pray, and that he might be sure God would answer his prayer. He said he would that very night; and next morning he told me that he had prayed, and that he felt happier than he had ever done before. I had not another word with him after that; but I only wish that you and every one in the ship were like Rob Burton. I know little more about him than what I have told you, but that is enough to give me comfort; and if I ever get home and can visit his mother, it will give her comfort too, for she is a Christian woman, and had taught him to pray, and had never ceased praying for him, he said. Of that he was sure.”

“Then do you think he has gone to heaven?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” answered old Tom; “for God has promised that He will receive all who trust in Jesus. Whatever are their sins, He will put them as far from Him as the east is from the west; that though they be red like scarlet, they shall become white as wool.”

“I wish that I understood these things better than I do,” said Harry, earnestly.

“You have your Bible, Harry; read that, with prayer for grace to understand it.”

Harry said he would try and find time; and he actually took out a small Bible which his mother had put into his chest, and carried it in his pocket; but he did not like reading it when Dickey was looking on, and somehow or other never found the time he expected.

Dickey tried his best to do away with the impression old Tom had made on Harry’s mind; and the thoughtless boys soon, like the rest of the crew, forgot the fate of poor Burton. All hands were, indeed, kept actively employed. Numerous whales appeared, several of which were captured, and night after night the crew were engaged in “cutting in” and “trying out”—that is, cutting the blubber off the body of the animal and boiling it in huge cauldrons on deck. The bright glare falling on the masts and rigging, and the sturdy frames of the sailors, as they stirred up the cauldrons, placed on tripods, with their forks, gave them the wildest and most savage appearance.

“I don’t think my mother and sister would recognise the ship if they were to see us now,” observed Harry to his companion, as they stood aft, ready to cast off the carcase of a whale which had been stripped of its blubber, and had an opportunity of observing the scene going on beyond them.

“They would think we were a set of spirits from the lower world busy over some diabolical work, I suspect,” said Dickey.

The business was not exactly pleasant, but as there was no disagreeable smell, Harry did not mind it; and even Mr Champion, whom he looked upon as very refined, was so accustomed to the work that he took it as a matter of course.

After the oil was thus extracted, it was ladled into casks, which were stowed below.

Chapter Three.

Adventure with Sea-Lions.

The Steadfast had made so successful a commencement of her voyage that all hands hoped she would get full much sooner than many had expected, and be able to return home. The whales, however, having disappeared from the fishing-ground where she had been engaged, she was about to proceed to the western part of the Pacific, when a mass of rugged rocks was sighted out of the ocean.

“An awkward spot to run against on a dark night,” observed Harry, as they approached them. “Hark! what is that strange roaring noise? I could fancy that a thousand lions or more were assembled together holding a concert.”

“They are sea-lions, Master Harry,” observed old Tom; “the whole rock is covered with them and their cubs. If we could manage to get hold of some of them, we should find their skins very useful.”

Captain Graybrook was of this opinion, and as the wind was light and there was no dangerous current running, the ship was hove to, and he ordered two of the boats to be got ready to capture some of the sea-lions, the ordinary species of seal found in the southern seas. Mr Champion took command of one boat and old Tom of the other, and the boys got leave to accompany the second mate.

They pulled away towards the rocks. As a heavy surf broke on the rocks, rushing up some distance with great force and then back again, which would have dashed the boats to pieces, had they got within its influence, they were compelled to pull a considerable distance round before a spot was found on which a landing could be effected with any degree of safety. Even there, those who were to land had to watch for an opportunity, as the boat was sent forward on the crest of a breaker, to leap out and spring up the rocks, while the boats, with a couple of hands in each, were pulled back again out of danger.

No sooner had the party scrambled up the rocks than the seals, alarmed at their approach, made towards the water, rushing down impetuously, and working themselves along by means of their fins—their heads and manes giving them the appearance of lions. Their threatening aspect, and the loud roars they uttered, were enough to daunt any one not accustomed to encounter them.

“I wish that I had remained on board,” cried Dickey. “See, here comes a fellow; he will knock us over to a certainty. What shall we do?”

The men, however, had brought heavy clubs, with which they struck right and left as the monsters, with glistening fangs, rushed down on them, snapping their jaws, powerful enough to bite off a limb in an instant. The position of the party was dangerous in the extreme as the monsters came rolling and sliding down the rocks. To avoid them, the men were compelled to climb over the bodies of those which had been stunned; but still more met them, and Harry would have been knocked over by a big seal, and probably carried into the sea, had not Mr Champion, close to whom he kept, struck the creature on the head and dragged Harry out of the way. Old Tom saved Dickey in the same way.

Though most of the seals which had not been killed had made their escape, a few remained on the higher ground, among which was an enormous male seal. The monster seemed determined to give battle to his assailants, and came down the rocks towards them shaking his mane and extending wide his jaws armed with sharp tusks. Old Tom, who boldly went forward to meet the creature, inflicted a tremendous blow with his club on its head, but without stopping its career. Wishing to secure it, he took a harpoon which one of the men, by his orders, had carried with a line attached to it, and plunged it into the animal, trying to make fast the line to a jutting point of rock. The seal, however, rendered only more furious from its wounds, rushed into the midst of the party, dragging the rope, which, as Mr Champion sprang forward to meet it, became entangled around his leg. Before any one could rescue him, he was carried away into the midst of the wild surf dashing up against the rocks.

A cry of horror and dismay rose from all the party as they saw the young mate buried beneath the waves. Old Tom and several of the men sprang forward in a vain attempt to seize him, and were nearly swept away.

The boats were at too great a distance to render assistance. The next instant Leonard Champion was seen struggling amid the curing crest of a breaker; but, alas! much too far off to be reached.

“Oh, he is gone! he is gone!” cried Harry, wringing his hands.

Little did he think of the agony his gentle sister would have suffered could she have witnessed the scene. Happily, those at home are not aware of the dangers to which their loved ones are exposed till they are over. When ending fatally there comes, it is true, the unavoidable sorrow; but even that does not equal the intense suffering of mind which is endured when the peril is witnessed and no help can be sent.

Again the young mate disappeared.

“There, there he is!” cried Harry, as he was seen struggling on the snowy summit of an enormous roller.

Onward he was borne. His shipmates, clasping each other’s hands, formed a line, the strongest bravely dashing in towards him. He was already almost senseless; one outstretched hand was seized. Exerting all their strength, the men worked their way up the rock, and then, two of them clasping him in their arms, he was borne in triumph out of the power of the greedy waves. Harry threw himself down by his side overcome by his feelings.

“You are safe, Mr Champion!”

“Thank God for it!” answered the young man, pressing Harry’s hand; but he could say no more.

The task of embarking was a hazardous one. The mate was first placed in his boat, when the seal-skins, which had been quickly stripped off, were thrown on board; and, thankful to escape from the treacherous rocks, the party returned to the ship.

Leonard Champion was for several days confined to his cabin. He thought much, and he was constantly reading. Harry recognised the books which had been his sister’s. “You must find them very interesting, Mr Champion,” he observed.

“I wish that I had begun reading them sooner, Harry,” was the answer. “I feel that I have been rescued from the jaws of death through God’s mercy; and how unprepared I was to die.”

“But I hope you will not be exposed to the same danger again, Mr Champion.”

“I pray not, for it was terrible—I can scarcely make you understand how terrible. I cannot help seeing that I should be indeed ungrateful if I did not acknowledge the loving mercy of God, who preserved my life, and endeavour from henceforth to serve Him faithfully, instead, as I have hitherto done, of rebelling against Him. Yet I am sure that we should accept the offers of God, and serve Him from love and gratitude, and not from fear of death; I do not mean simply the death of the body, but eternal death—the doom of all who die unreconciled, and therefore at enmity with God.”

“Is that what Hannah’s books say?” inquired Harry, in perfect sincerity.

“Yes, and much more. You would have found what I now say in the book I lent you,” observed the mate.

“I have not yet read it, but I will try and do so,” said Harry; “still, except on a Sunday, I have not much time, as you know, and the book appeared to me very dull.”

“I am not surprised at that, for I thought it so myself, though I read it. But now, Harry, that I have had time for reflection, and feel how nearly I was lost, I see its value,” said Mr Champion. “Let me ask you to read it, Harry, even although you do find it dull.”

Harry promised that he would, and fully intended to read it.

Captain Graybrook observed the change which had come over his mate, but he forbore to ask him questions; he could scarcely suppose, however, that a peril to which seamen are so constantly exposed should have produced the change.

“I thought Mr Champion was as brave as any fellow in the ship,” observed Dickey Bass to Harry. “It seems to me that he must have been in a terrible fright, being carried off by the seal, or he would not look so grave and down-hearted as he seems.”

“I don’t think it was fear, for I am very sure he is as brave as any man alive,” answered Harry; but he made no other remark, for of late he had become less willing than formerly to talk to Bass on such a subject, suspecting as he did the real cause of the change which his young shipmate had observed in the second mate.

Chapter Four.

A Night Adventure.

The Steadfast now steered westward across the Pacific. Leonard Champion was indeed much changed. He no longer took pleasure in the light reading and frivolous conversation in which he had previously indulged. He knew that he was a sinner, and he believed that Jesus Christ died to save sinners; but he had not discovered that by simple faith in the all-sufficient atonement of the Saviour’s precious blood shed on Calvary, his sins were already washed away, and that he might live rejoicing in the love of God, and go to Him as a child goes to an affectionate parent, with the certainty of obtaining all he asks for, if it is for his good.

Leonard, however, took every opportunity of talking to Harry. Harry listened respectfully; but he thought that the mate was ill and out of spirits, and he did not feel, therefore, that he need be much influenced by what was said.

Several weeks passed, and once more the cheering cry of “There she spouts!” was heard, and several whales were captured.

The ship was in sight of a rocky island. Three of the boats had already gone away in pursuit of a whale in an opposite direction from the island, the captain himself being in one of them, when another was seen spouting towards the land. The boat of which old Tom had charge was immediately lowered. Harry and Dickey, who had long been eager to go in chase of a whale, slipped down just as she was shoving off. The first mate, who remained in charge of the ship, hailed them to come back.

“The captain promised to let us go some day, and we could not have a better opportunity,” shouted Bass.

The mate, understanding that the captain had given them leave, told them that they might go; and old Tom, who had been busy arranging his harpoons, was under the same impression.

The crew giving way, the boat was soon at a distance from the ship. Before she got up to the whale, the monster had sounded; but from the direction it had taken old Tom felt certain that it would rise again still nearer the island. The boat accordingly pulled on. He was not mistaken, but the whale was still some way off. Once more the men bent to their oars. The monster, unconscious of danger, was still above water. As the boat drew near, old Tom was standing up in the bow, harpoon in hand, ready to plunge it into the whale’s side. Its flukes were just going up as, with unerring aim, he darted his weapon, which sunk deep into its side. With rapid strokes the boat was backed away, and old Tom returned aft to manage the line, now running rapidly out as the whale sounded. The second line was got ready and made fast to the first, that had almost run out before it began to slacken, as the whale returned to the surface. The crew were hauling it in when the monster appeared. They had just time to make it fast round the bollard, when the whale darted off, towing the boat at a rapid rate towards the island. It seemed in no way disposed to slacken its speed; but old Tom knew that if the harpoon held they would at length come up with it.

The ship had in the meantime been standing after the other boats, and was now almost hull down; still, as the island would mark their position, they had little fear of not being picked up after the other whales were captured.

The sun was by this time near the horizon, and the wind had increased considerably since they left the ship, but, as it blew off the shore, the sea was tolerably smooth.

At length the monster, growing weary, slackened its speed, and the line was hauled in. The boat had got nearly up to it when it again sounded, but only for a short time. On its return to the surface, old Tom was able to plunge several lances into its body, and then, the boat backing away from it, after it had struggled and lashed the water with its tail for a few minutes, it turned over on its side, and a shout proclaimed that the crew were victors. They now prepared to tow their prize towards the ship; but darkness had come on, and when they looked out for her she was nowhere to be seen. Still, as they knew the direction in which she was to be found, they hoped to get alongside before midnight, and bending lustily to their oars, pulled away. They had not gone far before they had to meet the wind, which had hitherto come off the shore, and was in their favour; and the sea rising rapidly, they made but slow way with the whale in tow. No sound was heard but the roaring of the surf on the rocky island and the breaking of the sea-caps, which ever and anon leaped on board. Harry and Dickey heartily wished themselves safe on board again, while old Tom, as he stood up steering with his oar, looked out anxiously ahead, in the hope of seeing a light from the ship. The sea-caps, however, came tumbling on board faster than ever.

“There is work for you, boys,” he observed. “We must get rid of some of this water, or else we shall have more than enough.”

The boys turned to and bailed with might and main; but their efforts were not sufficient, and one of the men was obliged to assist them.

“There is the light, lads!” cried old Tom; “but it’s a long way off,” he murmured.

Far away, just above the breaking seas ahead, could be seen the glare of a blue light; it seemed to come out of the water, and showed that the ship was indeed a long way off.

“We shall not get alongside with the whale to-night,” observed old Tom.

“Neither with it nor without it,” answered one of the men.

“It will be lucky if we get anywhere,” said another.

The sea had now risen still more than at first, and dark heavy masses crested with foam came rolling on towards the boat.

It was proposed to hang on to the whale, and wait till the ship stood towards them. The boat was made fast under the lee of the monster’s body, which served somewhat to break the force of the seas.

Again a pale blue light was seen, but it was evidently only the upper rays, showing that the ship was hull down. The captain might not dare to venture so near a rocky coast, off which unknown reefs might lie hid, even to save their lives.

In a short time the body of the whale scarcely afforded them shelter, and the seas, rolling over it, broke on board. The crew cried out that they should be swamped, and proposed pulling for the island and landing on the rocks.

“We shall have a chance of saving our lives, and it will be better than being swamped out here!” exclaimed the man who had first spoken.

“We shall have but a poor chance if we attempt to land on the rocks, I tell you that, lads,” said old Tom. “I would rather keep hold of the whale.”

Still the men declared that they would, at all events, rather chance it.

Just as they were speaking, the clouds to windward appeared to open, and a bright light darted from the sky. This decided old Tom, for he knew that it was the sign of a still further increase of wind.

“I hope we shall not have to run on the rocks,” he said; “just, however, as we made fast to the whale, I observed an opening in the surf. It was a very narrow one, though. If we can find it we will attempt to run through, for there is sure to be a harbour inside, and we have no other hope of saving our lives that I can see.”

The boat was accordingly cast off from the whale, and her head being kept to the seas, to prevent her from being swamped, the crew exerted all their strength to gain the land. Ahead appeared a long line of roaring, foaming breakers, with a rocky shore beyond, and the dim outline of the dark hills farther on. For an hour or more they pulled on, but no opening in the mass of foaming breakers could be discerned. They were beginning to despair, when old Tom said that he could see the place he was in search of, for he had remarked the peculiar shape of the hills at that spot. He accordingly steered in for the shore. Harry and Dickey, however, could see nothing but the threatening breakers.

“It’s very awful!” observed Dickey to his companion. “I wish I was prepared to die. It’s bad enough now, and if the boat once gets caught in those breakers it will be all over with us. Harry, can you say any prayers?”

“I am trying to do so,” said Harry, who saw the danger as well as Dickey.

Old Tom was too much occupied to make any remark. He kept his eye steadily fixed on a dark patch of water which appeared in the white line of foam, and he steered towards it. The roaring sound of the surf as it dashed against the wild rocks grew louder and louder. Still old Tom urged the men to pull as hard as they could. Many of them thought, however, that they were only pulling to meet destruction the sooner.

“I see the passage now!” exclaimed Harry, as he looked up for a moment while bailing the water out.

“You are right, lad,” said old Tom. “Steady, lads! there is One above who will protect us. We will do our best, and trust to Him.”

The men gave way. They knew well that in a few minutes more they should be safe, or struggling helplessly among the foaming waters. The loud roar of the breakers sounded in their ears. They bent to their oars; the boys bailed as hard as they could. Old Tom kept his eye ahead. A huge wave lifted up the boat, and seemed about to heave her into the midst of the boiling surf. Onwards she was borne; now she was between two walls of white hissing foam, which flew in thick masses over her; but still she went on, and, gliding downwards with the rapidity of an arrow, in a few seconds she shot into smooth water, leaving the dark rocks and the roaring breakers astern. The wind blew fiercely, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed vividly; but she was now safe within the shelter of a deep bay. By the glare of the lightning it could be seen that there were cliffs on either side. The crew pulled steadily up the centre till they reached a sandy beach at the farther end, where they landed, and hauled their boat up.

“Now, lads, let us return thanks to God for preserving us from the greatest danger I have ever been in, or any of you either, probably,” said old Tom. “If we had not been guided into the passage when we were, it is my belief that the boat would in a few minutes have gone to the bottom, for the gale is blowing nearly twice as hard as it did when we cast off from the whale.”

Though most of the men had refused to join with old Tom in prayer on board ship when in safety, no one now declined to do as he suggested; and, led by him, they knelt down on the sands, and offered up thanksgivings for their preservation from the danger in which they had been placed. Even Dickey Bass uttered a fervent “Amen,” and Harry felt that God had indeed been merciful to him.

“Where should we have been now, Bass, if we had missed the passage?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Dickey; “but I am very thankful that we are safe.”

It was too dark to enable them to go in search of shelter, if shelter was to be found; so they stretched the boat’s sail out from her side, and formed a low tent, beneath which they lay down to shelter themselves from the storm till the return of daylight.

Chapter Five.

On the Desert Island.

The storm raged furiously all night, the thunder roared, the lightning, darting forth from the dark sky, flashed ever and anon, in a zigzag course, from side to side of the cliffs around the bay, and the howling wind threatened frequently to tear off the sail and carry it away. Still the weary seamen slept, although Harry and young Bass did not for a long time close their eyes.

“I feel, Harry, that old Tom is right; and next time he speaks to me I will listen to him,” said the latter. “He was as cool and collected from the beginning of the storm as if there had been no danger. If it had not been for him, I do not think we should have been where we are.”

Harry agreed with his companion, and urged him not to forget his good resolutions should they ever again get on board the ship. What had become of her they could not tell, and they felt very anxious about her fate. She might have been cast on some of the numerous reefs which lay thereabouts, or have been driven far away from the island.

“At all events, the captain will probably suppose that the boat is lost, and not think it worth while to come and look for us,” observed Dickey.

“I am very sure my father won’t give us up, if he thinks there is a chance of finding us,” answered Harry.

“But what if the ship is lost?” said Dickey, thoughtlessly.

“Oh! do not talk of anything so dreadful!” exclaimed Harry; “I could not bear to think that we are not again to see my father and Mr Champion and the rest. My father is a good seaman, and our ship is stout enough to weather out the worst gale that ever raged.”

“I hope so,” said Dickey, in a mournful voice; “but it blows a regular hurricane; and, oh! what a fearful crash of thunder that last was! See, see! The lightning seems to stir up the very water of the harbour; and oh! there is another peal! I cannot help feeling as if the sky itself was coming down upon us.”

The last peal was succeeded by a loud rending and crashing sound, as if a number of trees had been torn up by their roots or the stout branches wrenched off from the stems.

“Lie down, boys, and try and get some sleep.” It was old Tom who spoke. They were not aware that he was awake and overheard them. “God will take care of us, for we can do nothing more to take care of ourselves. We are safer here than we should be farther inland among the trees.”

It was some time, however, before they followed his advice. At length there was a lull, and they both lay down. Scarcely had they placed their heads on the ground, than they were lost in forgetfulness, and took no more notice of the storm than the seamen who had slept through it all.

When morning dawned all hands awakened. The fury of the gale was over. The sun arose, and, bursting through the clouds, his rays soon dried their damp clothing.

The ground rose slightly from the head of the bay, and on the lower portion grew a grove of cocoa-nut trees loaded with fruit. One of the men, by means of a belt round his waist and the trunk, soon managed to climb to the top of one of them, when he threw down a number of nuts, which were eagerly seized by the rest. The outer husks were quickly torn off, and a nut was given to Harry, the eye being pierced. He declared that he had never tasted so delicious a draught of milk. The meat served the party for food, but did not satisfy their hunger, as they had eaten nothing since leaving the ship.

“This is better than nothing, but it won’t keep body and soul together,” said one of the men, in a grumbling tone.

“Lad, we should be thankful that God has sent us where we can find such wholesome food, instead of complaining that we have not better,” said old Tom. “Maybe, too, there are shell-fish and crabs to be got, and perhaps other food besides; and see, there is a rill of fresh water. We should be thankful for that. We have an axe and our knives, and if we are obliged to live here we may build ourselves a hut, though we need not think about that, as I hope the ship has escaped and will come to look for us before long.”

Still the men grumbled. They were all out of spirits, and had made up their minds that the ship was lost. They had begun to wander about, as sailors generally do under such circumstances, one in one direction and one in another, when Harry, who had gone to the boat, exclaimed, “See, here are some fishing-lines. Who put them there I do not know, but we shall not be in want of a dinner if we make use of them.”

“This is a godsend,” observed Dickey.

“Everything good is sent by God,” said old Tom; and he called to the men to come and assist him in launching the boat.

A short search along the shore enabled them to find mussels and other shell-fish, which they hoped would serve for bait; and, shoving off, they went down towards the mouth of the harbour, where they quickly caught as many fine fish as they could eat. Returning to the beach, sticks were collected, and a tinder-box, which was in the tub with other articles always carried in a whale-boat, enabled them to light a fire.

An ample meal raised their spirits. They once more embarked and pulled down to the mouth of the harbour, in the hope of seeing the ship standing towards the island. The heavy surf which rolled in, however, made it impossible for them to get out. Old Tom and the two boys, therefore, landed and climbed to the summit of a high cliff overlooking the ocean. Hence they gazed round in every direction, but no ship was in sight. In the far distance they could discern here and there some dark rocks, over which the sea broke in masses of foam. Harry’s heart sank within him as he thought that possibly the Steadfast might have been driven upon those fearful rocks, when, as he knew too well, she must speedily have gone to pieces without a chance of any one on board escaping. He scarcely liked to ask Tom Hayes what he thought, but he observed that the old man looked unusually grave as his eye turned in that direction.

“This is no place for us to build our hut on, though it is the best spot for a look-out,” observed old Tom, as he surveyed the rough broken ground all around them. “We must take it by turns, however, to spend the day here, though it will be best to take up our quarters near where we first landed.”

They waited for some time watching the dark, heaving sea, which still rolled and tumbled in huge billows before them; but not even a speck which might be the topsails of the Steadfast appeared above the horizon. At length they returned to the boat.

The men had, in the meantime, caught a large supply of fish, and, in better spirits than before, they pulled back to the head of the bay.

Old Tom advised that they should put up some shelter for the night; and while one of the men cooked the fish, the remainder cut down some young trees and a quantity of boughs, with which they formed a tolerably substantial arbour, while some dried leaves and smaller boughs supplied them with as good beds as they required.

“If we had a good stock of grog, and some bread and potatoes, we should be as happy as princes,” observed one of the men.

“You are right, Ned,” said another. “For my part, I do not care how long we stay.”

“What if there should be savages on the island! Most of them are cannibals in these parts, I have heard say; and, as we have no arms to defend ourselves, we should look foolish,” remarked a third.

“I have seen no signs of any natives, so I do not think we should make ourselves unhappy about them,” said old Tom. “If there are any we must make friends with them, and it’s more than likely that they will give us help and show us where we can obtain food.”

Thus old Tom did his utmost to keep up the spirits of the men, and to prevent them from falling into despondency. Harry, however, could not help feeling sad as he thought of the possible loss of the ship. He eagerly set off the next morning to look out for her, and while two of the men who pulled the boat remained fishing below he and Dickey climbed the cliff. The gale had considerably abated, but the ocean still swelled and broke with the effects of the gale. They returned with an unsatisfactory report.

The men who had remained in the camp had, in the meantime, been looking out for traces of natives. None had been discovered. They had also begun to build a hut. As they had only one axe, this was a slow process. They had cut out a couple of rude spades with which to dig the holes for the foundation, and, as all hands worked hard, by the close of the day they had made some progress. The cocoa-nut fibre, twisted into rope, enabled them to bind the rafters together, and the long leaves of some palms, which grew farther inland, served for thatch. Old Tom encouraged them to proceed, though he had lost all hopes that the ship would return.

As had been agreed on, one man went down and remained on the look-out during the first part of the day, and a second took his place in the afternoon. Thus all were employed.

Harry took the afternoon of the second day. Climbing to the top of the hill, he gazed, as before, anxiously round the horizon. A sigh escaped him when no sail appeared. Sitting down, he remembered his Bible, which he had always carried since he formed the resolution of doing so. He took it out. From its sacred pages he drew that comfort which it always affords. Never before had he read it with so much satisfaction, for he prayed earnestly that his mind might be enlightened; and he now was enabled to see many of the important truths he had never before comprehended. He read and read on, page after page.

“I would rather have this than every book on board!” he exclaimed.

He was surprised when he heard a hail from below, and found that the boat had come for him.

Sunday came round, and old Tom urged his companions to make it a day of rest. Harry now produced his Bible, greatly to old Tom’s delight. Morning and evening Tom had offered up a prayer, Harry and Bass and one or two of the seamen joining him, though others showed no inclination to do so.

Harry offered to read from his Bible, to which the men agreed; but though they sat quiet and listened, some did so with apparent indifference. He, however, selected such portions as he thought that they would best understand. By degrees they became interested. He was reading the fourteenth chapter of Matthew—the account of our Lord’s feeding five thousand men, besides women and children; followed by that of Peter walking on the sea, when, through want of faith, he began to sink, and the Lord stretched forth His hand and saved him, saying, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?”

“So, lads,” observed old Tom, “you see how Jesus Christ fed the multitudes when they were hungering, and saved Peter when in danger, though his faith was weak. We have been fed, you will all allow, when we thought we had reached a barren island where no food was to be found; and in the same way, though I fear our faith is weak, He will take care of us. Then it seems to me that we must give Him our hearts, just as Peter stretched out his hands to Christ for safety.”

“Old Tom speaks the truth, it seems to me,” observed one of the men to a companion, in an undertone. “If I thought that Jesus would hold out His hand as He did to Peter, I should not despair; but I am such a terrible bad fellow, that I am sure I could not keep straight by myself.”

“Jesus is ready, not only to grasp the hand of every one who cries for help, but when once He has got the man’s hand in His He does not let it go,” said old Tom, who had overheard the remark.

When evening closed and the boat’s crew lay down in their hut, several of them acknowledged that they had never spent so happy a Sunday in their lives.

Chapter Six.

In an Open Boat.

A fortnight had elapsed, still the Steadfast did not return. The whole island had been explored. It was found not to be more than a couple of miles long, and scarcely half a mile in width, the greater portion consisting of black volcanic rocks thrown up by some mighty convulsion of nature. No other harbour was discovered; indeed, there was not a spot besides the bay they had entered on which a landing could be effected without danger. They probably were the first people who had entered the bay, for there were no signs of the island ever having been inhabited. There was but a very small portion of ground fit for cultivation; the only trees were those which clothed the side of the valley and the little cocoa-nut grove on the shore of the bay; while no other stream of water was discovered besides that near which they had formed their camp.

As the trees could not be perceived from the sea, Harry thought that, even if the island was marked on the chart, it was probably set down as a barren rock on which no one could land.

“My father, depend upon it, thought that our boat was swamped in attempting to regain the ship, or else that she was driven on the rocks, when he might well suppose that none of us could have escaped. He would otherwise, I am sure, have come back before this,” he observed to old Tom.

“I hope that is the reason why he has not come back,” was the answer; for old Tom had come to the conclusion that the ship, with all hands, had been lost, though he did not like to say so to Harry.

The men were beginning to get very impatient at their long detention on the island. Old Tom did his best to keep them employed; but it was difficult to find work for them. It was evident, too, that the cocoa-nuts would not last for ever; and when they had come to an end, what would they do for food? the men inquired. They might live on fish; but three or four of their hooks had already been lost, and in time they might be unable even to catch fish.

“One thing is clear, lads,” observed Tom; “if we are to get away, we must carry water with us as well as food. Our small breaker will only hold enough for two or three days on short allowance, and, though we may carry some in the tubs, it will be difficult to keep that from being spilled. My advice is, that we set to work and scoop out a number of cocoa-nuts—they will hold a good supply—and we must try and smoke or salt some fish. I calculate that we can carry enough to last us three or four weeks, and in that time we may be able to reach a more fertile island than this is—one likely to be visited by whalers—if we are not so fortunate as to be picked up by a ship first.”

The men were eager to be off, and set to work readily to prepare for the voyage. Harry would rather have remained, still believing that the ship would come back to look for them. Some time, however, was occupied in catching fish, and in drying and salting them, for it was necessary first to erect a building of stone for the former operation, and they had to collect the salt in the holes of the rock along the shore.

A lovely day, just a month after they landed, found them ready, with the cocoa-nut bottles and tubs full of water, and as many whole cocoa-nuts and as much dried and salt fish as they could stow away.

“Before we shove off, lads, let us return thanks to God for bringing us safely here and giving us food to eat, and then let us pray that He will take care of us in the voyage we are about to make,” said old Tom. “I tell you that we shall meet with many dangers, from which He alone can preserve us.”

The men agreed to old Tom’s proposal; and then in good spirts they pulled down the harbour and glided out into the open ocean, now shining in the bright sun of the early morning. The surf, which broke on the rocks on either side in a gentle murmur, glittered brightly, presenting a very different appearance to the wild fury it exhibited when they took refuge within the bay. A light breeze springing up from the northward, the sail was hoisted, and the whale-boat stood to the south, away from the dark, forbidding-looking island. The small compass which is usually carried in a whale-boat enabled them to steer in a tolerably direct course.

“Now, lads,” said old Tom, “we may reach land in about a fortnight; but it may be a month or six weeks before we fall in with an island where provisions are to be found. It will be well, therefore, to put ourselves on an allowance both of water and food. Remember that God helps those who help themselves, and if we take more than we require to keep up our strength, we cannot expect Him to send us a fresh supply.”

Harry and Dickey were always ready to support him, and the men, without murmuring, agreed to do as he advised.

The crew having been divided into watches, old Tom taking charge of one and Harry of the other, and all other arrangements being made, old Tom lay down to rest, saying that he would keep the first night-watch.

They had a few candles for their lanterns, which had been carefully husbanded; these were kept to be used should any night prove particularly dark and cloudy, and the compass be required, for when the stars were shining they were sufficient to steer by.

For several days the boat sailed on over the tranquil ocean. Sometimes it fell calm, when the men took to their oars. The rest of the day they spent lying along the thwarts. Morning and evening, however, Tom offered up prayer, and Harry read some chapters in the Bible, to which most of the men listened attentively.

“What we should have done without your Bible, Mr Harry, I do not know,” observed old Tom. “I believe it has mainly contributed to keep the men contented and happy; I only hope that they will remain in the same temper.”

“I at all events will read the Bible to them,” said Harry. Harry kept to his resolution. Dickey was one of the most attentive of the listeners.

“Harry,” he said, one day, “I confess that I did not before know what was in the Bible when I used to sneer at old Tom for being religious, and was afraid that he would make you so. I wish that he would make me like himself or like you.”

“God’s Holy Spirit can alone make you, Mr Bass, what you ought to be,” observed old Tom, who had been listening to the boys’ conversation. “But you have to seek His grace, and to trust in Jesus, according to the teaching of His word; for we are there told that faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. I never yet met an infidel or careless, bad fellow who really had read the Bible with prayer. It is only thus that we can benefit by it. Many complain that they have no faith, and that it is no fault of theirs—and yet they will not do the very thing that God tells us to do; so you see that it is not God’s fault if a man does not believe, but the man’s own fault. Do you read and pray earnestly and faithfully, and depend upon it God’s Holy Spirit will do His part and help you.”

“I will try, Tom, indeed I will,” said Dickey; “and will you and Harry pray for me?”

“That we will, Mr Bass, because God has said that earnest, believing prayer availeth much; but you must pray for yourself—you must not trust to others praying instead of you. God will hear your prayers, though they may be very weak and imperfect, just as He heard the prayer of the poor publican who smote on his breast and said, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner.’”

It cannot be said that all in the boat listened to Harry when he read the Bible, or to old Tom when he spoke, or followed their example.

While the weather remained fine and they had enough to eat, they kept up their spirits, and began to talk of what they would do when they got on shore. Two or three of them indeed declared that they had had enough knocking about at sea, and that if they should land on a pleasant island with good-natured natives, they would take up their quarters there and marry wives and live a life of ease.

“If you do so, lads, you will run the risk of becoming heathens like them, and forget God and all His benefits,” observed old Tom. “Remember, if we do land safely, it will not be our own right arm or our own strength which will have preserved us, but His merciful kindness; and I tell you, you will be ungrateful fellows if you do as you propose.”

“Old Tom is always preaching,” muttered one of the men to whom he spoke. “I don’t see why we have not a right to please ourselves.”

Old Tom did not hear this remark, and he probably would not then have answered even if he had.

For ten days or so the voyage had continued without any change in the weather. The sun was very hot, and the fish, which they thought had been well salted and smoked, began to taste very strong. Harry and Dickey could only eat very small pieces at a time, with the help of some cocoa-nut and a sip of water between each mouthful. Next day a perfect calm came on, and the sun beat down with intense force on the boat. Although their provisions were covered up and kept as cool as possible, the fish grew worse and worse. Several of the men, when it was served out to them, threw it overboard with disgust, declaring that they could eat it no longer.

“Seeing we have nothing else to live upon, we should be thankful that we have got that, and not throw it from us,” observed old Tom. “It’s bad-tasted, I’ll allow; but as long as we can manage to get it down it will help to support life, and we should try to eat it.”

Harry and Bass did as he advised, and as yet they did not find their strength much diminished.

Most of the men, however, began to complain of pains and aches, and unwillingly got out their oars. Tom urged them to pull on, in the hope that they might in a day or two reach some island which Harry thought could not be far off.

Day after day they had gone on, ever appearing to be in the midst of the same circle where sky and sea met, without sighting land or a distant sail. At night, while one watch rowed the other slept.

Another morning came, but still the glass-like ocean showed no signs of a coming breeze. They had put in their oars, and were munching their share of cocoa-nut and such small pieces of the fish as they could still eat, when suddenly, at a little distance, the surface of the water was broken, and a covey of flying-fish darted through the air towards them. A dozen or more fell into the boat, and were eagerly seized and killed by the famishing crew.

“Let us thank God, who sent them to us,” said Tom, as several of the men greedily began to bite at the fresh, tempting-looking morsels.

Half the number were cut up, and the remainder Tom advised should be reserved for dinner.

The food somewhat restored the men’s spirits, and they pulled on for some hours without murmuring.

Another and another day passed by, and then a breeze sprang up, and the sail was hoisted, and they ran on before the wind. All felt that unless they should shortly reach land or be picked up by a ship their fate was certain. Their cocoa-nuts and water were nearly exhausted, and even old Tom could with difficulty manage to eat a small portion of fish. Still he appeared calm and happy, and did his best to encourage his companions; he sat at the steering oar for the greater part of the day and night, taking but little rest. When he lay down he charged those who were on the watch to keep a bright look-out for land, while he himself, when awake, had his eyes moving round the horizon in the hope of discovering it.

At length all the water was gone, and not a piece of cocoa-nut remained. One of the crew, who had long been complaining, had lain down in the bow, saying he should go to sleep. When it was his turn to keep watch, Jack Harding, one of the men, tried to arouse him. Jack lifted his arm, which fell down by his side.

“Bill has slipped his cable, I am afraid,” said Jack, in a hollow voice.

Harry went forward to ascertain if such was the case. Bill was indeed dead.

“Lads,” said old Tom, “I don’t know which of us will go next, but this I know, that the case of those who are not trusting in Christ is a very terrible one. I won’t say anything about poor Bill, but I speak to you as a dying man to dying men. The day of grace has not yet passed—to-morrow it may have gone by for some, if not for all those who are still unreconciled to God. I said this before to you when you were in health; God in His mercy has allowed you to suffer from starvation and sickness, that He might lead you to Himself.”

“We dare say you speak the truth, Mr Hayes,” answered one of the men; “but it’s hard to believe that God, if He is as kind as you say, should allow us to suffer as we are doing.”

“He allowed His faithful apostles of old, and many thousands of Christians since then, to suffer far more than we are doing; and yet they acknowledged to the last that He does all things well,” answered old Tom. “I have just told you why He allows you to suffer; and remember what Saint Paul says, ‘The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’”

Tom’s address served as the funeral sermon of poor Bill, who was shortly afterwards lifted overboard by his sorrowing companions.

Chapter Seven.

Savages and Missionaries.

It was again night. For the greater part of it old Tom sat at the helm, while a gentle breeze wafted them on. Once more the sun rose. It was Harry’s watch. As he glanced round the horizon, he caught sight of a blue undulating line to the south-west. At first he thought that it was a bank of clouds, but at length he was convinced that it was land he saw.

“Land! land!” he cried out.

His shouts aroused all the sleepers.

“Land it is! there is no doubt about that!” said old Tom, taking his seat at the helm and steering towards it.

As they approached they saw it was an island of some extent, with hills covered with trees, but a coral reef intervened. A passage, however, was at length discovered. How eagerly the famished crew longed to get on shore to quench their burning thirst and satisfy their hunger!

The first object which met their sight, as they pulled into a small picturesque bay, was a stream of water, which came sparkling and foaming down the side of the hill. Not far off was a grove of cocoa-nut palms, near which were several other fruit-bearing trees. Without stopping to ascertain whether any natives, were in the neighbourhood, they pulled to the shore, and leaping out, rushed forward to quench their thirst at the nearest point of the stream which they could reach. Some cocoa-nuts were also quickly obtained, and sitting down, they soon emptied the contents of the shells of several.

“If we had fallen in with this island two or three days ago, poor Bill, maybe, would have been alive and merry now,” observed one of the men.

“It might have been so, lads,” said Tom; “but one thing I know, that we should be thankful for God’s mercy in bringing us thus far in safety.”

The strength of all the party was revived by the food and water. By Tom’s advice they refilled the casks and cocoa-nut bottles. He then proposed that they should push off into the bay, and try and catch some fish. Two of the men replied that they had had food enough, and preferred remaining in the shade under the trees; the rest, however, agreed to accompany him. Some crabs and shell-fish, as before, served them as bait.

They had been fishing for some time with good success, and were contemplating returning to the shore to cook the fish and to rest for the night, when they caught sight among the trees, at some distance from the beach, of several savages, who had apparently been watching them. These were joined by others, who began flourishing their weapons and shouting. The two men who had been left on shore, on hearing their voices, started up, and, observing their menacing attitude, ran towards the beach. The crew of the boat, seeing the danger of their companions, pulled in as fast as they could bend to their oars, in the hope of rescuing them. The distance was considerable. Neither of the poor fellows could swim. They rushed into the water up to their necks. The natives came on yelling towards them. Long before the boat could get up to them they were dragged back, and in another instant dispatched by the clubs of the savages.

“It’s too late, lads!” cried old Tom, who saw what had occurred; “we shall be treated as they have been if we let the savages get hold of us. We must make the best of our way out of the bay. It’s a mercy that we have got the water and food.”

There was indeed no time to be lost, for at that moment another party of savages were seen bringing several canoes down to the beach. Old Tom told Harry to take the helm, while he and the three remaining men pulled away out to sea. Happily, just as they got near the passage through the reef, a breeze sprang up, and they were able to hoist the sail. At that instant four canoes were seen paddling out of the bay. It still seemed doubtful whether they would escape. The breeze, however, freshened, and the whale-boat darting ahead, soon distanced her pursuers.

Tom urged his companions not to despair.

“We may still reach another island where the natives will treat us more kindly than these have done,” he observed.

Harry thought that there were other islands to the southward, the natives of which were well spoken of. That was all he could say on the subject. How far off they were he could not tell.

They had now a good supply of water; but they had put only a few cocoa-nuts into the boat, and though they had several fish, they would very soon be unfit to eat.

“He who has brought us thus far will still take care of us, lads, if we will but trust Him,” said old Tom.

This was the burden of his address day after day.

The fish they were still able to eat on the second day, so that they could reserve their cocoa-nuts.

They had been living on the latter, with some water, for two days longer, when again a covey of flying-fish passed over the boat, nearly a dozen falling into her. This afforded them the means of subsistence for two days more, then again they had to resort to the remainder of the cocoa-nuts. These were, however, at length finished.

Day after day they sailed on, no land appearing in sight. Even should they reach shore, they were aware that they might be received in the same hostile way that they were before.

The last cocoa-nut was eaten, the last drop of water exhausted. The hapless wanderers gazed with lack-lustre eyes in each other’s faces. What would next happen?

“All we can now do is to lay ourselves down and die,” said Harry.

“No, no, lad; trust still in God,” answered old Tom. “He has preserved us hitherto. If He thinks fit He can still carry us safe to shore. See away there over the starboard bow—what do you make out?”

Harry and Dickey lifted their heads and gazed in the direction in which old Tom pointed.

“My old eyes are sharper than your young ones,” he observed, when they made no reply.

“I make out the top of a mountain rising above the horizon. We shall see more of it before nightfall if the wind holds; let us pray that it may.”

The rest of the people would not believe old Tom, and declared that he was mistaken; but he persisted in his assertion that land was ahead, and urged them to keep up their spirits.

Before nightfall land appeared clearly in view, but still at a great distance. All night long they ran on, old Tom sitting at the helm, for he would trust no one else, while Harry and Dickey did their best to keep a look-out ahead, for, young as they were, they endured their sufferings better than the older men, who lay stretched out on the thwarts.

When morning dawned a beautiful island, with rocks and trees and mountains in the centre, appeared about two miles ahead; but it was surrounded by a reef, over which the sea dashed in masses of foam, barring their approach to the shore.

“Never fear, boys, we shall find a passage through it,” said old Tom.

They sailed on, and in a short time the expected passage was seen, the water shining calm and blue within it.

They glided on towards a bay, beyond which a valley opened up into the interior of the country. On one side, on the slope of a hill, appeared a few neat cottages, and among them a building of larger size.

“If my eyes don’t deceive me, that’s a chapel!” exclaimed old Tom; “and where there is a chapel there will be Christians, and we shall be received by them as friends.”

The men roused up on hearing this, for in their despair they believed that on landing they should be murdered like their companions.

Old Tom steered without hesitation towards the cottages. As they approached, several persons were seen coming down to the beach. Two were in European costume, one of whom was a woman, while most of the rest were dressed in shirts and trousers. Before the boat’s keel had touched the shore, several of the latter came rushing forward into the water; and, seeing the condition of those on board, they carefully lifted them out, and bore them to the shore in their arms. The white people, who were at once recognised by old Tom as missionaries, kindly pressing his hand, invited him and his companions to their house.

“We will not ask questions now,” they said; “your appearance shows the sufferings you have endured.”

The natives, receiving directions from the missionary, again lifted them up, and followed him, while his wife hastened on with two native girls to make preparations for their reception.

Food and water were, however, what they most required.

“I can allow you to partake of them but sparingly at first,” observed the missionary. “God’s greatest blessings are too often abused by being enjoyed in excess.”

Harry and old Tom thanked him, and said they did not wish for more than would be beneficial; but the men grumbled at not being allowed to have as much as they could devour, when they were so hungry. Poor Dickey was unable to speak, and could scarcely eat the food given to him.

The missionary, who told them that his name was Hart, and that he and his wife had resided scarcely a year on the island, showed them the greatest sympathy and kindness. Mrs Hart took poor Dickey under her especial care, and gave him nourishing food in small quantities till she saw that his strength was returning, and that his pulse was beating more regularly. He could not help feeling, indeed, that it was mainly owing to her care that his life was preserved.

In the course of two or three days the strength of all the party was much restored, and Harry and old Tom were able to get up and join Mr and Mrs Hart at their meals. They then gave an account of their adventures. “You have indeed been mercifully preserved,” observed Mr Hart. “What confidence does it give us when we know that we are under the protection of our Heavenly Father! Were it not for that, my wife and I could not live as we do in this island, surrounded by hostile savages, far away from other Europeans. It is true that we have with us a small band of Christian natives; but their numbers are insufficient for our defence, even if we wished them to fight. We have often been threatened, but hitherto the heathens have been restrained from attacking us. Many, indeed, have come to listen to the doctrines we preach, and now one and now another has acknowledged Jehovah to be the true God. The more progress we have made, the greater has been the animosity of the heathens, and of late, instigated by their priests, they have threatened our destruction. Still we persevere, in the hope, whatever may happen, of gaining more souls for Christ’s kingdom.”

Harry was surprised to hear Mr Hart speak so calmly of the dangers which surrounded him, and to observe that Mrs Hart did not appear in any way alarmed.

“But if the heathen party attack you, what do you propose doing?” he asked.

“We know that our friends will protect us as long as they have the power to do so,” answered the missionary. “We are perfectly resigned to whatever God, in His providence, may allow. Should the heathens have resolved to put us to death, we are sure that if God allows them to succeed He has an important object in view, and that our death will ultimately tend to His honour and glory. At the same time, should means of escape be afforded us, we should consider it our duty to take advantage of them. Our friends know of some hiding-places in the mountains to which they have promised to take us, should they obtain timely notice of an intended attack on the station; but we suspect that, even should we succeed in reaching a place of concealment, it may be discovered by our enemies, and we have little expectation of being in safety even there.”

Mrs Hart spoke to the same effect, but expressed a hope that the enmity of the heathens might abate, or that friends might arrive who would turn them from their purpose.

Notwithstanding the threatening aspect of affairs, Mr and Mrs Hart attended zealously to their missionary duties. Mr Hart not only preached the gospel, but held a school for men and boys, whom he instructed in various branches of knowledge, while Mrs Hart taught the women and girls and young children. Mr Hart also instructed them in several mechanical arts, and showed them improved methods of cultivating the ground.

With their assistance he had built the house he inhabited, and had manufactured most of the furniture it contained, as also the school-house and chapel, and many of the natives had erected neat cottages after the same model. Indeed, the whole place already wore an air of civilisation and comfort, which contrasted greatly with the heathen portion of the island.

The missionary and his wife were employed from morning till night among their converts, and much of the time spent in their own house was devoted to study. They enjoyed, indeed, none of that luxurious ease which some people in England suppose falls to the lot of missionaries in the sunny isles of the Pacific, but, harassed by numerous cares and anxieties, their days were spent in toil, while they knew that their lives were in constant danger.

As soon as Harry and old Tom were able to move about, they begged that Mr Hart would allow them to assist him in his labours. Harry would gladly have tried to teach the natives, but his ignorance of their language prevented him being of use in that way. They both, however, could carpenter and dig, and accordingly helped in fitting up the school-house, which had just been erected.

Dickey was soon able to join them. Two days afterwards the three men had sufficiently recovered to take their share of the work.

Again a rumour reached the settlement that the heathens were about to attack it.

“I’ll tell you what, Harry,” said old Tom, when they happened to be alone together. “There is one thing we ought to do, and that is to get the boat ready for use. I don’t fancy Mr and Mrs Hart hiding away in the mountains. They are pretty sure to be starved to death, if the savages don’t get hold of them, which I fear it is very likely they will do. And as to fighting to defend them, though we should be ready enough to risk our lives, yet as we have no arms we cannot hope to succeed. If we had had half a dozen muskets we might have thrown up a fortification and defended our friends, but without them the naked savages are our superiors when it comes to fighting; besides, Mr Hart does not wish to fight.”

“He is, I suspect, right on that point,” said Harry. “He wishes to show the savages that the religion of the gospel is one of love and mercy and long-suffering; and musket bullets, even if we had arms, would not contribute to do that. I agree with you, however, that the sooner we can get the boat ready the better.”

Old Tom on this called the other men, and they all set to work to prepare the boat for sea. Harry also informed the missionary and his wife of their intentions, and urged Mrs Hart to get ready such a stock of provisions as she could collect.

“For your sakes I will do so,” she answered; “but if my husband still thinks it right that we should remain, I cannot try to persuade him to fly. We ought to stop and share the lot of the poor converts.”

“You would, I think, by remaining, only increase their danger,” observed Harry. “They might, if alone, escape to the mountains and hide themselves; but if they have you to attend to, they would run a much greater risk of being discovered. Whereas if you accompany us, and our lives are preserved, you may return when the rage of the heathens is abated, and re-establish the mission.”

These arguments seemed to have considerable effect on Mrs Hart, and Harry hoped that she and her husband would no longer hesitate to embark, should the heathens seriously threaten to attack the station.

Things, however, went on much as usual for several days. The boat was made ready for sea, while as much water and provisions as she could carry were prepared to be put on board at a moment’s notice.

The three men had by this time grown weary of the monotonous life they were compelled to live at the station, and, notwithstanding the dangers they had gone through, they were anxious again to be off in search of some other island, where they could live at their ease among the natives, without running the risk of being murdered, as they were assured they would be should they wander away among the heathens. Old Tom and the two boys did their best to persuade them to remain contentedly where they were; but, from some remarks overheard by Bass, Harry was afraid that they contemplated running off with the boat, should they be detained much longer.

“If they make the attempt they will lose their lives to a certainty,” observed old Tom, when Harry told him. “But I think better of them. We will make them understand that we remain for the sake of the poor lady and gentleman who have left their home in England to try and benefit the ignorant savages, and that while they are in danger we should be cowards to desert them.”

The men acknowledged, when Tom spoke to them, that he was right, and promised to remain contentedly to assist the missionary and his wife.

Chapter Eight.

Attack and Flight.

Old Tom and the three men had built a hut for themselves at a short distance from the missionary’s house, that they might not incommode him and his wife. He, however, kindly insisted that the two lads should continue their guests.

The more Harry saw of Mr Hart, the more anxious he became to assist him, and in order to do so he commenced studying the language of the natives.

“I wonder you take so much trouble, Harry,” observed his companion Bass; “it seems to me like labour lost, when we may at any moment be compelled to run away.”

“But I hope, if we do, we shall be able to return,” said Harry. “I think, of all the works in which man can engage, that of converting the heathen, and instructing them in the truths of the gospel, is the first and noblest. I would rather be employed in it than in any other. We look with respect on a man who has saved the life of a fellow-creature; but surely, as the soul is of infinitely more value than the body, it must be infinitely more noble to be the means of saving souls. If it were not for my mother and sister, I would rather remain out here and labour with Mr Hart than return home. But still I feel that it is my first duty to try and go back to England, that I may comfort my mother and sister, should, as I fear is the case, the Steadfast and all hands have been lost.”

“Each man to his task,” answered Dickey; “but I should have thought that you, who have a good chance of some day getting the command of a ship, would have preferred remaining at sea, even should the Steadfast be lost.”

“I have not given up all hopes of her even yet,” answered Harry; “though I cannot account for her not coming to look for us.”

Harry was soon able to speak a few words to the natives, and, as they were anxious to learn English, they took pains to teach him their own tongue in return for the instruction he gave them, and he and they were thus able to understand each other on ordinary subjects.

Rumours that the heathens were meditating an attack again reached the station. A large body of savages had been seen on the hills a short distance off flourishing their weapons, and making fierce and threatening gestures. Perhaps they had been deterred from their purpose by the arrival of the boat, and, believing that all white men were possessed of firearms, been unwilling to encounter them. As, however, heathens were constantly coming to the village and going away again, some of them would probably report that they had seen no muskets, and that the number of white men was very small.

One evening, after prayers had been offered up in the missionary’s house, and old Tom and his companions had returned to their hut, just as Harry and Bass were about to go to bed, a knocking was heard at the door, Harry opened it, when a native appeared, and, in an agitated voice, told them that a friend who still lived among the heathens had just stolen into the village with the intelligence that a large band of savages, led on by one of their priests, was approaching at a rapid rate, having vowed to destroy all the Christians before the morning.

Harry at once told Mrs Hart, who was at first inclined to believe that it was only another false report, such as had often before reached them. The native, however, was positive that his friend was not mistaken, and declared that if their dear missionary and his wife would not fly, he and the other converts would carry them off by force to the mountains. Harry proposed that scouts should be sent out to ascertain the fact, and entreated Mr and Mrs Hart to embark at once, and to wait in the boat till the return of the scouts. In the meantime he sent Bass to summon Tom and his companions. Several of the converts were ready to act as scouts, though they declared that there was no doubt of the truth of the report, and that it would be wiser to escape at once to the mountains.

The whole population now gathered round the mission-house, and urged Mr and Mrs Hart to go on board the boat, which had been sent, they asserted, on purpose to preserve their lives. The missionary and his wife at length agreed to act as they were advised, though still loth to leave the converts. The people, though they knew the danger they themselves ran by remaining, would not commence their flight till they had seen their white friends, whom they hurried down to the beach, safe on board. At the same time, some of them carried the provisions which had been prepared on board, while others brought from their own stores a still further supply, and would have added more, had not old Tom assured them that the boat was already overloaded. She had just been launched into deep water, when one of the scouts came hurrying back with the intelligence that the savages were close to the village, and that there was but little time for their countrymen to make their escape. While the Christian natives hurried off in the direction of the mountains, the boat pulled away from the shore towards the passage which led into the open sea.

The night was cloudy and dark, but a strong breeze was blowing, which sent the surf high over the reef, so that the passage could easily be distinguished. Mr Hart, even to the last, was very unwilling to desert his station, and begged old Tom to remain inside the lagoon till they could see what would happen. They were not left long in doubt, for a few minutes only had elapsed after they had quitted the beach when fearful shouts and yells rent the air. The savages, expecting to entrap their victims, had evidently surrounded the village, and were rushing forward with the intention of putting all within it to death.

In a short time torches which they had lighted were seen flaring up, their glare being cast on the tall trees and rocks and the sides of the hills, as they rushed forward to throw them into the buildings. In a few seconds more the whole village was in a blaze, and burning furiously. The dark figures of the savages could be seen as they stood ready with uplifted weapons to strike those whom they expected to issue forth. Their rage and disappointment must have been great when no one appeared. The delay, however, it was hoped, would enable the fugitives to escape to their proposed hiding-places. As the bright light from the burning buildings shed a glare over the water, at length the savages perceived the boat, and rushed down to the beach, shouting loudly to those in her to return, some darting their spears, and others shooting arrows towards her. She was happily too far off for the weapons to reach her.

“The heathens have been allowed to triumph for a time,” said Mr Hart. “I pray that our poor converts will escape their fury. We must now trust to the protection of Him who is able to guide us over the stormy ocean to a haven of rest. His will be done.”

“The sooner we are out of the reach of those savages the better, or they will be coming after us in their canoes,” observed old Tom. “When we are outside we shall be able to make sail and stand to the eastward. If the wind favours us we shall reach a Christian island in the course of a week, where we are sure to meet a hearty welcome. We have provisions enough on board to last us a month, so we need have no fear of starving, whatever happens.”

This address encouraged the men, who pulled away in good spirits, Harry and Bass, who had each an oar, setting them an example. Mr Hart offered to row.

“No, no, sir,” answered old Tom. “You are not accustomed to the sort of life we shall have to lead for the next few days, and you will have enough to do to look after your poor wife. We all feel more for her than for ourselves, and will do our best to make her as comfortable as we can.”

Mrs Hart thanked old Tom, and assured him that she was resigned to whatever might happen, and felt no alarm, notwithstanding the fearful scene they had witnessed.

The boat now reached the passage, and passing between the two walls of foam which rose up on either hand, was soon tossing on the wild sea outside. Harry, as he pulled away, had watched the shore anxiously, and was thankful to find that they were not as yet pursued. He had little doubt, however, that, as soon as the savages could reach their canoes, they would put off in chase, they not supposing that so small a boat would venture out into the open sea on so stormy a night.

“Now, lads, we will set up the mast and make sail,” said old Tom, after the boat had got some distance from the reef. “You need not be alarmed, marm,” he continued, addressing Mrs Hart; “this whale-boat of ours is strong, and will go through twice as much sea as we have now.”

Old Tom did not over-estimate the good qualities of the boat. Though the dark seas rose up capped with foam around her, she sprang lightly over them, guided by his experienced hands, scarcely shipping a drop of water.

Thus she went on during the night.

When morning dawned she had run the island out of sight. As the wind had been gradually decreasing, and the sea going down, they were able to re-stow the boat.

By Harry’s forethought several articles had been put on board which might conduce to Mrs Hart’s comfort. Among them was a small mattress and a tarpaulin, which had served to protect their luggage when they first landed. With this a cabin was fitted in the stern of the boat, which, though narrow and confined, afforded her the shelter she so much needed. Within, shaded from the rays of the sun, she could recline during the heat of the day, while by lifting up the edges, sufficient air was admitted. Not a murmur escaped her lips, while she warmly expressed her thanks for the attention bestowed on her.

“We should be very ungrateful, marm, if we did not do our best to make you comfortable; for if it had not been for you and Mr Hart, I am pretty sure none of us would have been now alive. If we had landed on another part of the island, the savages, judging from the way they behaved last night, would have knocked us all on the head. I am sure, lads, I say what you all feel.”

The men acknowledged that old Tom spoke the truth, and promised to do their best to take care of the missionary and his wife.

Mr Hart began the day by offering up a prayer for protection, and thanking their Father in heaven for preserving their lives from the fury of the savages. Then, opening his Bible, he read several portions showing how full of loving-kindness and mercy God is; at the same time, being just, He can by no means overlook iniquity. On this account it was that He gave us the inestimable gift of His Son, the Lamb without spot or blemish, to die instead of sinful man. And He requires now that men should believe that Christ thus died for their sakes, that His blood atones for all their sins, that God receives them, rebels though they have hitherto been, as His dear children, and makes them holy by His own good Spirit, fitted to enter the glorious heaven which He has prepared for all those who love Him.

Again and again, with earnest prayer that they might receive it, Mr Hart impressed these truths on his hearers. They had heard them before; but their minds were so dull, and their hearts so hard even now, that but slight impression appeared to have been made on them. Young Bass alone at length murmured, “I do believe, and desire to give my heart to Jesus; pray for me, Mr Hart, for I am afraid if I were to get back among careless companions, that I should again become as they are.”

“From that God will assuredly guard you, my young friend, if you earnestly seek for His guidance; and our prayers, as well as yours, will be heard at the throne of grace.”

Day after day went by, the boat making but slow progress, for it was an almost perfect calm; and, though the oars were got out, and kept going, the men either could not, or would not, make much exertion in rowing. Mr Hart, and Harry and Bass, and old Tom, took their turns at the oars, and endeavoured to encourage the men. Still no land appeared in sight. The men grumbled, and declared that they would rather have a gale than this long continuance of calm.

“Let us rather be thankful, my friends, for the fine weather; and, though our voyage is prolonged, we may still hope to reach a haven of safety,” observed Mr Hart.

The gale the men were wishing for came, however, with more fury than they desired. Once more the boat was tossing on the foaming waves, when the sea, breaking over her, washed away a portion of their provisions, and compelled them to be constantly bailing to keep her afloat. She was driven, too, far out of her course, and often it seemed as if she could not live amid the raging seas which rose up around her. Old Tom, however, sat at the helm, calm and undismayed, steering with his accustomed skill. All knew well that their lives depended, under Providence, on him.

Still the tempest was increasing. In spite of the admirable way old Tom managed the boat, another sea broke on board, washing out of her more of the provisions, and almost carrying away one of the men as he lay asleep in the bows. He was caught by the man next to him, and hauled in, and all hands had instantly to set to work to bail out the water.

“It looks to me as if this hurricane was never going to cease!” cried the chief grumbler of the party. “We might as well have stopped and fought the savages, and if they had killed us there would have been an end of it.”

“My friend, God will cause the hurricane to cease when He thinks fit,” said Mr Hart, solemnly. “Be thankful rather that you are yet alive, and that the day of grace still lasts. You had not then accepted Christ, and heaven would never have been your home. Have you done so now? God is still willing to receive you; and He shows it by having preserved you hitherto from the perils by which we have been surrounded.”

“You are right, sir,” answered the man, at length touched; “I am an ungrateful fellow, God be merciful to me a sinner! I will never complain again.”

“God is always merciful, my friend; He has offered you the means by which you may be saved. He has not thought fit to establish any other means, or opened up any other way by which you can enter heaven but that one single way, and He says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ Believe, my dear friend; think how precious your soul is. Remember the thief on the cross; and if, like him, you can truly say, ‘I believe,’ should the boat be overwhelmed the next minute, you will be where he is, with Jesus in heaven.”

The storm at length ceased, and the sorely battered boat was left floating calmly on the water; but nearly all the provisions were gone, two of the oars had been washed overboard, and there was a leak in her side which it was found impossible altogether to stop, while the crew were well-nigh worn out.

Mr Hart sat with his beloved wife in his arms, feeling that it might be God’s will that they should not again see land. They were prepared for whatever He might decree, and they felt more for their two young companions, and for Harry’s mother and sister, of whom he had been speaking to them, than for themselves. As they gazed at the haggard faces of the two boys and the old man, it seemed to them that before long one or the other would be called away.

Chapter Nine.

Saved and Wrecked.

Well might the unhappy fugitives have despaired. The larger portion of their provisions had been washed overboard; the remainder were almost exhausted; their boat was battered and leaky, the seamen were apparently dying, and unable to determine in what direction to seek for land. For weeks they might sail on and not find it. Still the missionary and his companions placed their trust in Him who is able to save them.

A light breeze once more sent the boat through the water. They were gliding on when Harry observed that old Tom’s eye was intently gazing towards the south-west, yet he did not speak. Harry looked in the same direction.

“What do you see, lad?” asked old Tom.

Harry rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, it is. A sail! a sail!” he exclaimed.

“I thought so, but feared that my hopes might have deceived me,” said old Tom. “She is standing this way, and is close-hauled.”

The boat was steered so as to intercept the stranger. Harry kept his gaze fixed on her. She was evidently a whaler.

“Can she be the Steadfast?” exclaimed Dickey, who was also earnestly looking at her.

“I was in hopes that she might be,” exclaimed Harry.

“The Steadfast would be deeper in the water, and has a new cloth on her foretopsail, and that ship has not,” observed old Tom.

“We should be thankful, whatever she is,” said Mr Hart. “Let us return thanks to God for sending her to rescue us.”

The men roused up on hearing that a ship was approaching, and managed even to get their oars out to pull alongside her.

As they drew near they saw clearly that she was not the Steadfast.

The stranger hove to. A person, whom they supposed to be the captain, asked whence they had come and what they wanted.

“We are escaping from savages, and entreat you to receive us on board, for we are almost starved,” answered Mr Hart.

“You may come on deck, then,” said the captain; but that was more than any one in the boat unassisted could do. Even old Tom, the strongest of the party, could not manage to clamber up the side. A ladder was therefore let down, and two seamen descending carried up Mrs Hart and then her husband. The boys followed, old Tom being the last to leave the boat, which was then hoisted up, but almost fell to pieces in the operation.

“You people have had a narrow escape,” observed the captain, as he examined the boat. “You and your wife can have a cabin, though I am not fond of missionaries, I tell you,” he observed, turning to Mr Hart. “The rest can manage to shift for’ard among the men.”

“I shall be grateful for any accommodation you will afford my wife and me,” said Mr Hart. “You see how much she requires attention;” and he pointed to his wife, who was seated on a hencoop almost fainting. “I would ask you, too, to allow those two young gentlemen to live in the cabin; one is a captain’s son, the other an apprentice.”

“Oh, they can shift for themselves well enough forward,” answered the captain, gruffly. “We are bound for the Sandwich Islands, which I hope to make in the course of a couple of weeks, and we shall then part company, as you will then be able to find a vessel to carry you wherever you may wish to go. I cannot undertake charge of you for a longer time.”

“All I can say is that we shall be grateful to you for preserving our lives; for I believe, humanly speaking, we should have perished before many days had elapsed,” said Mr Hart. “I do not at present see how we can repay you, but if I have the power be assured I will gladly do so.”

The crew, though rough in appearance and rough spoken, paid every attention in their power to old Tom and his companions, and put them into their berths, where they all in a few minutes fell fast asleep.

Next day Harry and Bass, having somewhat recovered, crawled on deck. They learned that the ship was the Swordfish; that Captain Boucher, the master, was an odd-tempered man, and that, as she had been out more than a year and caught but few whales, and had of late had nothing but ill-luck, he was in an especial bad humour. The captain was walking up and down, abusing the officers, who behaved in the same way towards the men, while the latter growled in return and performed their work in a sulky way.

Harry was afraid that poor Mr and Mrs Hart would be neglected, and, waiting till the captain was quiet, humbly asked leave to be allowed to go down and pay them a visit.

“What do you want with them?” asked the captain.

“They are my friends,” said Harry, “and I wish to see if they require anything.”

“If you go below you shall wait upon them and on me too, youngster. My cabin-boy fell overboard the other day, and I want another.”

“While I remain on board I will do as you wish,” answered Harry, glad to have the means of being of service to his friends.

He found them in a small cabin—poor Mrs Hart still very weak and ill, and Mr Hart seated by her side, though much requiring rest himself.

One of the men who had taken in the captain’s breakfast had brought them some, but they had received no other attention, while they had heard the captain abusing missionaries as a useless, idle set who never did any good.

Harry set about the duty he had undertaken with alacrity, though for some days he had great difficulty in moving about. He said nothing when the captain abused him as an idle young dog, but did his best to do as he was required. He spread the table as he had seen it arranged on board the Steadfast, and tried to keep the cabin in good order. He was constant in his attendance on Mr and Mrs Hart, though he had often a difficulty in obtaining proper food for them from the cook.

Dickey was anxious to assist him, and proposed to ask the captain’s leave.

“I am sure he would not grant it,” said Harry; “he would only say that one boy is more than enough, and that we should be playing tricks together.”

Harry could not help acknowledging that he had an uncomfortable life of it; but he willingly bore all the captain’s abuse for the sake of his friends, and his chief consolation was to remain in their cabin and to listen to Mr Hart’s conversation. The captain, however, who at length one day found he was there, ordered him on deck.

“What are you and that man plotting about?” he asked, abusing him as an idle young dog. “I’ll give you work to do;” and Harry was sent to assist Bass in blacking down the rigging.

After that the captain kept him constantly employed in the dirtiest work about the ship.

Harry bore this treatment without murmuring.

“I only wish that the voyage was over,” he remarked to Bass. “Still, whatever he does, we should be thankful to him for saving our lives.”

“I am not so certain that he will let us go free, even when we reach the Sandwich Islands,” answered Bass. “The men say he will swear we are apprentices, and keep us on board.”

“Don’t let him suppose that you think so. If we have our wits about us we may make our escape,” said Harry.

Day after day the wind continued light, and the voyage was prolonged. The captain treated the boys in the same tyrannical way as at first. Harry could only exchange a few words with his friends when he took them their meals; he was thankful that the captain had not deprived him of the opportunity of doing so.

“It is our duty, my dear Harry, to bear with ill-treatment,” observed Mr Hart. “It is hard to do so, but let us pray for grace, and we shall not seek it in vain.”

At length the Island of Oahu, in which the capital Honolulu is situated, was sighted. As the ship approached the harbour, and Harry and Bass were congratulating themselves that their emancipation drew near, the captain ordered them to go down into the cabin. When there they found themselves suddenly seized by two of the mates, who thrust them into a small side cabin.

“You will remain there; and take care that you make no noise,” said one of the mates. “When we are at sea again you will be let out.” The poor boys expostulated in vain. The door was locked upon them, and they were left in almost total darkness.

“I told you so,” said Bass. “I was sure he meant us mischief.”

“I am very sure that Mr Hart will make every effort to obtain our release,” observed Harry. “So will old Tom; and I should think the captain would scarcely venture to detain him.”

In a short time they heard the anchor let go, and they knew that the ship had entered the harbour. They waited in the hope that Mr Hart would discover where they were and come at least to speak to them, but night came on and they were left alone. They had to coil themselves up and go to sleep.

Next morning the first mate opened the door and put in some breakfast, saying that it would be worse for them if they made any noise.

Several days passed by and they were thus kept in durance. They heard at different times voices in the cabin; but not knowing who the speakers were, they were afraid of crying out. At last they knew by the movements of the ship that she was once more under way; and shortly afterwards the mate came to the door and told them that they might go on deck to attend to their duty. Greatly to their satisfaction, they saw old Tom. He made a sign to them not to speak to him and turned away.

They waited till it was dark. He then came up to them as they were standing together.

“I discovered that the captain had shut you up,” he said; “and I did all I could to get him to allow you to go on shore, but he said that he had a right to detain you, and I of course would not leave the ship without you. We must therefore watch for an opportunity of getting on shore at some place where English authority is established, and we can make complaints of the way you have been treated.”

“I would rather land among savages than remain on board,” said Harry.

“And so would I,” exclaimed Bass. “And if you will come with us we will try to escape at the first place we touch at.”

“We must learn what sort of a place it is first,” said old Tom, “or we may be worse off than we are on board.”

“We will talk about that by-and-by,” said Harry. “I am very anxious to know what has become of Mr and Mrs Hart.”

“I am thankful to say they are among friends,” answered old Tom. “Missionaries have been for some time settled in these islands, and the king and a considerable number of his people have become Christians. Mr Hart did not forget you either, and he came on board to try and learn what had become of you. The captain must have deceived him, and persuaded him that you were no longer in the ship. He was coming off again just as we were getting under way, and the captain would not then allow him to come up the side.”

“I am thankful, at all events, to hear that our friends are safe,” said Harry; “and we must try to make the best of it.”

“That’s a wise resolution, Harry,” said Tom. “Even though the captain should continue to ill-treat you, behave as you have hitherto done, and even his hard heart may be softened. However, we must not be found talking together, so now go and turn into your berths, and try and get a better night’s rest than you could have had in that close cabin.”

Harry and Bass followed old Tom’s advice; and next morning when they came on deck they found that the ship was off the magnificent coast of the large island of Hawaii, with the two lofty mountains, Mouna Kea and Mouna Roa, rising far off.

The weather looked threatening, and in a short time a heavy gale began to blow. The wind increased in fury till it became a perfect hurricane. The sails were closely reefed. The captain endeavoured to beat out to sea, as there was no port under his lee into which he could run. Notwithstanding all the efforts made to keep off the land, the ship drove closer and closer to it. A terrific line of breakers could be seen dashing on the shore. Should the ship be driven among them, her destruction would be certain; and there was little hope of an anchor a holding to save her from her impending fate. To avoid this, sail was kept on the ship, though, under any other circumstances, with an open sea before her, she would have been running under bare poles.

Harry and Bass were standing together.

“What do you think of it, Tom?” asked Harry, as the old man came up to them.

“Badly enough, as far as this world is concerned,” answered old Tom. “Happy are those who are prepared to enter another world, as I know you are, and I hope Mr Bass is too. He who died for us is ready to welcome us there, if we are trusting to Him alone down here, and not to our own strength and doings, however good our fellow-men may think us. That’s my comfort, whatever happens, though for your sakes, and that of the poor fellows aboard, I pray we may escape. I cannot say, however, that I see much prospect of it. If the worst comes, do you boys stick by me, and I will do my best to save your lives.”

The ship drifted nearer and nearer the shore. The captain and mates, hardy and bold as they were, looked pale and anxious, now gazing up at the bending masts, now at the shore under their lee.

“If we get a slant of wind we may do it yet,” said the captain.

“But if not?” observed the first mate.

“We must let go our anchors, and cut away the masts. There is nothing else to be done,” was the answer.

The hoped-for change of wind did not come.

“Let go the best bower,” shouted the captain. “Stand by with the axes.”

The order was obeyed. The ship for a moment rode head to wind. At the same instant the men, with gleaming axes in their hands, were seen cutting away at the masts.

Tom led his young friends under shelter of the poop deck.

Down came the masts with a crash. Not a hundred fathoms astern the sea in wild masses was breaking furiously. The next instant the anchor parted; another was let go, but it scarcely held for a moment; and then the ship drove broadside into the midst of the wild, raging tumult of waters. Now she rose for a moment on the summit of a huge wave, now borne onwards she sank into a hollow between the waves. The next sea swept her decks, carrying many of the hapless crew overboard, and washing away the caboose and a large portion of the bulwarks.

By Tom’s advice Harry and Bass clung to a stanchion near which they had taken their post. Tom held on to another near them.

Another sea struck the devoted ship, and threw her with tremendous force on the coral rocks, crushing in her bottom and sides. Others of the crew were carried off as the seas continued to strike her. Now portions of her bows, now the remainder of her bulwarks, were swept away, while on each occasion the fearful crashing and rending of timbers showed that she was rapidly breaking up.

“What had we best do?” asked Bass.

“Hold on to the last,” answered Harry; “perhaps the gale may abate, and we may yet reach the shore.”

There seemed, however, but little hope of their doing this. Every instant larger portions of the wreck were carried away. It was evident that in a short time she would break up completely. Tom handed to each of the boys a length of rope.

“Make yourselves fast to any piece of timber you can get hold of,” he said; “it will give you the best chance of safety.”

Few of the people had by this time escaped, and every sea which broke over the wreck carried one or more away.

At length another tremendous sea came rolling towards them. A fearful crash followed. Harry and Bass found themselves floating together amid the boiling waters, with pieces of wreck tossed to and fro near them, a blow from which would have proved fatal, but not one struck them. Not far off they caught sight of Tom clinging to a portion of the poop deck. A sea carried them towards him. He hauled them up, and they made themselves fast to some ring-bolts. Though the seas washed over them, and they felt as if the breath would be knocked out of their bodies, they were not carried off; and they found that their raft was being driven rapidly towards the shore, now scarcely a quarter of a mile from them. Every instant they expected the raft to be turned over and over, but it floated as before, and, now lifted high on the summit of a breaker, and now sunk down into the hollow of the sea, went on and on till they felt it ground on the beach.

Tom told them to cast themselves adrift, when, seizing each by the arm, he dragged them forward, and in another instant they were on dry ground.

“Praise God for His mercy! We are safe!” cried Tom. “But now, boys, let us see if we can help any of our shipmates.”

They looked along the beach on either hand, but for some minutes they could discover no one.

“There is a man!” at length cried Tom. “I caught sight of his head and hand among the foam.”

They ran in the direction Tom pointed, waiting anxiously, in the hope of dragging the man out of the surf as it broke on the shore. Tom rushed in and seized him, as for an instant he was thrown on the beach, or the receding waves would have carried him back. The boys assisted Tom. They recognised the features of the captain, but the hue of death was on his face. His arms fell down as they placed him on the ground.

“He has gone!” cried Tom.

They did what they could to revive him, but life was extinct.

Two other bodies were washed up, but not a human being besides themselves reached the shore alive. They looked around them. The whole bay into which they had been thrown presented a scene of barren wildness and grandeur. A valley opened up from it, and in the distance rose the summit of a lofty volcano, the stream of lava from which had caused the desolation they saw around.

“I am glad we have got ashore alive; but I am afraid we shall die of hunger if we cannot manage to get out of this soon,” said Bass.

“He who brought us on shore will take care of us,” observed Tom. “But we must do our best. The sooner we set off to look for some natives the better.”

“If there are any Christians about here, we are sure, if we can find them, to be treated kindly.”

Having examined the coast as far as they could see on either hand, they agreed to move to the east, in which direction some green shrubs and trees were distinguishable. As they all felt weak and exhausted, there was no time to be lost.

“Won’t it be well to get hold of something to defend ourselves if we are attacked?” said Bass. “I should like to have a club to fight with.”

“It would be no use, Mr Bass,” answered Tom. “We must try to make friends with the natives; I have no fear about the matter.”

“Nor have I,” said Harry.

Tom and the two boys made their way along the shore. Sometimes they had to climb over rocks, sometimes to wade through black sand. At length they reached a firmer beach, and got on better than at first.

The day was wearing on. They had had nothing to eat or drink since the previous evening. They all felt faint and hungry.

At length they caught sight of a stream of sparkling water trickling down the rocks. How eagerly they drank of it! It revived them, and they pushed on. They were anxious to fall in with natives before dark who might give them food and shelter.

The appearance of the country rapidly improved. At last, after climbing some rocks, they found themselves looking down into a beautiful bay, on the shore of which a number of women and girls were collected, who, from the way they were employed in combing their dark hair or dressing their heads with flowers, had apparently just come out of the water.

On seeing the three strangers several of the girls shrieked out. Among them was a tall, dignified-looking person, who, on observing Tom and the boys approaching, rose from the ground on which she had been seated and advanced towards them. To their surprise, she addressed them in broken English.

“Who you? where you come from?” she asked.

Tom replied that they were English, and had escaped from their ship, which had been wrecked some way along the coast.

“And, please, marm,” he added, “we are very hungry, especially these two boys, and shall be thankful if you will give us some food as soon as possible.”

“We are not more hungry than he is,” said Harry; “but he always thinks more of us than of himself.”

The lady smiled and made signs to them to accompany her, evidently understanding what they said, though she herself had soon apparently exhausted her stock of English words. She led the way, followed by her maidens.

Climbing the rocks, which were easily surmounted, they found themselves in a level country with trees growing luxuriantly, while plantations of various descriptions were seen in every direction. At a little distance was a cottage, which, though built after the native fashion, was of considerable size.

“There is my house,” said the lady, pointing to it. “You welcome food, plenty sleep till to-morrow, and praise Jehovah.”

“What! marm, if I may make so bold to ask, are you a Christian?” exclaimed Tom.

The lady nodded and smiled.

“You Christian too, I hope?” she said.

“That I am, marm, and so are these boys,” answered Tom.

“I told you all would be right, Harry,” he added. “You see we could not have fallen into better hands.”

On reaching the house, the girls, by the directions of their mistress, hurried to prepare food, and several dishes of fish and fruits were soon placed on mats on the floor. Before bidding her guests to eat, the lady, who had been sitting, rose and said a grace in her own language, adding a few words of English. Tom and the boys uttered “Amen,” at which she seemed pleased, and she then served each of them with her own hands.

As soon as she saw that her guests had eaten enough, she assembled her family and attendants, who seated themselves before her; she read to them the Bible in her own language, and then offered up a prayer. After this, she leading, the rest joined in singing a hymn, the tune of which Tom recognised, though the words were strange to him. The evening’s devotions being thus concluded, she led them to a part of the house screened off by mats, and bidding them enter, pointed to three beds, also covered with matting, which her maidens had in the meantime prepared for them.

Their clothes had been thoroughly dried during their journey. She showed that she had thought of their comfort by presenting each of them with some cotton garments, and making them understand that their own clothes, saturated with the salt water, should be washed and ready for them the next day.

“We have indeed fallen into good hands, as you say, Mr Hayes,” observed Harry, after they had all three knelt down and said their prayers.

“No doubt about that,” answered old Tom. “We shall find that a missionary has been here; and I hope by his means to gain tidings of our friends and be able to rejoin them.”

With this pleasant thought they lay down to rest. Harry hoped not only to meet Mr and Mrs Hart again, but to be able to find a ship returning to England. He longed once more to be with his dear mother and sister, and to comfort them in their affliction.

Chapter Ten.

Kapoiolani.

After a long sleep, produced by weariness, Tom and the two boys dressed, and made their appearance before their hostess. They found an ample meal provided for them. She told them that her name was Kapoiolani, that she was the wife of one of the chief men of the island, who had gone away on a preaching tour with the missionary by whose means she and her husband had been taught the truth, and begged Tom and the boys to remain till their return. This they were very glad to do, as they still felt weary, and Bass complained of aches in all his limbs.

At every hour of the day people were coming in to receive instructions from Kapoiolani, who was evidently better acquainted with the truths of Christianity than her neighbours. She had for some time accepted the gospel, and showed the deepest earnestness and zeal in making it known to others.

“If people at home, who profess to be true Christians, were as anxious as this lady is to teach others, there would not be so many poor men and women who sink into their graves without ever having heard of the love of Christ for sinners,” observed old Tom. “She puts many civilised people to shame.”

“But in England there are regular ministers to do that sort of work,” observed Harry.

“Every one who loves Christ is a regular minister, to my mind,” answered Tom; “and is bound, when he can find the opportunity, to tell others that Christ died for them, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin.”

“I hope that I may be able to find opportunities when I get home; though I don’t think I shall be able to preach,” said Harry.

“You must make opportunities,” answered Tom. “You can preach in your life and daily conversation, in gently speaking a word to those among whom you mix. Souls are won to Christ as much by that as by preachers in their pulpits; and the only object of preaching is to win souls.”

Two days passed by, when the chief, Kapoiolani’s husband, returned, saying that the missionary had gone on with some other friend to a distant part of the island.

Naihi, the chief, seemed as zealous and earnest as his wife; and as he spoke more English than she could, he was able to give his guests a considerable amount of information about the island. He told them that the larger portion of the inhabitants were still heathens, and worshippers of their great goddess, Pêle, whose abode, he said, they supposed was in the lofty volcano.

“There is need without delay to preach the gospel to them, for our people are rapidly passing away; and unless we hasten they may sink into their graves still ignorant heathens as they now are,” he observed, in a solemn and sad tone.

Naihi, after remaining at home two days, again set off to join his friend the missionary.

Tom and the boys wished to accompany him, but he advised them to remain with his wife, telling them that the journey was fatiguing; and as they could not speak the language of the people, they could be of no use, whereas if they remained with Kapoiolani, they might assist her in acquiring a knowledge of English, which she was anxious to do, so that she might read books in that language. Harry was her chief instructor; and never was there a more attentive pupil. He was surprised at the rapidity with which she learned to read.

Some time had thus been spent, when there was a commotion in the village, and it was announced that a person of importance was approaching, no less than the high-priestess of Pêle, if not Pêle herself, as the heathen inhabitants asserted.

“She is an impostor, and I will prove her to be so!” exclaimed Kapoiolani, when she heard of it; and, attended by a band of Christians, she went out to meet the priestess.

A woman appeared descending from the hills, dressed in a fantastic way, with her robes scorched and partially consumed by fire. She was followed by a band of women and girls, dressed in the same manner. As she drew near, she shouted with a loud voice that she was come to warn the followers of the new faith to be prepared for the fearful punishment she was about to inflict on them for deserting their ancient gods.

“You are but a miserable woman, and a wretched impostor!” answered Kapoiolani, in an authoritative tone. “The worshippers of Jehovah are not to be frightened by your foolish threats.”

On hearing this the pretended Pêle became very indignant, and, drawing a document written on native cloth from her bosom, declared that it would prove her authority.

“It will prove that you yourself cannot write, but some one else has assisted you in your imposture, and that is all it will prove, foolish woman!” exclaimed Kapoiolani. “I have a book which announces that there are many false gods, among whom is the one you serve, but that there is only one true God, Jehovah, whom I serve. Let me advise you to throw away your idols, and to turn to Him, I know Pêle can do me no harm, because Pêle does not really exist, and to prove it I intend to ascend the mountain where you say she resides, and to eat the berries which you hold sacred to her, that when I come back, as I know I shall do, uninjured, my people may see their folly and turn to the true God. I advise you in the meantime to give up your follies, and to labour industriously for your support.”

The pretended priestess and her followers appeared very indignant at this; but when Kapoiolani offered them food they gladly partook of it, the priestess of Pêle herself joining in the feast. Kapoiolani pointed her out to her people, remarking, “If she were a goddess she would not require food; but see, she eats as greedily as any one.”

The next morning Kapoiolani, who had long resolved to visit the volcano Kilauea, the supposed abode of Pêle, was ready to set out. She sent word to her husband and the missionary of her intention, saying that it was necessary to do so at once, in order to convince the people of the imposture of the pretended priestess, and that they might understand that Jehovah was the only true God.

With this laudable object in view, she was ready to undergo the fatigue of the journey. She did not object to old Tom and the two boys attending her.

“My people,” she said, “believe that any strangers approaching the crater will meet with certain destruction; your going will more easily convince them of their folly.”

Kapoiolani performed her journey on foot, as there were at that time no horses in the island, and she objected to be carried by her people. She was attended by a number of persons, with baskets of provisions, who were to proceed to the foot of the mountain, while she, with a select band, proposed mounting to the summit.

The country through which they passed was wild and savage in the extreme. In some places they had to penetrate through thick woods, in others over wide fields of lava.

After many days’ journey the base of the mountain was reached. Resting for the night, the next morning at daybreak Kapoiolani and her attendants, aided by long poles, commenced the ascent. Some carried provisions and others materials for building a hut for the accommodation of the chieftainess.

It was past noon before the edge of the crater was reached, near which grew the bushes bearing the supposed sacred berries. It seemed surprising that any vegetation could be produced on such a spot.

They now stood on the edge of a vast basin upwards of seven miles in circuit and nearly a thousand feet deep. At the bottom was a level floor two miles in length, in the centre of which was a vast lake of liquid lava, out of which rose numerous cones sending forth jets of smoke.

Harry had not imagined the existence of so wild and terrible a scene, and he was not surprised that the ignorant inhabitants should have believed it the abode of a goddess delighting in fire and heat.

Kapoiolani told him that at times the lake which they saw below them rose up high above the cones, filling the whole space within a hundred feet of the edge with a sea of liquid lava, and that it occasionally burst its way through the edges, carrying destruction in its course, towards the ocean, while at other times new cones arose in the side of the mountain, through which the lava burst its way, flowing down in all directions.

Having plucked some of the berries, Kapoiolani ate them, and desired her attendants to do the same.

“Now watch the lake!” she exclaimed, extending her hand towards it. “Does it rise because we few poor mortals have eaten the fruit which God allows to grow here? No!” she said, lifting her hand, and pointing towards heaven. “He who lives there, the great Jehovah, has ordained that these things should be, for a wise purpose. There is no such person as Pêle, whom, in their ignorance, our fathers have worshipped. You now understand, my friends, that we have nothing therefore to fear.”

While some of her attendants were building the hut, Kapoiolani, with old Tom and the boys, and a few other persons, descended the side of the crater, where it sloped sufficiently to enable them to make their way.

The scene around was wild and sombre in the extreme. Mighty cliffs of jet black rock were on every side, with the lake of shining lava below them, though relieved by the blue sky overhead, to which Kapoiolani looked up and pointed.

“There!” she said, “above us is the glorious heaven, which is to be the future home of believers; below, the dark pit, the dwelling-place of those who reject the Lord of light and love.”

On regaining the edge of the crater, they saw several persons approaching, among whom, to Kapoiolani’s great satisfaction, was the missionary, accompanied by her husband.

The people who followed her, as soon as they saw them, set up a loud shout of joy; for many of them till then had fully believed that their chieftainess would have been destroyed by the vengeance of Pêle.

The missionary now offered up a prayer, and having addressed the people, a hymn was sung.

The party remained on the summit of the mountain during the night. The early portion of it was passed by Tom and the boys seated round the fire with the missionary, who told them that they would find little difficulty in returning to Honolulu, where they would soon, probably, find a ship sailing for England.

While they were speaking they were aroused by a brighter light than usual, and on going to the edge of the crater they perceived that the numerous cones, in the centre were now in violent action, some emitting flame, which darted upwards to a height of fifty and a hundred feet, while boiling lava flowed down the sides of others into the lake, out of which they arose like so many islands.

Kapoiolani came out of the hut to witness the scene. She remained calm as before, and quieted the fears of her attendants by observing—

“I know in whom I trust. Even should the lava continue flowing, many days must elapse before the crater is full, and long before it is so we shall be in safety. Pêle has nothing to do with it.”

Having watched the eruption for some time, Kapoiolani and her female attendants returned to their hut, while the rest of the party gathered round their camp fires to spend the remainder of the night.

After breakfast, having plucked more of the berries and again descended the crater, they proceeded down the mountain.

On reaching the camp where the chief body of her attendants had remained, she addressed them, and urged them from henceforth to dismiss all thoughts of the pretended Pêle, and other false deities, from their minds, and to trust alone to Jehovah, the only true God, and His Son Jesus Christ, whom He had sent into the world to die instead of them, and to reconcile them, His outcast children, to Himself. With one voice the people shouted out, “There is no such being as Pêle; Jehovah is the only true God; we will serve Him!”

The news of the pious and heroic Kapoiolani’s visit to the mountain of Pêle was carried through the island; and the people from henceforth acknowledged that they had been foolishly frightened by believing in a being who had no existence, and were everywhere ready to listen to the addresses either of the missionaries or of their own chiefs who had turned from idols.

It is a remarkable circumstance that in the Sandwich Islands the chiefs set the example of overturning their idols, and were generally the first to accept the truth.

After visiting several places on the coast, Kapoiolani and her attendants, accompanied by Tom and the boys, returned to her village.

Chapter Eleven.

Happy Re-Unions.

Several weeks passed away, and no vessel appeared in which the voyagers could obtain a passage to Honolulu. They were rapidly acquiring a knowledge of the language of the island, and Harry and Tom employed much of their time in instructing the natives. Bass did not make so much progress as the rest, and began to grow very weary of the life he led.

“The truth is, Dickey,” observed Harry to him one day, “your heart is not in the matter. I wish to reach home, I confess; but if it were not for the dear ones there, I should be content to labour on as I am now doing. I never find the day too long.”

“I wish I were like you,” said Bass; “but I cannot bring myself to care about the people.”

“My dear Dickey,” said Harry, “you must pray for grace, then, to do what you know to be right. Think of the great value of human souls, and of the inestimable price which was paid that they might enjoy the happiness of heaven, and then you will become more anxious to win them.”

Bass tried to do as his friend advised, and in a short time he was almost as eager as Harry to instruct the natives, and found himself rapidly acquiring their language to enable him to do so.

One day Tom and the two boys set off to visit a village at some distance along the coast. After going some way they saw, by the appearance of the sky, that a storm was threatening, but they hoped to reach their destination before it broke. It came on, however, more rapidly than they had expected.

As they doubled a headland they caught sight of a ship close in with the land, in nearly the same dangerous position that the Swordfish had been. Tom stopped and looked at her.

“She appears to be a whaler, and pretty full,” observed Harry.

“A whaler she is; there is no doubt about that,” answered Tom. “Just do you scan her narrowly, and tell me if you have ever seen a ship like her.”

“What!” exclaimed Harry, shading his eyes, and gazing at her earnestly. “Do you really think she is the Steadfast? She is wonderfully like her, as far as I can judge at this distance.”

“I know every yard in her canvas, and the Steadfast she is, I am nearly as certain as that we three stand here!” said old Tom, his voice showing the unusual agitation he felt.

“If she is not, she is very like her,” observed Bass.

“Oh, she is—I am certain that she is the Steadfast!” cried Harry. “But I wish she were farther off the coast, or she may be driven on the rocks and lost after all.”

“There is a deep bay two miles on,” said Tom, “with a good entrance. It must be down on the chart, and it’s my belief the ship is standing for it. If the wind holds as it is now she will be safe.”

“I pray that the wind will hold, then!” cried Harry. “Oh, my dear father! I little thought to see him again, and Mr Champion, and the rest. I cannot believe that they will be lost, now that we are about to meet them.”

“God knows what is best—you must always remember that, Harry,” observed Tom. “It is our business, however, to pray for them. If He thinks fit He will grant our prayers; and even though He does not as we may wish, we must not doubt His justice and mercy.”

Right earnestly Tom and his young companions, as they knelt on the ground, offered up their prayers for the safety of the ship, and then hurried on towards the harbour of which Tom had spoken.

The wind continued increasing. They saw first one sail and then another furled till the ship stood on under close-reefed topsails. They hurried forward, every now and then getting a glimpse of her as they reached some elevation overlooking the sea.

They met several natives, who seemed to sympathise in their anxiety, and accompanied them towards the harbour.

The ship heeled over to the blast. Still her canvas stood. Every moment, however, they expected to see it blown from the bolt-ropes.

At last they were obliged to leave the coast to reach the shore of the harbour, and now came the most anxious time of all, when they could not watch the progress of the ship. Hurrying on, they arrived at length at a point of land which projected out into the harbour, and made their way over the rough rocks towards the end.

“There she is! there she is!” shouted Harry, as at that moment he caught sight of the ship, with her yards squared away, running into the harbour.

The natives, who had accompanied them, got a canoe ready, and Tom and the boys jumping into her, their friends paddled away to show the stranger the best spot for anchoring. Their signals were understood by those on board, and the sails being quickly furled and the anchor let go, she rode in safety.

“Harry,” exclaimed old Tom, “there is no doubt about her being the Steadfast. I caught sight of Mr Champion on the forecastle, with many another well-known face, though I don’t think any one recognised us. Let me go up the side first, and learn if it is all well with your father, and if so tell him that you are safe. You know we must always be ready to say ‘God’s will be done,’ and you must be prepared for whatever He has ordered.”

“Do as you think best, Tom,” answered Harry. “I am sure that is right.”

Tom climbed up the side. Directly after reaching the deck he stepped back and beckoned to the boys. They quickly climbed up after him. Harry caught sight of his father talking to Tom. In another instant he was in Captain Graybrook’s arms. Bass, also, was warmly welcomed. Mr Champion shortly afterwards came aft, and the three castaways were soon surrounded by the remainder of the officers and crew.

They had much to recount to each other. Harry, as clearly as he could, told his father all that had happened to them.

“We have indeed mourned for you and your companions, Harry, as lost,” said Captain Graybrook. “The ship was almost knocked to pieces, and after striking on a reef and having our sails blown to ribbons, we drove, with a fearful leak, hardly able to keep the ship afloat, many hundred leagues to the southward. At last, mercifully preserved, we were able to get safely into a harbour in one of the Samoan islands. As soon as the ship was repaired we made sail to the northward to look for you. On reaching the island off which your boat had last been seen, we searched every part of the coast, and went up the only harbour in it, where we hoped that you might have taken shelter, but finding no traces of you, we at length gave you up for lost.

“I believe I should have died of grief, but my friend Champion afforded me comfort from a source of which, till then, I was ignorant. He told me of the love of Jesus, and that he felt sure that you had accepted the offers of salvation, and if it had been God’s will to take you to Himself, that you were safe with Him in heaven, where you were free from all the troubles and trials of life, and that I might look forward to the certainty of meeting you there, with your dear mother and sister, if I, too, would yield my stubborn heart to Him. My friend spoke faithfully and firmly, and at length, by grace, through faith in the blood of Jesus Christ, I became reconciled to that loving God, and assured that He orders all things for the best.

“We have lately been very successful in fishing, and, having got a full ship, were about to return home, but, requiring fresh provisions, I determined to touch at the Sandwich Islands for the sake of obtaining them, little dreaming of the surprise in store for me.

“When writing to your poor mother I had not the heart to tell her that I had given up all hope of finding you, though it was necessary to prepare her for the worst, and I have told her of your boat being driven away from the ship. I have dreaded the time when I must tell her the sad news that you were, as I supposed, lost to us. What joy it will be to take you back with me, and to set the minds of your dear mother and sister at rest about your safety!”

What Harry said in return need not be repeated. He told his father, however, that he was anxious, before returning home, to let Mr and Mrs Hart know of his and Tom’s and Bass’s safety, and to thank Kapoiolani and her husband for their kindness.

As the gale threatened to keep the ship in harbour for some days, Tom offered to go back with a message to their native friends, and set off immediately.

As a sufficient supply of provisions, and especially certain stores, could best be obtained at Honolulu, Captain Graybrook, greatly to Harry’s satisfaction, had determined to touch there before commencing the homeward voyage.

Two days afterwards several canoes were seen coming off to the ship. In one of them were Kapoiolani and Naihi.

They came, they said, to beg that the captain would bear a message to the missionary, Mr Hart, and his wife, requesting that they would come and reside with them, that they might instruct their people in the gospel. A house should be built for them, and a church and schools, and they should be amply provided with food and all things they might require.

“We have wealth in abundance,” observed Kapoiolani, “and we cannot employ that wealth so well as in supporting those who are working to make known the truth to our perishing fellow-countrymen.”

Captain Graybrook gladly undertook to carry the message, promising, if possible, to bring Mr and Mrs Hart to the island.

On reaching Honolulu, which the Steadfast did in a few days afterwards, Harry was delighted to find that his friends were willing to accept the invitation; and the stores and provisions being soon obtained, the ship returned with them on board to Hawaii.

On landing at Kapoiolani’s village, Mr and Mrs Hart found that a house was already prepared for their reception, and that a church was commenced.

Old Tom said that he felt very much inclined to remain with them; but the ship was short-handed.

“It’s my duty to stay on board; there is no doubt about that,” he observed; “and I am sure that a man does no good when he deserts his first duty for the sake of doing anything else, however right that may be.”

Although several natives had been engaged, the addition of the two lads and Tom to the strength of the crew was very welcome.

Harry and his companion, having bidden farewell to the Christian chief and his wife, and their many other friends, prepared to embark. Mr Hart accompanied them to the beach.

“My dear Harry,” he said, “I trust that, when far away from this place, you will not forget the long-benighted savages inhabiting the numberless islands of the vast Pacific. You will have many opportunities of telling people at home of their condition, and perhaps may be the means of inducing some fitted for the task to come out and labour in the glorious work of making known the gospel.”

“Indeed I will, Mr Hart,” answered Harry; “and, if my father will permit me, I will return here as soon as possible myself. I love a sea life, but would thankfully employ myself, when I possess more knowledge, in spreading the gospel among the islanders.”

“You may possibly combine both objects,” answered Mr Hart. “Missionary ships to convey missionaries from place to place, and to visit them as often as practicable, are much required, and it is most important that they should be officered by Christian men; and you may be doing good service if you obtain a berth on board one, and ultimately be able to take the command.”

“That is exactly what I feel I ought to do,” said Harry, as he pressed his friend’s hand; “I will pray that I may be directed aright in the matter.”

Away the Steadfast sailed on her homeward voyage. Harry, to his great satisfaction, soon found that Mr Champion had resolved to try to induce his friends at home, or one of the missionary societies, to send out a mission ship, of which he purposed offering to take the command.

“And I will go with you as mate,” exclaimed Harry. “That will indeed be delightful, and I am sure my father will agree to it; and, from what he has said to me lately, I do not think he intends to come to sea again.”

On speaking to his father, Harry found that he was right in his conjecture.

“I had, however, intended giving the command of the Steadfast to Champion, as I have long known he wishes to make your sister Hannah his wife; and allowing her to accompany him, with you as his second mate, as I feel sure she and the ship will be well taken care of. However, though there is no doubt that Champion would make a much better income in command of the Steadfast than as captain of a mission ship, yet I will not thwart his views, if he resolves to do as you tell me he wishes.”

Frequently during the voyage the subject was discussed; and though formerly Captain Graybrook would have thought his young mate mad to entertain such a notion, he now cordially entered into his views, and it was settled that Hannah should decide what was to be done.

At length the Steadfast, freighted with the richest cargo Captain Graybrook had ever brought into port, was safely at anchor. As soon as he could leave the ship, accompanied by Harry, he hastened home.

The deep anxiety Mrs Graybrook and Hannah long had felt was set at rest.

Mr Champion, directly his duties allowed him, joined them. Hannah discovered the all-important change which had taken place in his mind. She no longer hesitated to promise him her hand.

He told her of the heathen state of the people inhabiting the countless isles of the Pacific, of the earnest wish he entertained of being instrumental in carrying the gospel among them, of the offer her father had made to him of the command of the Steadfast, and of his own wish to command a missionary ship, or to engage still more directly in the glorious work by going out as a minister of the gospel.

“I believe that you may be as usefully employed in following your profession as in the latter work, but on whichever you decide I am ready to accompany you,” was Hannah’s answer.

As no missionary vessel was ready, Leonard Champion, soon after his marriage, took command of the Steadfast, and, accompanied by his wife, with Harry and Dickey Bass as his mates, and Tom Hayes as boatswain, made two voyages to the Pacific; and while acting as the father of his crew, and bringing many to a knowledge of the truth, he was the means, by touching whenever he could at missionary stations, of rendering much assistance to those engaged in the most glorious of enterprises; while, by the example he and his crew set, and by the efforts he made at every heathen place at which he touched, he gained the goodwill of the inhabitants, and disposed them to think favourably of Christianity.

At length, having given up the Steadfast, he obtained the command of a mission ship, though he had in the meantime succeeded to a good property; and conveyed many missionaries to the stations to which they were appointed.

On the death of Captain and Mrs Graybrook, he and his wife settled in one of the larger islands of the Pacific, where, with Harry and Bass, who shortly afterwards joined them, they have laboured faithfully on till they have seen most of the inhabitants converted to the truth.

Old Tom resided with them, labouring devotedly to the last, till he was called away to hear the words, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

W.H.G. Kingston

"A Voyage round the World"

Chapter One.

My home, and how I left it.

The day arrived. A post-chaise stood in front of the old grey manor-house. I have it all before me. The pointed gables—the high-pitched, dark weather; stained roof—the numberless latticed windows—the moat, now dry, which had once served to keep out a body of Cromwell’s horse—the tall elms, which had nestled many a generation of rooks—the clump of beech trees, and the venerable wide-spreading oak—the broad gravelled court on one side, and the velvety lawn on the other, sloping away down to the fine, large, deep fish-pond, whose waters, on which I had obtained my first nautical experiences, as seen through the green foliage, were sparkling brighter than ever under the deep blue of the summer sky.

At the hall door were assembled all those I loved on earth—and dearly, too, I loved them. My mother, as good and kind a mother as ever nursed a somewhat numerous and noisy progeny; my sisters, dear, sweet, good girls; and half-a-dozen brothers, honest, generous, capital fellows; our father, too—such a father!—we always agreed that no one could come up to him. Other fellows might have very good fathers, but they were not equal to him! He could be just like one of us at cricket, or out fishing, or shooting, and yet he was always right, and there was not a finer-looking gentleman in the county, and that every one said. We were all at home for the Midsummer holidays—that is to say, we boys; our mother was not a person to let her girls go to school. Who could say that we were not met for the last time in our lives?

I was the third of the boys. Two of our sisters were older than any of us. I loved them, and they all loved me. Not that we ever talked about that; I knew it and felt it, and yet I was going to leave them by my own express wish.

I was not what is called a studious boy. I was fond of reading, and I read all the books of voyages and travels I could lay hands on, and before long began to wish to go and see with my own eyes what I had read about. My brothers were fond of shooting and fishing and rowing, and so was I; but I thought shooting tigers and lions and elephants, and fishing for whales, and sailing over the salt ocean, would be much grander work than killing partridges, catching perch, or rowing about our pond in a punt. I do not know that my imaginings and wishes, ardent as they grew, would ever have produced any definite form of action, had not an old schoolfellow of our father’s, called Captain Frankland, about a year before the day I speak of, come to our house. As soon as I knew he was coming I was very eager to see him, for I heard our father tell our mother that there was scarcely a part of the world he had not visited, and that he was looked upon as a first-rate navigator, and a most scientific seaman. He had been in the navy during the war-time, but peace came before he was made a lieutenant; and believing that he should not there find sufficient employment for his energies, he had quitted it and entered the merchant-service. While in command of a whaler, he had been far towards the north pole. He had traversed the Antarctic seas, and had often visited India and China, and the islands of the Pacific. Still, as money-making or idleness had never been his aim, and his strength was unabated, he kept at sea when many men would have sought for rest on shore. Such was the account my father gave of him.

How eagerly I waited for his coming! He had chosen the holidays on purpose that he might see our father’s young tribe, he wrote him word. He was the very sort of person I longed to talk to; still it was with no little awe that I thought of actually breakfasting, and dining, and speaking day after day with one who had seen so much of the world, and met with so many adventures. At last he arrived. I was not disappointed in his appearance. He was a tall, thin, spare man, all bone and muscle. His hair was almost white, and his features, which were not a little weather-beaten, had, I thought, a most pleasant expression. While, however, my brothers ran eagerly forward to meet him, I hung back, watching him at a distance, like a bashful child. Had he been one of England’s greatest heroes, I could not have looked at him with greater respect. “And that is the man,” I thought, “who has sailed over thousands and thousands of miles of water, and has seen Indians dressed in feathers and shells, and negroes running wild in their native woods, and Hottentots, and Esquimaux, and Chinese, and I do not know what other strange people!” I saw my father look round for me, so at last I went forward in time to be presented in my turn with the rest of my brothers. Very soon the feeling of awe wore off, and I became the most constant of his attendants wherever he wished to go. With the greatest eagerness I used to listen to the accounts he gave our father of his various adventures in the distant countries he had visited. My brothers listened also; but while they would at length betake themselves to other occupations, I remained his ever-attentive auditor. The interest I exhibited in what he was saying attracted his attention, and much pleased him, so that when I ventured to ask him questions, he both answered them willingly and encouraged me to ask more. Thus we before long became very great friends.

“Should you like to go to sea, Harry?” said he to me one day, when he had begun to talk of taking his departure.

“With you, sir, indeed I should; there’s nothing in the world I should like so much,” I answered. The tone of my voice and the expression of my countenance showed him how much I was in earnest.

“Very well, my boy. You are rather young just yet to rough it at sea, and you will be the better for another year’s schooling; but when I come back from my next voyage, if you are in the same mind, and your father is willing to let you go, I will take you to sea with me. I’ll talk to him about it if I have an opportunity.”

“Thank you, sir—thank you!” I exclaimed, almost choking with the vehemence of my feelings; “it is what I have been longing for above all things. Do, pray, tell my father, or he may suppose it is only a passing fancy of mine, and may wish me to go into some other profession. Still, he’ll let me go with you—I know he will.”

Captain Frankland smiled at my eagerness, but he said not a word to dissuade me from my wish. Perhaps he remembered his own feelings at my age. Grown-up people are apt to forget how they thought and felt when they were boys, which is the reason so few men win the confidence of the young and manage them properly. The captain, on the contrary, seemed to understand me thoroughly, and thus gained a complete influence over me.

“I’ll be ready to go when you come back,” I added.

“Don’t be too sure of yourself, Harry,” he answered. “I’ve seen many people completely change their opinions in a year’s time, and I shall not be absent less than that. If you remain constant to your wish, remember my promise; but if your fancy changes, you are free to follow it as far as I am concerned.”

I thanked Captain Frankland over and over again for his kindness, and certainly did not think that there was a possibility of my changing my inclinations. So he went away, much to my regret, and I fancied that he had not mentioned our conversation to my father. We all returned to school, except our eldest brother, who went to college. I no longer enjoyed school as I once did—I was looked upon as having become very idle. My mind, however, was not idle, I know, for I was continually thinking over the idea which had got possession of it. By allowing my thoughts to rest on that idea, and that alone, the desire increased till I persuaded myself that the only life I could possibly lead with satisfaction was that of a life at sea. All this time the curious thing was, that of the sea itself I practically knew nothing. Born and bred in an inland county, my eyes had actually never rested on the wide ocean. Still, I had formed a notion of what it was like; and I fancied that a sailor was always wandering about from one wild country to another, and going through a rapid succession of wonderful adventures. I forgot all about those long voyages when ships are weeks and weeks together out of sight of land, and the many weary and often anxious hours which a seaman has to pass away; nor did I consider that he has frequently the same voyage to make over and over again, the same lands to visit, and the same people to see. However, though I looked with no little pleasure on the idea of becoming a sailor, I had still greater satisfaction in the anticipation of visiting strange and far-distant lands, in meeting with adventures, and in becoming acquainted with the various tribes of the human race.

With the absorbing passion which now possessed me ruling every thought, I could no longer properly fix my attention on my Latin and Greek books and usual school-lessons; and as for nonsense, and even sense verses, I abandoned all attempts at making them. I am ashamed to say that I allowed others to do the work which passed as mine; and even though I managed to present the required written exercises, I was constantly in richly-deserved disgrace for the neglect of those tasks which no one else could perform for me. I was decidedly wrong; I ought to have had the right feeling and manliness to perform to the best of my power those lessons which it was the master’s duty to set me, and then I might with a clear conscience have indulged freely in my own peculiar tastes. As it was, when the Christmas holidays arrived, I was sent home with a letter from the master containing severe complaints of my inattention and negligence of my duties, while my brothers were complimented on the progress they had made in their studies. The master told me he should write, but our father received us all in the same affectionate way; and as he said nothing on the matter, I hoped that he was not going to take notice of it.

The first joyous days of getting home had passed over, and New-Year’s Day come and gone, before he broached the subject. From his love and kind heart, he would not before mar my boyish happiness. He then, summoning me into his study, spoke seriously to me about my past conduct. I frankly owned my fault, and confessed to him the true cause of my idleness. From his answer I found, to my very great satisfaction, that Captain Frankland had already talked to him about my wish to go to sea, and had expressed his readiness to take me.

“I cannot, however, allow you, my dear Harry, to leave school under the present circumstances,” said my father. “You must learn to obey your superiors, and to command yourself, before you will be fit to go into the world. Whatever course of life you pursue, you will have many things to do which you will dislike, or in which you may from inclination take no interest; but this will afford you but a poor excuse for not doing your duty. What do you think the captain of a ship would say to an officer who had not obeyed his orders, should the latter remark to him, ‘Really, sir, I felt so little interest in the matter, or I disliked it so very much, that I could not bring myself to perform the work?’ Yet this is what you have been doing, my boy. I will say no more on the subject. You will go back to school at the end of the holidays; and if I find that, from a sense of duty, you are attending, to the best of your power, to the studies your master may select for you, I will take your wishes into my very earnest consideration, and see how I can best carry them out for your advantage.”

I felt how just, and kind, and considerate my father was, and I resolved to the utmost to follow his advice. I shall never forget those Christmas holidays. They were very, very happy ones. Our eldest brother Jack, who was at college, was a very clever fellow, and put us up to all sorts of fun. In doors and out of doors there was nothing he did not think of. He never bullied, and wasn’t a bit spoiled. He was going to study at the bar, that he might better look after the family property. James, the next, was the quiet one; he was preparing for the Church. Then came our third sister, Mary. Julia and Isabella were older than any of us. Mary was my favourite. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for me—or, for that matter, for any of us. She did not like baiting our hooks when we were fishing, but still she did it when we asked her; and I do really believe that the worms didn’t feel half the pain they otherwise would when handled by her fingers. She’d go out with us rat-catching and badger-hunting, and yet, to see her in the drawing-room, there wasn’t a sweeter, softer, more feminine girl in the county. When we were at school, she wrote us twice as many letters as anybody else, and told us how the pony and the dogs were getting on; and how old Martin had found a wasp’s nest, which he was keeping for us to blow up—and all that sort of thing. Willie and Georgie were at school with me, and Herbert was going the next half, and after him were two more girls, so that Mary had no companions of her own age, and that made her, I suppose, stick so much more to us than the older ones did, who were now young ladies—old enough to go to balls, and to talk when any gentlemen called.

I cannot stop to describe our amusements. I went to school with a more hopeful, manly spirit than I ever did before, and to the astonishment of Dr Summers, set to with a will at everything he gave me to do, and before long was nearly up at the head of my class. I wished to please my father, and to follow his advice, that I am sure of; but I confess that I was powerfully influenced by another motive. From what he had said, I saw that this was the surest way of obtaining the accomplishment of my wishes.

Hoops and driving had gone out, and cricket and marbles were in, and the days were getting long and warm, when I received a letter from Mary, saying that Captain Frankland had come home, and had written to our father, but she did not know what had passed between them. I always told Mary all I thought and wished; and though she cried very much at the thoughts of my going away, yet she promised to help me as best she could. How she was to help, I did not exactly know. I tried to console her by promising to bring her back parrots without end from Africa, and shawls from India, and fans and carved ivory bones from China, and poisoned arrows, and darts, and tomahawks, and all sorts of dreadful weapons, from America and the islands of the Pacific. Indeed, had I fulfilled my promises to the letter, I could pretty well have loaded a ship with my intended gifts. My father said nothing, and we all went home together at the usual time. At the end of this half, a very complimentary letter had preceded me.

“I am glad to hear that Dr Summers is pleased with you, my dear boy,” said my father, and I thought his countenance wore a graver expression than usual. “Tell me, are your wishes the same as when you last left home?”

I replied that I was as anxious as ever to go to sea.

“I will not, then, thwart your inclination, Harry,” he answered. “Your mother and I would rather you had selected a profession which would have kept you nearer to us. But you have chosen a fine line of life, and may Heaven protect you in your career! I should have been glad, for some reasons, to have had the power of sending you into the Royal Navy; but I have no interest to get you in, and still less any to advance you in it. The merchant-service should not be looked on as less noble and less creditable a profession. It is one of the chief means by which England’s greatness and prosperity is maintained. In it your progress and success will depend almost entirely on your own exertions. You must also so conduct yourself that you may sustain to the utmost the credit of the service, and, I doubt not, you will have no cause to regret entering it. I might have wished to keep you longer at home, but I am unwilling to miss the opportunity of sending you to sea under charge of a commander of the high character and attainments possessed by Captain Frankland. He, in the kindest way, tells me that he is ready to take you; and he also informs me that a relative of mine is one of the officers appointed to his ship, Silas Brand by name. You have heard as speak of my good Cousin Martha, Mrs Brand; Silas is her only son. He was a steady, good lad when I last heard of him before he went to sea, and I daresay that you will find him a firm friend. At all events, I am sure, from Captain Frankland’s remarks, that he will prove a profitable one. He tells me also that his proposed voyage will be one of very great interest; that the owners of the ship have a variety of objects in view; so that he expects to visit a number of interesting places during the voyage, which is, in fact, to be completely round the world.”

“Round the World!” I exclaimed. “How delightful! And am I actually going to sail all round the world in my first voyage? Well, I did not expect anything so good as that. Isn’t it a first-rate chance, papa?”

“It may be very long before you return, my boy,” replied my father. “I trust, however, that you will proportionately profit by the voyage. Captain Frankland says, that he hopes to make you something of a seaman before you return. You will, I trust, make the best use of his instructions.”

I promised that I would, and sincerely intended to keep my promise. So it was finally settled that I was to go to sea, and few lads were ever sent afloat under better auspices than I enjoyed. I cannot fully describe the agitating sensations which passed through my bosom when I began to reflect on the approaching consummation of my wishes. While my heart beat with anticipated pleasure at the strange sights I was to behold, I could not but contemplate with sorrow the thoughts of leaving so many dear ones behind. Not that I for a moment hesitated what I would do, but the sharp edge of the enjoyment I might have felt was entirely blunted. Still, I went about talking with a keen relish of all I was to see, and what I was to do, while the preparations for my outfit were in progress; and I not a little excited the envy of my younger brothers, and of some of the boys near us, when they heard that I was starting on a voyage round the world.

At last the chest was packed, and lashed on behind the post-chaise. A few minutes more, and the old home which knew me would know me no more for many a long day. Can I describe that parting? Still, all bore up heroically. I did my best not to give way, but there was a hot, choking sensation in my throat, as if a Thug from India had got his fatal noose tight round my jugular vein; and a pulling away at the heart, as if the fangs of a stout double tooth were firmly clenched in it, and a strong-fisted dentist was hauling it out. My father and Jack were going with me to see me on board. I believe Jack envied me, and wished that he was going too, instead of having to pore over dusty parchments. My mother folded me in her arms, and kept me there. That was the worst. Still, I could not bear to break away.

“Come, Harry,” said my father, “we shall miss the train.” He took me gently by the shoulder, and guided me into the carriage. I took a last kiss from Mary’s dear lips as I passed her. “I shall be back to-morrow evening, I hope,” said he, following me.

“I say, Harry, don’t forget the bows and arrows you are to bring me from the Tonga Islands!” sung out Willie.

“Or the hunting-panther from South America!” cried Georgie.

“Or the parrots from Africa!” exclaimed Mary through her tears.

“Or the love-birds from India!” said Julia.

“Or my ivory fan from China, young sailor boy!” said Isabella.

“Don’t forget the journal you are to keep, or the subjects I asked you to note for me!” exclaimed the studious James.

Thus, amid various shouts and exclamations of a similar character, the moment Jack mounted on the box we drove off towards the nearest station on the railway which was to convey us to Liverpool. My father said nothing for some time, and I felt that I could not utter a word without allowing my feelings to get the better of me. However, by the time we reached the station, I had much recovered my spirits; and when once we were in the railway, Jack had so much to talk about, and cut so many jokes, that I became very happy, as he did not leave me a moment to think about the dear home I had left. I have often since thought, when I have seen people grumbling at home, or finding fault or quarrelling with their brothers and sisters or parents, let them go away and get knocked and kicked about the world, and they will have good reason to value their own quiet home as they ought.

I thought Liverpool a very fine city, with its large public buildings, and its broad streets, and its churches, and its Sailors’ Home, which I visited, where sailors have a large smoking-hall, and dining-rooms, and a lecture-room, and a chapel, and where some hundreds may each have a little separate cabin to himself. I wish every port in the world, much frequented by shipping, had a place of a similar character. Most of all, I was struck with the docks, crowded with ships of great size, and, indeed, craft of every description and nation; as also with its wide quays and wharfs, and floating landing-stages, and steamers dashing in and out, and running up and down the river in such a hurry, that they looked as if they were conscious that they had to struggle for their existence among the struggling human multitude of the place. We inquired for the Triton.

“There she is, with the blue Peter flying at the fore! She sails to-night, don’t she, Tom?” said a waterman whom we addressed. “Do you want a boat, gintlemen?”

My father said, “Yes;” and agreed with the man as to his fare.

We stepped into his boat, and away we pulled towards my future home—the good ship Triton. I had never seen a ship before, it must be remembered. I had looked at pictures of them, so I was acquainted with their shape; but I had formed no adequate idea of the size of a large ship; and as the boat lay alongside of the Triton, and I looked up and saw one of the officers standing at the gangway to receive us, it appeared something like scaling the walls of a castle to climb up to the deck. What should I have thought had the Triton been a hundred and twenty gun-ship, instead of a merchantman of 500 tons, for such was her size! However, I then thought her a magnificent ship; she was indeed a very fine one for her size. Side ropes being rigged, we soon gained her deck. The captain was still on shore, but my father at once made out Silas Brand. He was a shortish, rather thick-set, fair man, with a roundish face and a somewhat florid complexion. He had light hair, with largish whiskers, and he shaved his chin in harbour. I had to look at him frequently, and to talk to him more than once, before I discovered that his countenance showed much firmness and decision, and that his smile betokened more than a good-natured, easy disposition. My father had a good deal of talk with him, while Jack and I went round to see the ship. In the course of our peregrinations, we entered what I found was the captain’s cabin. A lad of about my own age was sitting at a table, with a book and slate before him. He turned round when the door opened, and eyed me narrowly before he got up from his chair. Then, apparently recollecting himself, he advanced towards us.

“Are you the new youngster who is to sail with us?” said he, putting out his hand. “My name is Gerard Frankland, though it is seldom people take the trouble of calling me more than Jerry. My father told me to expect you. I’m to look after you, and see you don’t get into mischief, I suppose. I’ll be very strict with you, mind that!”

Amused with his free and easy way, I told him that he was not mistaken as to my identity.

“That’s all right then,” he answered. “This gentleman is your brother. Take a seat, sir, and make yourself at home. You’ll have something? When my father is on shore, I reign here supreme, though on deck, to be sure, I can’t boast much of my authority. Steward, bring glasses, and biscuits, and anything else! You’re not going with us, sir? I wish you were. We’ll have rare fun before we come back, I’ll warrant.”

“No,” answered Jack, laughing, and highly diverted with Master Jerry’s volubility and perfect self-possession. “I should much like to take the trip though. However, my brother Harry will, I hope, on your return, give us a full account of all you see and do.”

“He’ll have plenty to tell then of what we do, and not a little of what we see,” answered Jerry, with a sort of a half wink at me, which was as much as to say, “We’ll be up to all sorts of things.” He added aloud, “My father is not the man to let the grass grow under the ship’s bottom; but here come the glasses! What will you have—hot or cold?”

“Thank you,” said Jack; “our father is here, and we must not stop. We came to see Harry on board, and have soon to return on shore.” While he was speaking, our father appeared at the door, accompanied by Silas Brand.

Gerard’s whole manner changed the moment he saw them. He got up to receive my father with perfect politeness; and, instead of exhibiting the forward, flippant manner with which he had treated us, he turned at once into a steady-looking, somewhat demure boy. My father, after addressing a few kind words to him, and telling him that he was his father’s oldest friend, signed to me that he wished to speak to me alone. He took me into Silas Brand’s cabin, and kneeling down, offered up a few prayers, full of deep, deep love, for my preservation from all earthly dangers, and for my acceptance as a forgiven sinner at the day of judgment.

“Look straight on beyond this transient world in all you think, or try, or do. Remember, delightful as this existence may appear, and undoubtedly is to those who know how to employ it properly, it is but a passage which leads to eternity. May Heaven guide you, my boy!” He took me in his arms, and then I knew how his fond, tender heart felt the parting. He burst into tears: he was not long in recovering himself.

Captain Frankland came on board. Last farewells were said. My dear father and Jack went down the ship’s side. The pilot remarked that the tide would suit. The anchor was hove up. A steamer took us in tow; then, after pulling ahead of us for a couple of hours or more, she cast off. All sail was set, and free of the Mersey’s mouth, away we glided on our voyage Round the World.

Chapter Two.

The voyage commenced.

The Triton was a well-found, well-officered, and well-manned ship. Still, on first getting to sea, there appeared to be a considerable amount of disorder, and the crew were incessantly employed in stowing away the last stores which had come on board, and in getting everything into its right place. This gave me a feeling that I was not in my right place, for no one had a moment to attend to me, and to tell me what to do; and had it not been for Gerard, I should have felt not a little miserable. He was as active as any one, and seemed to be thoroughly up to his duty. He did, however, find time to speak to me.

“I’ll tell you what to do, Harry,” said he; “just keep out of the way, and look on. You’ll learn more in that manner just now than in any other. You’ll have plenty of time to get up your seamanship by-and-by.”

I followed his advice to great advantage. The first manoeuvre I saw performed on board was when, having got clear of all the shoals and dangers at the mouth of the Mersey, we shortened sail to allow the pilot to enter his boat, and the last person we were to see for many a day connected with home took his departure. He shook hands with the captain and mates, and wished us a good voyage and speedy return. I watched the boat as it proceeded towards the pilot-cutter with a curious feeling of interest. I was aroused by Gerard, who asked me why I was so sentimental. He saw nothing in a pilot-boat leaving the ship. The last I saw of our native land were the lofty cliffs of Wales. I came on deck early in the morning; and, as I looked out aft, they appeared receding fast on the larboard-quarter, across the bright blue sea. Turning round, my somewhat bewildered glance next wandered upwards, and there I beheld, with unrestrained admiration, the wide spread of white canvas which hung extended on the yards, high, high up in the blue sky, like a vast mass of snowy cloud. It looked to me as if there was enough sail to fly away with the whole ship and her cargo; for, the breeze being light and fair, we had all our courses, and topsails, and topgallant-sails, and royals set with studding-sails also on either side, almost sweeping the sparkling waters which danced off from the Triton’s sharp bows as she clove her stately yet rapid way through the ocean. Captain Frankland was anxious to take every advantage of the favourable wind, that we might get a good distance from the land, and thus not run the chance of being driven back again, and be compelled, as is often the case with outward-bound ships, to take shelter in that magnificent harbour—Milford Haven, or in the still more lovely one of Queenstown, on the Irish coast. Away we flew, every day going faster and faster as the breeze freshened.

“Not a brace, nor a tack, nor a sheet did we slack” on board of the gallant Triton for a whole week; and then it fell calm, and we lay washing our sides up to the scuppers in the pure waters of the Atlantic. During this time everything was got to rights, and I began to find my way about every part of the ship, and to learn the names of the spars, and ropes, and sails. Gerard very soon dared me to go aloft; of course I was nothing loath.

“Follow me, then, youngster!” said he; and with a wicked look, up he went the main rigging. I ascended readily enough, intending to go through the lubbers’ hole, as the opening in the top is called through which the lower shrouds lead. This way is quite allowable for a landsman; but Jerry, having no fear of my breaking my neck before his eyes, led the way by the futtock-shroud; and, as he quickly stood up in the top, I saw his face grinning over me while I hung with my back over the ocean, very doubtful whether I could climb round so as to get hold of the topmast-shrouds.

“Don’t let your feet go till you have got a firm grip of this rope here,” said he, touching the shroud. I clutched hold of it: then up I slipped my other hand, and, drawing up my knees, soon had them on the combing of the top, and found myself standing alongside my companion. I should have liked to have stopped to take breath and look about me; but, before I could utter a word, he was off again, up the topmast-rigging, with the agility of a monkey, and laughingly sung out to me to join him on the cross-trees. I thought he would surely rest there, but away he was again, nor did he stop till he had got hold of the main-truck; and, as he clung on with his chin over it, he took off his cap and waved it round his head. My blood was warmed with the exercise and the excitement, and I was close after him. The moment he was down I took his place, and did the same thing; but I had to be quick in following him, not to miss the way he was leading. Down he slid by the main-topmast-stay, and in an instant more he was climbing the fore-topmast rigging. He waited for me, however, and waved me on. I did not remark that two seamen, the oldest hands on board, were at the same time deliberately mounting the fore-shrouds. Just as I reached the fore-topmast cross-trees, they were up to me.

“You han’t paid your footing up here, young master,” said one, old Ben Yool by name. He spoke in a gruff voice, as if he had not a soft particle in his whole composition.

“You know what that means, master?” added the other, Charlie Cockle, as he was called, imitating him.

“I don’t know what you want, but I know that you are two to one, which isn’t fair, at all events; and, do you see, I am not accustomed to give in to threats,” said I, and endeavoured to climb away from them, not knowing exactly where I was going.

The midge caught in a web might as well attempt to escape from a hungry spider. They caught me in a moment; and, without further ceremony, stretching out my arms and legs, lashed them to the topmast-rigging, making what is called a spread eagle of me. It was very humiliating, though my position was thus exalted, and very unromantic; and the rogue Jerry aggravated my feelings by pretending to pity me, though I guessed even then that he had arranged the plan beforehand with Yool and Cockle thus to entrap me. The seamen had descended towards the deck, leaving me bound in this ignominious manner. Jerry came and placed himself in the rigging opposite to me.

“It must be very unpleasant!” quoth he. “I wonder what they would say if I was to let you loose?”

“I wish you would,” I answered. “It’s a great shame, and I don’t like it.”

“But I dare not,” he replied, putting on a pretended serious face, though he could not hide the twinkle of his laughing eyes; “they are such precious fierce fellows. But don’t you think that you might buy yourself off? I’ll see if I can arrange the matter with them.”

I saw that there would be no use contending against my tormentor, and I was more hurt than I choose to acknowledge; so I wisely agreed to pay any moderate sum to be released. The arrangement was soon made; and Yool and Cockle, having unlashed my limbs, begged my pardon, and complimented me on the daring and agility I had displayed on this my first climb aloft.

This adventure, as I took the treatment I received good humouredly, made me capital friends with all the seamen, and I found that there were not kinder-hearted or better men on board than Yool and Cockle. I observed that Jerry took the opportunity when his father was below to play off the tricks imagined by his fertile brain, though he was sometimes discovered and reprimanded; but he put on so penitent an expression, and had such comical excuses to offer, that Captain Frankland saw that it would be worse than useless to punish him. Indeed, punishment would scarcely have corrected such faults as he had. Gerard, from being small, and having delicate features, though they were full of rich humour, looked younger than I did; but he was in reality older, and had much more experience of the world. His constitution was considered delicate, which was the reason his father took him to sea at first; but now he liked the life so much, he told me, that he had resolved to follow it as a profession. We both of us slept in a cabin which we had to ourselves, near the captain’s. Gerard was learning navigation; and Captain Frankland told me that I must study hard to catch him up, so that we might work together. He superintended our studies; but Silas Brand was our chief master, and somehow or other, in his quiet way, he managed to impart a considerable amount of information in a pleasant and rapid manner. It appeared to me that he always said the right thing at the right time, so as to impress it on the memory. Our first officer, John Renshaw, was a very worthy man, but totally unlike my Cousin Silas. He was tall and thin, and had a long weather-beaten, rather melancholy-looking face. Not that he was melancholy; the form of his features made him look so. It is better, however, to look melancholy than to have facetious features, which always appear to be on a broad grin. A strong contrast to both of them was found in our third officer, Samuel Melgrove. He was a man with strongly-marked, rather coarse features, with red hair and complexion. One might have expected to hear only the roughest tones come out of such a mouth as he possessed; but, instead, he spoke in a soft, somewhat mincing manner, and prided himself on his gentlemanly style and volubility. He could, however, speak loud and rough enough in case of necessity. If called on suddenly to shorten sail, no one could make himself better heard. The mates on board a merchantman have the same sort of duty as the lieutenants of a man-of-war, with the addition of having to attend to the stowing of the cargo and stores. We had also a surgeon, who was a good naturalist and a very scientific man—Mr David McRitchie. He evidently at first looked with very grave suspicion on Gerard and me, as if we were only waiting our opportunity to play him some trick; and when he left his cabin he always locked the door, lest we should get in and do some mischief; but such an idea was, I must say, very far from my thoughts, and even Gerard respected him too much to wish to annoy him. How to convince him of this seemed a difficulty. Gerard undertook to assure him.

“Mr McRitchie,” said he one day abruptly to him, “I daresay that you think me a young jackanapes, whose only thought is how he can do most harm in the world. Now, sir, you are mistaken; all I want is that you will impart some of your knowledge to Harry and me; but, understand, whether you do that or not, Harry and I will make it a point of honour not to do you any injury by word, look, or deed.”

“Oh, I never— Well, well, you are good boys, and I perfectly trust you,” stuttered out the doctor, completely taken by surprise. “I shall be glad, too, to give you all the information in my power; and I hope, in the course of the voyage, we may have many interesting subjects to see and talk about.” I was sure that Mr McRitchie would faithfully keep his word.

We had three other somewhat important personages on board who were characters in their way—Richard Fleming the boatswain, James Pincott the carpenter, and Thomas Veal the captain’s steward. They each had their peculiarities; but I will not stop now to describe them. We had twenty men forward, all picked hands; for, with the long voyage we contemplated, and the service we were on, it was necessary to be strongly manned. I must not omit a description of the Triton herself. She had a raised poop, beneath which were situated the chief cabins, and a forecastle, under which the crew lived in two compartments, one on either side of it. There was also a caboose, or galley, with a great cooking-range, and, indeed, every convenience the men could desire. We carried eight guns—9-pounders—for we were going into seas where it would be necessary to be well-armed, and constantly on our guard against treachery; and we were also amply supplied with boats, which, I may remark, were always kept in good order, and ready for instant use. I was surprised one day during a calm, before we had been long at sea, to hear the order given to lower boats when there was no ship in sight, and apparently no reason for it. So were those of the crew who had not before sailed with Captain Frankland. They, however, flew to obey the order, and, in a short time, three boats were manned and in the water. They were then hoisted in again, and stowed.

“Very well,” said the captain, holding his watch in his hand. “Smartly done, my lads; but another time, I think, we may do it still quicker.”

Some of the men, of course, grumbled, as I have found out that some people will grumble when any new system is introduced, the object of which they do not understand. The loudest grumbler at anything new introduced on board was old Fleming the boatswain. He called himself a Conservative, or, rather, a Tory, and strongly opposed all change.

“None of your newfangled notions for me,” he used to observe; “I like things as they were. Do you think our fathers would have all along been satisfied with them if they hadn’t been good? I look upon it as disrespectful to their memory to wish to have them changed, as if we thought ourselves so much wiser and better than they were.”

Gerard and I were fond of going forward to the forecastle, where, in fine weather, in an evening, he always took his seat with his pipe in his mouth.

“By the same rule it was wrong to introduce the compass or the steam-engine; former generations had done very well without them; yet how should we, on a dark night, have managed to steer across the ocean as we do, or how could people manage to get about the world as rapidly as they find necessary for their business or pleasure?”

Gerard thought that this remark would be a poser for the boatswain; but old Fleming was not so easily defeated.

“As to the matter of the compass, do you see, that’s what I call an exception to the general rule,” he answered, with a serious look. “But as for the railways and steam-engines, and all those sort of things afloat or ashore, to my mind the world would be altogether much better without them. It’s necessary for sailors to go about, that’s granted; but the rest of the world would be very much better staying at home and minding their own business. What I preach I practise; and when I leaves home I says to my missus, says I, ‘Now mind, Molly, don’t you be going gadding about till I comes back to look after you;’ and she’d no more think of going outside the street-door, except when she goes to church or a-marketing, than she’d try to fly, and that would be no easy matter for her, seeing that she weighs thirteen stone at least.”

Such is a specimen of old Fleming’s style of conversation. Gerard and I used to be much amused while listening to him, though we did not fail to make the most of his remarks while repeating them to the mates. James Pincott the carpenter, on the contrary, was a great reformer. No invention was too new to suit his taste. Whenever he heard of any discovery, he could not be contented till he saw it introduced. We often tried to get the two together, and very soon managed to throw an apple of discord between them. Pincott occupied much of his thoughts about a flying-machine, which no failure had taught him to believe could not be made to work.

“I’ll tell you what, mate, there’s just this difference between you and me in this matter,” I heard Fleming remark; “you says a flying-machine can be made; so do I. You may make fifty flying-machines, or a hundred, or five hundred for that matter, all different, and with all sorts of wheels, and cogs, and what not, which nobody can understand; but when they are made, what I have to ask you, mate, is, will they fly? It’s there you and I differ.”

Having thus delivered himself, Fleming drew himself up with a triumphant look at his adversary. Now, Pincott was a very quiet man with all his eccentricities, so he merely answered—

“It will be enough for me if one can be made to fly. That’s all I argue for.”

“It never has been done yet, and, to my mind, never will,” answered Fleming, sturdily; “though I have heard of a man who made his son put on a pair of wings which he had fabricated, and shoved him off the top of a high wall, and when the lad, as was to be expected, reached the ground, he broke his leg.”

This was a story told of Pincott, who, however, on all occasions stoutly denied that he was the culprit. Another story against Pincott was, that when first iron vessels were introduced, he declared that it was impossible they could swim. “No, no,” it was said he said, “birds can fly, so I don’t see why men shouldn’t; but iron always has sunk, and, to my mind, it always will sink.” Fleming, who told the story, used to wind up with the remark, “But then you see, mate, there’s no rule without an exception.” As these disputes never led to any disagreeable consequences, they served to beguile away many a weary hour at sea. But I have said enough to describe the character of our inferior officers. They were both thoroughly good seamen and steady men.

We had hitherto had little else than sunshine and light winds, so that my introduction to a sea life was most favourable. Gloriously rose the sun over the blue sparkling waters, when, on coming on deck, I found the ship steering south-west, and standing in for the Bay of Funchal in the lofty island of Madeira. On one side of us were the Desertas—rocks which Gerard told me gravely were so-called because they had once belonged to the mainland, and were now making the best of their way off to Africa; but the doctor differed with him, and observed that they obtained their name from being desert or barren rocks, especially compared with the fertile island near which they are placed. Lovely as is the interior of our dear old country, few parts of its shores are attractive; and as this was the first land we had made after leaving home, it seemed doubly beautiful. It appeared, as it rose before us, like one vast mountain extending from east to west, with a bay in the centre, and covered in the richest profusion with beautiful trees of many different sorts, among which, I afterwards found, are the cedar, chestnut, orange, lemon, fig, citron, the vine, the olive, the mulberry, banana, and pomegranate, while generous nature sprinkles with no lavish hand the myrtle, the geranium, the rose, and the violet in every open space. The geranium especially grows in vast quantities; its scent is most powerful, and the honey which we got in the island was strongly flavoured with it. But I forgot; we are not on shore yet. How bright, and beautiful, and rich, and fertile, and romantic everything looked! What charming white-washed cottages! What lovely villas, surrounded by gardens filled with flowers of every hue! What a pretty town stretching away round the shores of the bay! How clean, and neat, and comfortable all the dwellings! and how grand the churches and public buildings. Gerard and I agreed that we should like to come back there some day after we had done our wanderings, and take up our abode for the rest of our days.

“Stay till you have been on shore and seen the inside as well as the outside of things,” observed Cousin Silas, who had overheard us. We thought he was in what we used to call one of his grumpy humours, and did not heed him. We sailed on, and dropped our anchor opposite to the city of Funchal. A health-boat came off, but as no one was sick on board, the people in her did not trouble us much. When she went away, we were surrounded with other boats pulled by swarthy, muscular, little men with gay caps and sashes, and white shirt sleeves, who bawled, and hallooed, and jabbered, in the vain hope of making us comprehend what they said. We shouted and hallooed in return, as if each party were deaf; and it was not till after a considerable expenditure of breath, that we discovered that we did not understand a word of each other’s language; so at last we took to making signs, by which means we got on much better. There was no great difficulty in this, as they had an abundance of fruit to sell, which we were equally anxious to buy.

The captain had, I found, touched here chiefly to get a supply of fruit, vegetables, fresh meat, and water, as he knew that the health of a crew is maintained without difficulty when there is an abundance of these necessaries. He had also another reason for coming here. It was to obtain information, which the Portuguese authorities were able to supply, regarding certain places he proposed visiting. As, however, the whole plan of our proceedings was to be kept secret, I will not touch on that subject. Gerard and I were all anxiety to go on shore, so the captain gave us leave to accompany Mr Brand, with strict charges to him to keep us out of mischief. “Not an easy job!” muttered Silas, preparing to accompany us into a boat. For the first time in my life I stood on foreign soil, and very soon I was undeceived as to the cleanliness, and comfort, and beauty of the habitations; and many a house which looked so very picturesque at a distance was found, on a nearer inspection, to be a very dirty domicile. Still the views from them were beautiful. Nature has done everything; it is graceless man who is in fault that all is not in accordance with it. At the corner of one of the streets we saw a number of horses, and mules, and donkeys, standing together with their attendant drivers—arrieros.

“Wouldn’t you like a ride, Mr Brand?” exclaimed Gerard, looking towards them. He had not to look twice before the whole posse commitatus of men and boys rushed forward, and seizing us vi et armis, carried us off in triumph towards their sorry-looking beasts. Which party would have us seemed a question. Who ever heard of sailors who didn’t want to ride? Ride we must; but as there were thirty or more beasts, and only three of us, it was difficult to say which of them should have the honour of carrying us. The arrieros got one of Cousin Silas’s legs put on the back of a horse, and another on that of a mule, while a little wicked donkey began kicking and plunging directly under him. At last he sprang on to the back of the horse, and Gerard and I found ourselves somehow or other on the saddles of two mules, when their respective owners, catching hold of their long tails, and giving them a prong with their iron-pointed sticks, away we started from out of the crowd, who all hallooed and shouted after us, till we had shot some way up one of the steep rocky heights over which the bridle-paths of the island lead. “Arra burra—arra, arra, arra!” sung out the crowd. “Arra, arra, arra!” repeated our arrieros, goading the unfortunate animals with their sticks—“Arra, sish, sish!” It is hopeless to imitate the sounds emitted by our drivers. Up we shot like pellets from popguns, through the narrow rock-strewn gorges which are called roads. Up, up, up the animals scrambled. They seemed to enjoy the fun, or, perhaps, wiser than men, they felt a pleasure in performing their daily duty. We, too, enjoyed the magnificent views we got over vineyards, and fields, and orange-groves, and olive-plantations, with often deep precipices below us, and the blue sparkling sea in the distance. We passed several buildings, once convents and nunneries; but when the constitutional government was established in Portugal, the monks were turned out of their habitations to gain an honest livelihood as best they could, though the nuns were in some instances allowed to remain in their abodes, on condition of their admitting no fresh novices. Thus, by this time the greater number of professed nuns are old women. They employ themselves in fabricating artificial flowers of shells and feathers, baskets and ornaments of various sorts, as well as in making dried fruits and sweetmeats. As Cousin Silas observed, it might have appeared hard to turn the poor monks adrift in the world; but as ill weeds grow apace, it was necessary to eradicate them, lest a fresh crop should spring up where they had for so long taken root.

We dined with an English merchant, an old friend of Captain Frankland’s, who treated us most sumptuously. He told us of a curious disease which had lately attacked the vines, and which he feared would ultimately destroy them. The grapes growing on the diseased vines, instead of ripening, wither up and rot. He said that he had urged the inhabitants of the island not to depend solely on their vines, but to endeavour to produce other articles for which their soil and climate was especially suited. Among other things he introduced the mulberry-tree, by the cultivation of which large numbers of the silk-worm might be bred, and silk in great quantities exported. Under the present system, when the vines fail, as the people do not grow sufficient corn in the island for their support, they are at once reduced to a state of famine. But I must not prolong my description of Madeira. It is a very lovely island, and has a very delicious climate, and produces all sorts of nice fruits; and though the inhabitants have rather a fancy for being dirty, the English residents set them a better example, and have introduced comforts and conveniences which make the country a very pleasant abode. The island is about thirty-seven miles in length by eleven in breadth, and contains perhaps 60,000 inhabitants.

Again sail was made on the ship, and away we glided over the smooth ocean with a north-easterly breeze, passing within two miles of the island of Palma, one of the Canaries, or Fortunate Islands, which belong to Spain. The appearance, as we eyed it from the ship, was most attractive; but Silas, who had been on shore there, told us that through the misgovernment of the upper classes, and the slothfulness of the lower, the land does not produce nearly what it might be made to do, while the people remain in a poor and backward condition. Before sunset the same day we saw the island of Ferro, the most western of the group. Before the discovery of America, this was looked on as the extreme western limits of the habitable world, and till very lately some navigators calculated their first meridian from thence. There are thirteen islands in the group, which produce corn, silk, tobacco, sugar, and the wine which was so long known under their name. We caught about here the regular north-east trade-wind; away we went before it as steadily and majestically as a swan glides over his native lake. I hope every reader of my adventures will look at the map, and see whereabouts the places I mention are situated, or they will find some difficulty in clearly comprehending my descriptions.

We had, I thought, been a long time at sea without meeting with anything very amusing.

“I say, Jerry, when are we to fall in with all the wonderful adventures you told me of?” I asked one day, as we were walking the deck together.

“You would meet with plenty of wonders if you would but keep your eyes open to see them,” observed Cousin Silas, who overheard my observation. The reply, however, did not quite satisfy me; nothing like a gale or bad weather had occurred, and I began to suspect that we had already had a sample of the sort of life we were always to undergo at sea.

“Hillo!” exclaimed Jerry soon after this, “what has come over the air, I wonder? Why, we have got into a regular red fog. What has caused it, Mr Brand; can you tell me?”

“No, indeed, I cannot,” answered Silas. “I’ve met with it more than once. It is a very curious phenomenon.”

“They do say it comes off from the coast of Africa,” remarked Ben Yool, who was at the wheel, and from his age privileged to speak on such a matter. “It’s full of red sand, and I’ve seen it covering the decks in some parts as if a man had been scraping a red holystone over them.”

We were still discussing the subject, when Captain Frankland came on deck. He listened for some time to what we were saying.

“I am glad to hear you discuss the subject, my lads,” he remarked in a kind voice. “Though you are wrong in your conjectures, if you will attend, I will try and explain what I know about the matter. It is a very important one, for by means of this dust—for dust it is—which fills the air, philosophers have been able to determine in part the difficult problem of the track of the winds in their circuits. How is this? you will say. Dust coming from one place surely cannot be distinguishable from dust coming from another. To the ignorant man it is not, but to the man of science it is. There are certain minute animal productions called infusoria and organisms peculiar to each portion of the globe. The expression is, the habitat of such infusoria is such or such a place. These infusoria can only be distinguished by a most powerful microscope. Professor Ehrenberg, who has devoted his attention to the subject, has examined specimens of the dust which is now falling on our decks. He found it composed of dry infusoria, the forms of which are found not on an African desert, but in the south-east trade-wind regions of South America.”

“South America, father!” exclaimed Jerry, pointing with his hand to the south-west. “How can those clouds of red dust come all the way out here in the teeth of the north-east trade-wind?”

“What becomes of the north-east trade-wind when it reaches the end of its journey, and where is that end think you, my boy?” asked Captain Frankland. Jerry looked puzzled, and I had not a notion to give forth on the subject. “I will try and explain the matter; but when you can obtain a work, written by Lieutenant Maury, of the American navy, you will comprehend the subject much better,” said Captain Frankland. “There are three calm regions or belts surrounding the globe—one under the equator, and one in each hemisphere, under the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, which you have heard spoken of as the horse latitudes. Between these two belts blow the north-east and south-east trade-winds, meeting at the equatorial belt. Now, when they get there, instead of causing a whirlwind, the excessive heat causes the particles of which they are composed to expand and rise, gradually producing a calm. After rising a certain height, they again commence moving round the globe. Which course they took it was difficult to say, till we find these clouds of red dust carried along in an upper region of the atmosphere from south-west to north-east; for not only are they found here, but up the Mediterranean and across Switzerland. They are raised into the atmosphere probably by whirlwinds which occur during the vernal equinox, which is the dry season, from the valley of the lower Orinoco. Thus, had a label been attached to each particle of which the wind is composed, to show whence it came, the problem could not have been more perfectly solved.”

While the captain was speaking, Mr McRitchie came on deck, and collected in sheets of paper a quantity of the red dust. “It will be prized by some of my scientific friends at home,” he observed; “and even the unscientific may value a substance which has travelled half round the globe high up in the atmosphere.”

“There is another substance, doctor, which travels farther, and is of much greater use to man; and yet how little he troubles his head to consider where it comes from,” remarked the captain.

“What do you mean, sir?” asked the doctor, a little puzzled I thought.

“Water,” answered Captain Frankland. “Remember those dense fogs, like wet blankets, which so continually rise in those calm regions to the south of us; they are caused by vapours rising from the sea, and leaving its salt behind. This vapour must go somewhere, and it certainly does not fall in any place near the region where it is drawn up. See the beautiful provision of Nature to supply with fertilising moisture the many districts of the earth! This damp vapour, of which we shall by-and-by have a specimen, rises into the upper regions of the air, and is there wafted steadily on till it reaches the northern portion of the globe. It is raised by the powerful rays of the sun during the southern summer, and with it a considerable amount of heat is carried off which remains latent. When it reaches the far colder atmosphere of the north, it is formed into clouds, and condensed, and then precipitated in rain. In the southern hemisphere there is, as you know, a larger proportion of sea than in that of the north; and thus it serves as a reservoir to supply those spots which would otherwise be arid deserts, with an abundant supply of the chief necessary of life. The whole of nature is full of similar beautiful arrangements for making the globe a convenient habitation for man, clearly to be perceived if men would but open their eyes to behold them.”

Chapter Three.

The wonders of the ocean.

We were about a day’s sail or so from the Cape de Verd Islands, when one day, as I was looking out, I saw on the starboard-bow what I was certain was a shoal of great extent covered with sea-weed. “Land on the starboard-bow!” I sung out, thinking there could be no mistake about the matter. I heard a loud laugh at my shoulder. Old Ben Yool stood there.

“Well, if that is not land, I do not know what is!” I replied. But still Ben only laughed at me. I was arguing the point, when the captain, who was on deck, called me aft. I found him with a chart, which he was showing to Gerard.

“You are not the first person, Harry, who has taken that collection of sea-weed for land,” he observed. “That is the Sargasso Sea. When the companions of Columbus sighted it, they thought that it marked the extreme limits of the navigable ocean. We are at the southern edge of it. Look at this chart; it extends in a triangular form between the groups of the Azores, Canaries, and Cape de Verds. It is caused by the Gulf Stream, which, circling round the Atlantic, sends off towards the centre all the sea-weed and drift-wood collected in its course. Throw some chips into that tub; now, set the water in motion with your hand. The current you have created sends off all the chips into the centre of the tub. You need never forget how this Sargasso Sea becomes covered with weed. But you will wish to know something about this wonderful Gulf Stream, which not only produces the effect I have described, but exerts a very powerful influence, on the climate of many countries, and on the navigation of the Atlantic, besides causing many other important results. It is, indeed, one of the most wonderful of all the phenomena of the ocean. Consider it as a mighty river of warm water flowing for three thousand miles with scarcely diminished volume, never dying, never overflowing, over a bottom and between banks of cold water. So little affinity have its waters with the common water of the ocean, and so different is their colour, that a distinct line can often be traced where they pass along. See where it takes its rise in the Gulf of Mexico, whence it is called the Gulf Stream. Now, mark its course, and note its effects. Remember, that not only is it warm itself, but it warms the air which passes over it. It likewise contains much more salt than the common sea-water. The salt gives it its peculiar deep indigo-like colour. It runs at the rate of between three and five miles an hour. It is roof-shaped—that is, higher in the centre than on either side. This is proved by placing a boat on either side of the centre, when it drifts off towards the edge nearest to which it is cast loose. Another peculiarity exists in connection with it. Water radiates heat far more slowly than does the earth. If, therefore, the Gulf Stream swept along the ground, it would speedily lose its heat. To prevent this, it is made to pass over a cushion of cold water, into which its heat does not readily pass. When, however, its waters wash any shores, they impart some of their heat to them, increasing the warmth of the climate, adding fertility to the soil, and making it a more agreeable abode for man. Now, look at the chart, and observe where the mighty current leaves its reputed source in the Gulf of Mexico. Mark it sweeping round the coast of Florida, and glancing off to the eastward near Cape Hatteras, in the United States, allowing a belt of cold water to wash the shores of that country during the winter months of the year. Watch it passing near the coast of Nova Scotia, and in the summer, not far from that of Newfoundland, where it has undoubtedly caused the formation of the well-known fishing-banks. This is the way they have been produced. When the summer sun releases the innumerable mighty icebergs which have been formed on the shores of the polar regions, they float away to the south, carried by a current which sets towards Newfoundland. They bear away with them vast quantities of rock, and stones, and sand. Meeting the hot water of the Gulf Stream, they quickly melt and deposit their burdens at the bottom, always about the same spot which you see marked as the Grand Bank. Now the stream, taking an easterly course, reaches the 40th degree of north latitude, when it begins to spread itself over the colder water of the ocean, washing the shores of Ireland; some going up towards Spitzbergen, surrounding the Shetland Isles, and other isles in the north; more rushing up the British Channel; and another quantity flowing into the Bay of Biscay, and away again towards the south—adding warmth to the whole of the indented shores of Europe, and at the same time supplying the deficiency of salt to the waters flowing out of the Baltic and the Polar basin.”

“Thank you, father,” exclaimed Gerard; “I now understand why, when last year we made the voyage to New York, we kept away so far to the northward. It was to avoid the Gulf Stream, which would have been setting against us. But I say, father, I want to know why the water takes it into its head to flow in that way. I suppose there is some cause for it?”

“Our beneficent Maker undoubtedly formed it for the benefit of his creatures,” returned the captain; “but, as I have often told you, he brings about his purposes by the laws or causes which he himself has established. There may be several causes in operation to form this ocean-stream, though up to this moment learned men have been unable to decide what they are. Now one theory is advanced, now another. The shape of the Gulf Stream may have something to do with it. It appears that it is higher than the rest of the surface, for it is more bulky. Water will always seek its level. It has thus a tendency to flow towards the colder and lower water of the poles, feeling at the same time the effect of the diurnal motion of the globe; while the water of the poles, to supply its place, flows towards the equator, subject to the same disturbing cause. Thus the water of the globe is set in motion. These being hot, tropical waters, remain on the surface, and a portion of them is forced into the Gulf of Mexico. Here, though they lose somewhat of their saltness from the fresh waters of the Mississippi and Orinoco, they gain more heat from these hot streams, and are still much Salter than the rest of the ocean. Perhaps the impetus may be given them by the pressure of the currents from the poles. The diurnal motion of the globe will account for the drift-wood and sea-weed being cast off on the east or left bank of the stream. There is another cause for this. From the stream being roof-shaped, any drift which its left portion took up would have to go up hill to get to the northward. Therefore, though trees and other produce of the West Indies are found on the shores of Europe, none are ever picked up on those of America. And this brings me to the point from which I set out—the cause of the Sargasso Sea, the centre, it may be called, of this wondrous and almost inexplicable Gulf Stream.”

“But, father, still you have not told us why the Gulf Stream flows in the direction it does,” said Gerard, who generally stuck to the point in an argument on which he wanted information.

“Men possessed of far more scientific knowledge than I can boast of, have been puzzled to reply to that question,” returned the captain. “The trade-winds, the diurnal motion of the earth, the expansion of water by heat, may all combine to force it along and direct its course; and yet there may be some still more potent cause at work unperceived by us, perhaps undiscoverable. One thing we know, that it was the will of the Almighty that so it should flow, for a great and beneficent object; and that, to effect it, he has employed some potent and sufficient agent, which, when he thinks fit, he will allow to be revealed to us by the light of that science which he has given as one of his best gifts to man. There are, as you perceive on the charts, other currents in the vast ocean, all set in movement for the sake of benefiting the inhabitants of the globe. While the warm Gulf Stream runs up to Spitzbergen, the Hudson’s Bay and Arctic currents bring cold water and icebergs towards the south; and a current from the North Atlantic carries its cooling waters round the arid shores of western Africa. There is the great equatorial current from east to west round the world, and numerous other currents in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, the influence of which we shall feel during our voyage; and by knowing where to search for them, and where to avoid them, we can generally make them serviceable to our object. What I would especially point out to you, my lads, is the beautiful adaptation of all the works of the Creator to the great object of the whole. The air and water are kept in motion for the benefit of man and all living beings. Order everywhere reigns supreme. Science shows us that storms are regulated by exact laws, and it is only through our ignorance and blindness that we cannot tell whence they come, and whither they go. What an admirable system of compensation exists throughout the universe! Heat, lost by radiation, is quickly restored; water, lifted up by evaporation, has its place supplied by colder currents; mighty rivers discharge their waters in vast quantities into the ocean, and from the far-off regions of the tropics the winds come loaded with dense vapours, which, precipitated at their sources with ample and regular measure, supply all their demands. I might produce numberless examples. As an instance, the whole volume of the waters of the Mississippi, rushing out at its mouth, find their way back again in an ever-constant circle to its sources among the far-off lakes of North America. The Gulf Stream fertilises the earth for the benefit of man, and it likewise carries food to regions frequented by the mighty whales. Frequently large shoals of sea-nettles, on which the black whale feeds, have been met with, borne onward towards its haunts in the north. The whale itself, it is believed, could not exist in the warm waters of the stream. Fish, also, are not generally found in it; and those which inhabit it are of a very inferior flavour. Instead, therefore, of wandering about the ocean, where they could not be procured by man, they are driven to the shallow waters near the coast, where they can easily be caught. It is a curious fact, that the warmer the water, the brighter are the colours of the fish which inhabit it; though, as food, they are generally of much less value. While the Gulf Stream largely benefits the globe, it is at the same time the proximate cause of shipwreck and disaster, from the storms which it creates, in consequence of the irregularity of its temperature, and that of the neighbouring regions, both in air and water. Perhaps nowhere is a more terrific sea found than when a heavy gale meets the Gulf Stream, when running at its maximum rate. Many a ship has gone down beneath its waters. However, I might go on all day telling you curious things about this same Gulf Stream. One thing more I will mention: people often complain of the dampness of England. The same cause which so favourably tempers the cold of our country, creates the dampness complained of. It is not that our soil is more humid, that marshes exist, or that the country is not well drained; but it is that the westerly and north-westerly breezes which prevail, come loaded with the warm vapours ascending from the tropic heated waters of the Gulf Stream.”

“Thank you, father, for all you have told us,” said Gerard; “I think I have learned a great deal I did not know before.”

I was certain that I had, and directly afterwards put down, as well as I could remember, all Captain Frankland had said. The next day we sighted Saint Vincent, one of the ten islands which form the Cape de Verd group, so-called from being off the Cape de Verds, on the coast of Africa. The islands belong to the Portuguese. They produce all sorts of tropical fruits and vegetables, so that ships often touch here to be supplied with them. A large number of the inhabitants are black, or of a very dark hue. Instead of standing directly for the Brazils, Captain Frankland shaped a course almost across the Atlantic for the coast of South America. He did this, he explained to Gerard and me, to get the wind, which generally blows off that coast when the north-east trade failed us; and to avoid the equatorial calms, in which, away from the land, vessels are often baffled for days together. I found, after I had been some time at sea, “That the longest way round is often the shortest way there,” as the saying is. In tropical latitudes, winds from different quarters blow with great regularity in different places at certain seasons of the year. The great object of a master is, to find where the wind is blowing which will be fair for him. The two most regular winds are the north-east and south-east trade-winds which blow from either side of the equator, and meet in a wide belt of calms found under it. There are currents in the air as well as in the ocean; and Silas told me that he has more than once passed ships at sea right before the wind—steering north, for instance, while his ship, with an equally fair breeze, has been standing to the south. Formerly, ships used to be steered as far south as they could get before the trade-winds; and then often found themselves baffled for days, if not weeks together, in the calm latitudes off the coast of Africa, when, if they had stood boldly across the ocean, as we were now doing, they would never have wanted a wind move or less fair. Thus it will be seen that in navigation there are currents in the sea and currents in the air to be considered, and that it requires a great deal of forethought, and knowledge, and experience, to take a ship in safety and with speed round the world. We were bowling along in grand style before the north-east trade-wind, when Gerard stopped his father in his morning walk on deck.

“I say, father, can you tell Harry and me all about this trade-wind, which we have got hold of it seems?” said he with a grave look, as if he wished to become very learned.

“Which has got hold of us rather, I should say, by the way it is carrying us along,” answered the captain, smiling. No one knew Jerry so well as he did, though he often pretended not to understand at what he was driving. “You ask a question to which it is rather difficult to reply in a brief way. Take a piece of paper; draw a circle on it; now, draw three parallel belts across it—one in the centre, and one on each side of the centre. Write on the centre belt, ‘Equatorial Calms;’ on the upper, ‘Calms of Cancer;’ on the lower, ‘Calms of Capricorn.’ The circle represents the globe; the ends of a line drawn at right angles to the belts where it reaches the circle, mark the poles. The globe moves from west to east. Now, suppose a mass of air sent off from the north pole towards the equator in a straight line, it not partaking of the diurnal motion of the earth would appear as if it came from the north-east. Another mass starting from the equator towards the pole in consequence of the impetus given it, would be going faster towards the east than the earth, and would, consequently, appear as if it came from the south-west. This actually takes place, but in the upper regions of the air. The same exchange takes place between the south pole and the equator. Now, let us see what becomes of these masses. That which started from the north pole meets in the air at about the parallel of 30 degrees; the mass which started from the equator meeting with equal force, they balance each other, and produce a calm and an accumulation of atmosphere pressing downward, and ejecting from below two surface-currents—one towards the equator, which are the north-east trade-winds; the other towards the pole, called the south-west passage-winds. This moving mass of air, which constitutes the north-east trade-wind, meets near the equator with another mass which has been moving on as the south-east trade—meeting with equal force, they form a calm; and then, warmed by the heat of the sun, they ascend, one-half streaming off high up towards the south-east—that is, counter to the surface-current—till it reaches the southern calm belt; another mass coming from the south-west, where it descends, and rushes as a north-west surface-wind towards the south pole. We have traced the mass which started from the north pole. Reaching the southern regions, it is whirled round till, at the pole itself, a perfect calm is produced, when it ascends and starts off as an upper current towards the equator; but meeting another current near the tropic of Capricorn, then descends, one-half flowing out at the surface, as I have before described, as the south-east trade, the other towards the south pole. This is the most beautiful and regular system of atmospheric circulation kept up around our globe. It has not been ascertained exactly why the masses I have spoken of take certain directions, but we know the directions they do take. The red dust we found off the Cape de Verds assists us in certain degrees. We know some of the agents—the diurnal motion of the earth, and the sun’s heating rays. There are certain counteracting or disturbing causes from which the surface-winds deviate from the courses I have described. Some lands are covered with forests, others with marshes, others with sand. All these may be disturbing causes—so are lofty mountains. From these causes, and the more powerful effect of the sun’s rays in one place than in another, hurricanes and typhoons occur, and the monsoons are made to blow—the harmattan on the west coast of Africa; the simoon, with its deadly breath, in Arabia; the oppressive sirocco in the Mediterranean. What I have said will explain that beautiful passage in Ecclesiastes, 1st chapter, 6th verse, which shows the exactness of the sacred writers whenever they do introduce scientific subjects: ‘The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.’ Who gave Solomon this information? I doubt if any of his sages possessed that scientific knowledge which has only been attained by philosophers of late years. Perhaps I may still more clearly explain to you the cause of the circulation of the atmosphere. I told you that there were two agents at work—diurnal motion, and the heat of the sun; but to these may be added the cold of the poles, which contracts the air. Suppose the globe at rest, and covered with one uniform stagnant mass of atmosphere; suddenly heat, cold, and the diurnal motion commence their operations. The air about the equator would expand, that about the poles contract. Thus two systems of winds would commence to blow—one above, from the equator towards the poles; and as thus a vacuum would be left below, a current would come from the poles to supply its place. The diurnal motion prevents these currents running in straight lines. That coming from the poles will appear to have easting in them, and those going towards the poles westing. Not only, however, is the level of the atmosphere changed by the heating rays of the sun, but its specific gravity. Thus the heated current moves more easily and rapidly than the colder; and the latter, consequently, turns back a portion of what was going towards the poles, and adjusts the equilibrium of the atmosphere. I have already shown you the great importance of the circulation of the air in the economy of nature; and how, among the many offices of the atmosphere, it distributes moisture over the surface of the earth, making the barren places fruitful, and tempering the climates of different latitudes, fitting them as the abode of civilised man. But I will not pursue the subject further just now. You must do that for yourselves. Try and remember what I have said, and think about it whenever you have an opportunity.” Jerry and I thanked the captain for what he had told us, and I, as before, at once dotted it down as well as I could in my note-book.

Crossing the Atlantic, we sighted a glittering white rock rising fifty feet out of the water. It was, I found, the Island of Saint Paul’s. It had a curious appearance, standing thus alone in the ocean 500 miles from the coast of America, and 350 from the Island of Fernando Noronha—the snowy pinnacle of a submarine mountain. We hove-to close to it, and a boat being lowered, Mr McRitchie, Mr Brand, Jerry, and I, went on shore. The whole rock is not three-quarters of a mile in circumference. Its white colour, we found, was produced by a thin coating of a substance formed by the washing off of the birds’ dung, collected there in a succession of ages. The rock was covered with birds—my old friends, the booby and the noddy, I had so often read about. They stared at us with a stupid look as we pulled up, not at all able to make us out, and in no way disposed to make way for us. Gerard and I were for knocking as many as we could on the head; but Cousin Silas would not allow us, observing that we did not want them for food, and that they had a far better right to the rock than we had. The booby, Mr McRitchie told us, is a species of gannet, and the noddy a species of tern. The first lays her eggs on the bare rock, but the latter constructs a nest with sea-weed. While the doctor was eagerly hunting about for specimens of natural history, we were amused by watching the proceedings of some of the few inhabitants of the rock. By the side of several of the noddies’ nests we saw a dead flying-fish, evidently deposited there by the male bird. Whenever we succeeded in driving away any one of the females, instantly a big crab, which seemed to have been watching his opportunity from the crevices of the rocks, would rush out, and with greedy claws carry off the prey. One fellow, still more hungry, ran away with one of the young birds. Another was going to make a similar attempt.

“I ought to stop that fellow, at all events!” said Jerry, giving Master Crab a stunning blow. We tied his claws, and presented him as a trophy to the doctor.

“A fine specimen of Graspus” cried our scientific friend, stowing him away in his wallet.

“A capital name!” said Jerry. “He seemed ready enough to grasp anything he could lay his claws on.”

The doctor said he could find neither a plant nor a lichen on the island, and only a few insects and spiders, besides the boobies and noddies. I ought to have mentioned that we did not fail to meet with the moist and oppressive weather found under the belt of calms under the equator. Frequently I felt as if I could scarcely breathe, and nearly everybody was in low spirits and ready to grumble. Jerry and I vowed that the air was abominable. Cousin Silas stopped us.

“Remember, lads,” said he, “what the captain was telling you. If it were not for them mists, how could the rivers of the north be supplied with their waters, and the fields of our own land be made fertile? Thank God rather that you are thus enabled to see more of the wonders of creation.”

I never forgot this remark of Cousin Silas. A delightful writer, now well-known, describing the subject, calls it “The Circle of Blessing.” (Mrs Alfred Gatty, in her “Parables from Nature.”)

Making sail, we soon lost sight of that white-topped rock. Soon afterward Gerard rushed down one morning at daybreak into our berth, and, rousing me up, told me I was wanted on deck. Half asleep, I jumped up, and slipping my legs into my trousers—for no other garment was required in that latitude—ran with him where he led me forward. I had scarcely got my eyes open when I found myself seized by two shaggy monsters; and hearing the sound of a conch shell, I looked up, and saw before me, as if he had just come over the bows of the ship, a strange-looking personage, with a glittering crown on his head, a huge red nose, long streaming hair, and white whiskers as big as two mops. In his hand he held a trident, and over his shoulders was worn a mantle covered with strange devices.

“Trite!—where’s Trite? Come along, Trite!” he exclaimed, in a gruff voice—which sounded not altogether unlike that of old Ben Yool’s—as he looked over the bows; and presently he handed up a lady of very ample dimensions, who certainly, except for a petticoat and a necklace of shells, I should not have suspected to have belonged to the fair sex.

“Oh, there you are, my lovie! We must be sharp about our work, for we have so many ships to board that we haven’t a moment to lose. Now, if there are any young shavers who hasn’t crossed the middle of my kingdom before, let them be brought up here in quarter less than no time, or I’ll do—I’ll do—I’ll do what you shall see.”

This was said in a terrifically gruff voice. Before I had time to look about me, the two monsters had dragged me forward before his marine majesty and his spouse; and one producing a huge cold tar brush, and the other a piece of rusty hoop, I found my face paid over with some most odorous lather. I cried out to Jerry, who I thought, as a friend, ought to help me; but he pretended to be in a dreadful fright, and when the monsters ran after him he managed to shove so violently against me that he sent me head first into a large tub of water which stood at the feet of Neptune. I was, however, immediately hauled out by the shaggy Tritons, and after a fresh application of lather, my face was scraped over with the piece of hoop.

“Douse him—douse the baby again!” shouted Neptune; and from the mode I was treated, I thought that I should have been nearly drowned, had not Mrs Neptune, or rather Amphitrite, interfered in a voice which was intended to be very affectionate, but which sounded as if the poor lady had a very sore throat, and begged that I might be allowed to return to my cradle to sleep out the remainder of my watch.

“Oh, good mother, your sex are always gentle and kind,” I answered, determining to jump with the humour of the thing, and to show that I had not lost my temper, although the ceremony I had gone through was far from pleasant. “Now, if you’ll just leave one of your squires here aboard, and he’ll come aft by-and-by, I’ll try if I can fish out a five-shilling piece from the bottom of my chest, to buy you and your good man some baccy and rum, to cheer you when you get back to your own fireside.”

“Well spoken, like a true son of the Ocean!” exclaimed Neptune, patting me on the back. “For that same notion you are free from henceforth and for ever of my watery realms; seeing also as how you have been lathered and shaved and crossed the line. So here are three cheers for Mr Harry Hopeton; and may he live to sail round the world, and to command as fine a ship as this here craft—and finer, too!”

The crew, at Neptune’s beck, on this gave three hearty cheers; and while the Tritons were chasing down some lads and two or three men, who had never before crossed the line, I made my escape towards a tub of clean water, and thence to my cabin, where I very soon removed all traces of the discipline I had gone through. By the time the captain appeared the whole ceremony was at an end, and the men were employed in washing down decks, as if nothing had occurred. It was the third mate’s watch; and I found afterwards that Jerry, who was the chief instigator, had obtained his leave to have the ceremony take place. The captain, I daresay, also knew all about it, but said nothing on the subject. Once upon a time the crew of every ship crossing the line considered it their right to be allowed full licence to indulge in all sorts of wild pranks; but the custom got so much abused that many captains have put a stop to it altogether, while others only allow it among well-tried and trusty crews. I was not sorry to have had the tricks played on me, because it contributed to gain me the good will of the people; and I now felt that, having crossed the line, I had a right to consider myself something of a sailor.

Chapter Four.

A trip up the Amazon.

Two days after crossing the line we sighted the island of Fernando Noronha, which, with several outlying islets, is a very picturesque spot. It belongs to the empire of the Brazils, and is used as a penal settlement. As Captain Frankland wished to touch at every place not out of his way, we dropped anchor in Citadel Bay, opposite a fort on which the Brazilian colours were flying. A boat was lowered, and though some heavy rollers were setting into the bay, we managed to get on shore on the top of one of them without getting wet—that is to say, the captain, Gerard, and I. It was really a pretty sight. We pulled on steadily, with the head of the boat directed on shore; then a high, heaving, glassy wave came gliding in, and the boat was on its summit; now the men pulled away with all their might, and on we flew till the boat’s keel touched the beach. Quickly the waters receded. The instant they did so we all jumped out, and hauling the boat up before another roller came in, she was high and dry out of harm’s way. A guard of blacks received us; and hearing that the town was only about a mile and a half distant, we set off to walk there. We passed through a pretty valley, and some woods of tropical shrubs, with the blue sea visible beneath their broad, fan-like leaves, and by many huts and cottages, inhabited mostly by blacks, who seemed very much astonished at our appearance. At last we reached the town, which has an open space in the centre, and a church and the governor’s house at one end, and a strong fort above it. Here nearly all the soldiers and free men are blacks, while the whites are mostly slaves, made so by their crimes. It must be rather a satisfactory state of things to the feelings of the blacks. The governor of this place—of a hundred houses or so—received us very civilly, and gave the captain all the information he required; and, besides that, a good supply of vegetables, which the island produces in abundance.

On leaving Fernando Noronha we steered for Pernambuco—perhaps, next to Rio, the port of the greatest importance in the Brazils. On going into the harbour with a strong breeze blowing, the pilot from gross carelessness gave the Triton so hard a blow against a rook that an ugly hole was knocked in her bottom. It seemed for a moment that the masts would have gone by the board; but the ship, bounding off the rock, glided on as if nothing had happened. It was a great trial for the temper of Captain Frankland; but he uttered scarcely a word of reproof to the pilot, and as to an oath, I never heard an expression even approaching one pass from his lips all the time I was with him. The crew were all at their stations, and none stirred from them till the captain ordered the carpenter to sound the well. He quickly reported that there were three feet of water in the well, and that it was rushing in at a great rate. All hands on board not absolutely required to shorten sail were ordered to man the pumps, and the Triton was carried in as close to the town as possible, so that she might immediately be put on shore should there be danger of her sinking. On a further examination of the damage the ship had received, it was found that it would be absolutely necessary to land part of her cargo and to put her on shore before it could be repaired. It was late in the day before this was determined on, so that nothing could be done that afternoon. All night long the sound of the pumps going continuously kept me awake till towards morning, when I still heard them in my sleep. A gang of negroes had been brought off to work them in relays, so that the crew were saved the fatigue which they would otherwise have undergone. I was very glad the next morning when I found the ship hauled close in-shore to a place where, if she did sink, she could not go far, or drown those on board. Captain Frankland found that it would take a considerable time to get the damage repaired, as it was even of a more serious nature than at first supposed. He bore the annoyance with his usual calm temper. I have often thought what a valuable possession is a calm temper, and how worthy of being cultivated.

The ship was consigned to an English firm—Messrs Gleg and Robarts—who rendered us every assistance in their power. Mr Robarts was on the point of starting in a fast-sailing schooner on a trip along the coast to the northward and west, as far as the mouth of the mighty river Amazon. He invited Gerard and me, with Mr McRitchie, to accompany him—not the last excursion of the sort we were destined to make. As he undertook to be back before the ship could be ready for sea, the captain, glad that we should see as much of the country as possible, allowed us to go. I was amused at hearing the doctor charge the crew not to fall sick, or tumble down and break their arms or legs, till his return, at the risk of his high displeasure. The schooner—the Andorinha—was built and manned by Portuguese, or rather Brazilians and blacks. She was a very pretty little vessel, and a first-rate sea-boat; indeed, the Portuguese models of vessels often used to put to shame the crafts of the same class built in England. However, of late years we have made a great stride in that respect. I speak of the Portuguese, because the Brazils, it must be remembered, was colonised from Portugal, and the greater part of the white inhabitants—if they can be called white by courtesy—are of that nation originally. I am sorry to say that I lost my notes made on this trip, so that I am unable to describe it with the minuteness of the rest of my narrative.

Mr Robarts was a very merry, kind person, and we spent a very pleasant life on board the little Andorinha. We put into several of the large rivers, as the object of Mr Robarts was to collect some of the wildest productions of the country from the natives inhabiting their banks. When, we entered the Amazon, I could scarcely believe that we were in a river, so wide and grand is the stream. The colour of the water, however, showed us that it was really a river we were in. We had gone up for some considerable distance, a strong breeze enabling us to battle with the current, when at length we came to an anchor near the shore. About a hundred and fifty miles up is the Brazilian town of Para—a complete sea-port, though not equal in size to Pernambuco. We, however, having a favourable breeze, went much further up the main stream, and then turned into one of the numerous rivers which fall into it. Here Mr Robarts expected to remain some little time to trade with the natives. I had been below, when, on returning on deck, I heard Gerard laughing heartily, and pointing to a boat which was proceeding up the stream. In the fore-part was a thatched shed, on either side of which sat four natives paddling. In the after-part was another shed of bamboo and grass, under which sat the passengers. On the top of all was the helmsman—a naked savage, lying his full length, and steering with his feet, under a sun which would quickly have cooked a beef-steak exposed to it. Mr Robarts told us that the boat or canoe was called an egaritea, and that it was the canoe usually employed for the conveyance of travellers on the Amazon. Again we laughed at the helmsman, who seemed perfectly unconcerned, as, holding on to the bamboo roof with one hand, he rested his black head on the other, just high enough to let him look about in every direction. Mr Robarts could not leave the schooner; but as Mr McRitchie and we were very anxious to see as much of the interior of this wonderful country as possible, we arranged to go up in an egaritea as far as time would allow. Mr Robarts allowed us to take a half-caste native, who had served on board a British ship and spoke a little English, as our interpreter. He was called Pedro, but he had a much longer Indian name, which I do not remember. Away we started, in high glee, with blankets, a supply of provisions, and a few cooking utensils, with plates, cups, knives, and forks. We could not help laughing whenever we thought of our araies, or chief boatman, lying at his length above us, steering with his feet. This mode of travelling we found very comfortable—almost too luxurious for our tastes—and tolerably expeditious. I should say that we all had our guns, and that McRitchie had, besides, his sketch-book, and boxes and cases for collecting subjects of natural history. The difficulty in this region was to know what to select. The water abounded with all sorts of strange fish, and turtles and alligators innumerable. I must say, when I first saw one of these hideous monsters, I felt an awe creeping over me, though the natives did not seem to care a bit about them. We had got to the end of our voyage in the egaritea, and arranged to hire a light open canoe, with two men as rowers, in which we could proceed up some of the smaller rivers. Nothing could surpass the luxuriance of the foliage, which not only lined their banks, but extended a long way inland, strange birds of all sizes, from the diminutive humming-bird to others of immense bulk, of the most gorgeous plumage, flew about among the trees; while, as we paddled along, we heard the most curious chatterings, and now and then, if we remained quiet for a few minutes, we could see hundreds of little black and brown and yellow faces, with bright eyes peering at us from among the boughs. The slightest movement or noise made by us would send them scampering off along the branches, or rather swinging themselves by hands and tails from bough to bough, or from creeper to creeper, that being their favourite mode of locomotion. They were clean, nice, respectable-looking little fellows, quite unlike monkeys cooped up in menageries, or even in the Zoological Gardens, and seemed to lead very happy and joyous lives. Gerard declared that if he was not a human being really, the next best state of existence he should desire would be that of a monkey on the banks of the Amazon. We were not aware at the time of certain facts, which afterwards came to our knowledge, which might detract somewhat from the desirability of the existence; among others, that the natives shoot and eat the poor little fellows with as little compunction as we should young pigs or fowls.

We were paddling along, admiring the wonderful foliage—one forest seeming, as it were, to rise up out of the top of another, the lowest being higher and thicker than any forest in northern regions—when suddenly a huge black monster was seen swimming rapidly towards us.

“An alligator!” exclaimed McRitchie. “He’ll make mince-meat of us in a moment. My gun—quick, quick!”

I was handing him his gun when one of our native boatmen, laughing at our fright, made signs that there was no danger, and seizing a piece of drift-wood floating by, adroitly threw it across its mouth. The vast jaw of the monster came crashing down on it. There they stuck, and the native assured us, through Pedro, that he was now quite harmless. McRitchie took a steady aim at the creature’s eye, while a native stood ready with a coil of ropes to throw over it directly it was killed, or it would have sunk, I fancy, out of sight in an instant. McRitchie’s bullet took immediate effect, and we soon had the creature hauled up on the nearest bank, where our medico had the opportunity of anatomically examining him at his leisure. While he was thus employed, Gerard and I agreed that it would be a good opportunity to prepare dinner, assisted by Pedro. The natives preferred sleeping in their canoe. While we were engaged over our fish, I on a sudden looked up, and saw a huge animal of the tiger species stealing catlike towards the doctor, attracted probably by the carcass of the alligator. The creature seemed at that moment about to make its fatal spring. I had my gun providentially by my side. I shrieked out to the doctor to be on his guard, and at the same moment raised my weapon to my shoulder to fire. He had the large knife with which he had been cutting up the alligator in his hand. Resting on my knee, I fired, and though I did not flatter myself that I was a good shot, happily hit the animal on the head. He fell backwards, stunned but not dead; and the doctor, rushing forward with his knife, deprived the creature of existence, thanking me in the same breath for the service I had rendered him.

“Come, we are meeting with adventures now, I do think, indeed!” exclaimed Jerry, as we sat round our repast, after the enthusiastic doctor had cut up the tiger. “Hurrah! it’s great fun.”

Soon after embarking to proceed on our voyage, we looked into a curious little nook under the trees, where, in the centre of the stream, lay a canoe with two people, a man and his wife, in it. They were not over-encumbered with garments, but the man had some curious feather ornaments on his arms. At first they seemed inclined to paddle away, but a shout from one of our canoemen brought them alongside, and from the affectionate greeting which was exchanged between the parties we found that they were relations, or at all events great friends. Pedro informed us that they invited us to their dwelling. We were delighted to accept the invitation, as we particularly wished to see the way of life of the aborigines. We paddled on some little distance, when our new friends, leading the way pushed in among the tall reeds till we found ourselves close to some long poles with a platform on the top and a ladder leading to it. We followed them up the ladder, when we found ourselves in a sort of hut, thickly thatched over with palm-leaves. Looking out, we saw several similar habitations. It seemed something like living up in trees. We concluded that the object the natives had in view in placing their habitations in such positions was to avoid the floods, as also snakes and crawling creatures, and the noxious air which floats close to the surface. All the natives’ houses are not built in this way, for when we went further inland we met with several standing only a short distance from the ground—on some more elevated spot. The natives are not very pleasant companions, as they anoint their bodies all over with oil, which gives anything but a notion that they indulge in cleanliness. Jerry, however, observed that it was probably nothing when people got accustomed to it, and that as oil was a clean thing, they might be more cleanly than people who wear dirty clothes and never wash. Even these people do wash their children; and we were highly amused in the morning on seeing a mother giving her little black-headed papoose a bath. The bath was a big tub made out of the hollowed seed-lobe of a species of palm. The fat little creature splashed about and seemed to enjoy the bath amazingly. After this we agreed that the natives had a good reason for anointing their bodies with oil, and that they were not naturally a dirty people. With Pedro, who carried the doctor’s cases, and one of the natives as a guide, we made from thence a long excursion inland. We were all together when Pedro stopped us. “There is something curious up in the trees,” he observed. We peered through the branches, and a little way off saw two men—negroes they seemed—seated at some distance from each other on the boughs of different trees, perfectly motionless. Each of them had a tube at his mouth about twelve feet long, and very slender. The mouthpiece was thick—a short cylinder apparently—as the doctor told us, a receptacle for wind. The weapon or instrument, he said, was a sarbacan. Numerous beautiful birds were flying about in the neighbourhood, some of them the most diminutive humming-birds. Soon as we looked down fell one, then another and another. They were shot with little darts of hard wood pointed at one end, and twisted round with wadding at the other to prevent the wind escaping. Jerry said that at school he had often made similar weapons on a small scale, and had killed insects with them. After the sportsmen had shot off all their arrows they came down from their perches to collect their game. We found that they were employed by some naturalists at Para, and that the birds were wanted either for stuffing or for the sake of their feathers. We saw several snakes as we continued our walk, and I must own that I felt very uncomfortable when they appeared hanging from the boughs of the trees or crawling along among the thick grass. Many of them were perfectly harmless, but others, we were told, were fearfully venomous. Once we very narrowly escaped a rattlesnake which appeared close to us, but Providence has ordered it that most of these creatures should be more afraid of man than man need be of them, and they make off rapidly at his approach. If, however, they are trodden on, or are disturbed waiting for their prey, they become savage, and revenge themselves on the intruders. In most instances, the only chance of saving the life of a person bitten is at once to suck the wound.

At length it was time for us to go back to the egaritea, that we might return to the schooner. We found, on rejoining the passenger canoe, that she would not be ready to start till the next morning. We were doubting what to do with ourselves in the meantime, when Pedro informed us that he had heard of some amusing sport to take place that night, and that he could obtain leave for us to join in it if we wished. A party of natives were going a little way down the river to a sandbank on which turtles wore accustomed, at this season of the year, to come on shore in order to deposit their eggs. The natives hide themselves near the spot, and as soon as the unsuspecting turtles have performed the operation, they rush out and turn as many as they can catch on their backs. There they lie helpless till they are dispatched by the hungry aborigines. We started in our own canoe, in company with twenty or thirty others, late in the evening. On reaching the neighbourhood of the sandbank all the canoes put to shore, and were drawn up on the beach. The natives, one acting as a leader, whom we followed close after, proceeded along in single file till a number of bushes and trees close to the bank was reached. Behind these the party were soon concealed. It was a great trial of patience waiting for the turtle. I thought at last that they would not appear, and regretted having lost our night’s rest for nothing. At last, however, a low whistle from our leader aroused the attention of the whole party, and a number of black objects were seen moving over the white sands, till the bank seemed literally covered with them. They remained for some time scraping holes in the sand, and, as I supposed, depositing their eggs in them; then, at a sign from our copper-coloured leader, out rushed all the savages, and getting between the water and the turtle began turning them over with wonderful rapidity. Jerry and I tried our hands at the sport, but while we turned one turtle a native would turn a dozen, and would rush into the water after those that had escaped, and frequently bring them back. At length all the turtle had escaped or been killed, or had rather been turned on their backs, where they lay utterly unable to move. The natives now selected five or six, and carrying them to an open place inland where the squaws had already lighted a fire, hero they cut the flesh out of the shell and immediately began cooking it in a variety of ways, and as soon as it was cooked tossing it down their throats. They all ate till they were gorged, and then went fast asleep round their fires, forgetful of tigers or rattlesnakes or other wild creatures. I should think a tiger must occasionally carry some of them off when they are in that state, unless the wild beasts prefer the turtles, which I rather fancy they do. We selected four turtle, and filled a basket with a quantity of the round soft eggs, and then paddled back to our egaritea.

Soon after it was daylight we started on our passage down the river, which, as we had a strong current in our favour, was very quickly performed. The Andorinha was just ready to sail, and as we had a fair breeze, we did not stop at Para, but proceeded at once to sea.

I have narrated the chief incidents of our expedition. By-the-by, the doctor took a capital sketch of one of the tree habitations, literally perched among the branches. He had to climb a tree to take it, an easy matter in those parts, considering the immense number of tendrils to assist a person in the operation. A big monkey was sitting on a neighbouring bough, and did not observe us, as we were hid by the thick foliage. I have introduced the sketch at the end of the chapter.

We had a favourable voyage back to Pernambuco, where we found the repairs of the Triton just completed. Captain Frankland was of course very anxious not to lose a day after this was done, so as soon as the cargo could be restowed we bade farewell to Mr Robarts and our other kind friends, and with a light wind stood out of the harbour. Our destination was Rio de Janeiro, the capital of the Brazils. I shall not forget the magnificent sight which met my eyes, as one bright afternoon we glided through a narrow entrance into its superb harbour. We appeared to be sailing up a large lake, extending as far inland as the eye could reach, and surrounded with lofty mountains of many different and picturesque shapes. On either side were walls of granite, rising sheer out of the water to a height of nearly 2000 feet, while behind them rose the vast Sugar-loaf Mountain, and a number of other lofty and barren peaks towering up clear and defined against the blue sky. Like mighty giants they surround the harbour, the ground at their bases sloping towards the water, and sprinkled with pretty villages, and quintas, and orange-groves, and covered with the most luxuriant vegetation. A picturesque fort guards the entrance to the bay. Passing it, after sailing about four miles, we dropped our anchor among a crowd of vessels carrying the ensigns of nearly all the civilised nations of the world, before the city of Rio, which, built on a flat extending two miles from the hills, appeared on our left hand. As our stay was to be short, the captain allowed Gerard and me to accompany the doctor on shore at once. He himself went with us, and introduced us to a merchant, who kindly undertook to show us about the place.

“There, go and see all you can, and give me an account of what you have seen when you return on board,” were his parting words.

Rio, with its superb harbour, as seen from the heights above it, is a picturesque city, as I think the drawing I brought home and now give will prove. It is built upon piles—that is, the lower part—and as the drainage is bad, it is at times very unhealthy. On landing, we found ourselves on a large open space with a palace before us, and a fountain in front of it. Before the palace stood two negro soldiers as a guard. The army, our friend told us, is composed chiefly of negroes, who make very good soldiers; and the navy is manned by them. Acting with Englishmen, many of whom are in the Brazilian navy, they are as bravo and trustworthy as any men to be found. Off the square branched a number of narrow streets. As the climate is so hot, all the streets are made narrow, that they may be kept as much as possible in shade. The houses are mostly of good size, and the walls are very thick; they thus keep out the heat of the sun. The churches are also substantially built, and decorated in a very florid style—the interiors being tawdry in the extreme, calculated only to please the uncultivated taste of the negroes and of the lower order of whites. Railways have been formed in the Brazils, and one runs to Petropolis, a summer resort of the principal inhabitants. Omnibuses, too, have made their appearance. The streets are paved with fine blocks of stone, and the city is lighted with gas; indeed, as our friend observed, “under the liberal government of the present constitutional emperor the country has made great material progress. When her literally unbounded resources are developed, the Brazils cannot fail, unless her constitution is overthrown, of becoming a wealthy and happy nation. At present, her wretched parody of the pure religion of Christians, and her lazy, profligate, and ignorant priests, tend more than anything else to retard her progress. Vile as they are, they have been unable to prevent the free circulation of the Scriptures and the toleration of Protestant opinions.”

We were struck by the immense number of negroes who crowd the streets. Those born in Africa are known by the distinguishing marks of their tribes on their foreheads. Many of them are free. A negro in Rio may demand his valuation from a magistrate, and when he can make up the fixed sum he can purchase his freedom. Slaves are generally treated kindly by their masters, and as their price is high, on account of the impediments thrown in the way of the slave trade, their health is carefully looked after. The porters are all slaves. They pay their owners so much a day, and keep the rest of what they gain for themselves. They carry everything on their heads. We sometimes met a dozen grunting or singing in time, as they stooped under some huge machine borne aloft above them. They lie about the streets with their baskets, ready for anybody’s call. We thought the Brazilians a very quiet and most polite people. They were continually bowing to each other, and there was none of that bustling roughness so often seen in England. We met the emperor on horseback in plain clothes, though his attendants were in handsome uniforms. He was a fine intelligent-looking young man, and is much liked. The Brazilian government is liberal. Both Houses of Parliament are elected by the people; and if there is a majority of three-fourths in favour of a measure in the Lower House, the measure is virtually carried, whatever the vote of the Upper. If the Senate, or Upper House, do not agree, the two meet in convention; and as the number of the Senate is small compared to that of the Lower House, it can thus always be outvoted. The vote of the emperor can suspend a law for a year; but if, at the end of that time, it be again passed by the Legislature, it takes effect. In reality, the government is a republic, the emperor being the executive, though deprived of legislative power.

We passed in our walk a house out of which a funeral procession was coming. It was that of a young lad of our own age, we were told. That and the neighbouring houses were hung with blue cloth. The hearse and liveries of the servants, and the trappings of the horses, were of the same colour. His hands were crossed before him with a cup in them. The decorations at the funerals of young children are red, those only of grown-up people are black. If boys are named after any of the saints, they are dressed in appropriate costumes. If after Saint John, a pen is placed in one hand and a book in the other. If after Saint Francis or Saint Anthony, he has a monk’s gown and cowl. Sometimes a boy is called after the archangel Michael, and then he wears a gilt pasteboard helmet, a tunic with a belt round the waist, tight red boots, and his hand resting on a sword. Poor little girls, with rouge and false locks, are made to represent Madonnas and female saints. Jerry and I agreed that we should not like to be rigged out in that guise after we were dead.

Rio is supplied with water by an aqueduct which comes from far up among the mountains, its chief source being a romantic and forest-surrounded spot, called the “Mother of Waters.” The actual channel which conveys sufficient water to supply so large a city as Rio is only nine inches wide and nine and a half deep. The precious fluid, however, comes rushing down with great rapidity, and thus quickly fills all the reservoirs below. It is conveyed from its mountain-source sometimes across valleys on high massive arches, sometimes in the interior of a thick wall-like structure, and sometimes underground. The channel has for its whole length an arch above it of sufficient height and width to enable a man to walk upright along it. Altogether, we agreed that Rio if it were not for the slaves and the monks, and the want of drains, would be a very civilised city. Never did sight-seers get over the ground faster than we did, or make better use of their eyes. I ought to have mentioned that steamers ply in various directions in the harbour of Rio. Our friend proposed a trip up the country, which would last during the few days we had to spare. We started in one of the smallest of the steamers, and went up the River Macacu. One thing struck us—a boat laden with slaves, which had been landed on the opposite shore, and were being smuggled into the city. We went on shore at the small town of Porto Sampaio, and thence on mule back about fifteen miles, to the country-house of a Brazilian gentleman, our friend’s friend. We four had a room to ourselves—a large, roughly built apartment. Scarcely were we all in bed, and the light out, when, just as I had dropped asleep, down came something on my nose. I started up, and there appeared to be a tremendous clattering and pattering about the room.

“I say, Harry, what are you heaving at me?” sung out Jerry, springing up also.

“Rather, what are you throwing at me?” I retorted.

“Hillo! what’s the matter?” cried the doctor; “I felt something soft slip through my fingers—animals of some sort—what can they be?”

“Only rats!” said our friend, awoke by our exclamations. “I know they are somewhat numerous in this house.”

We all sat up, and began shouting and striking right and left; but the rats did not mind us a bit. At last the doctor lighted a lucifer match, and away scampered at least a hundred rats into the holes from whence they had come out. We thought that we were to have rest, but as soon as darkness and silence were restored, out they all came again, and made as much hubbub as before. Jerry and I kept knocking about us to little purpose, till we both fell back asleep; and all night long I dreamed that I was fighting with a host of black men on the coast of Africa. When the morning broke, they scampered away like so many evil spirits, leaving their marks, however, behind them. They had committed no little mischief also. They had gnawed through our friend’s shoes and the doctor’s leather cigar-case; they had carried off Jerry’s leather braces—the remains of which were found near one of the holes—and the front strap of my cap. We all had suffered, but, as Jerry remarked, as they had left us our noses and toes it did not much signify. They infest the country in all directions, we were told.

The estate we were on produced chiefly sugar. The milk by which the canes are crushed consisted of three vertical wooden rollers worked by mules. The most interesting subject connected with our trip was the cultivation and preparation of the mandioca. The chief produce is called farinha: the slaves are fed almost entirely on it. A field of mandioca, when ripe, looks something like a nursery of young plants. Each plant grows by itself, with a few palmated leaves only at the top. The stem is about an inch in diameter at the base, and six or seven feet long. A bud appears at nearly every inch of the otherwise smooth stem. These plants give forth tubers of irregular shape, in substance like a parsnip, about six inches long and four thick. The tubers, after being scraped and rinsed, are ground, or rather grated against a wheel with a brass grater as a tire. One slave turns the wheel, and another presses the root against it. The pulp is then put into bags and pressed. The matter, which resembles cheese-cake in consistence, is then rubbed through a wire sieve and thrown into shallow copper pans moderately heated. After being stirred up, it quickly dries, and the produce is not unlike oatmeal. The juice pressed out is very poisonous by itself. It is, however, collected in pans, when a beautifully white substance is precipitated to the bottom. This substance is tapioca, so largely used in puddings at home. To plant a field of mandioca, the stems of the old plants are cut into bits about four inches long, and stuck in the ground. They quickly take root, and, sending forth shoots from the buds, are in two years fit again to dig up. The mandioca is called cassava in some countries. The press used by the Indians is a simple and most ingenious contrivance. It is made by the Indians wherever the plant is grown. It is a basket made of fine split cane loosely plaited; in shape, a tube five feet long and five inches in diameter at the mouth, and narrowing somewhat at the bottom. A strong loop is left at each end. To use it, first it is wetted, and then a man holding the mouth presses the other end against the ground till it is half its former height. A long smooth stick is now inserted down the middle, and the pulp is packed tightly round it till the basket is full. It is then hung to a beam or branch of a tree by a loop at the mouth, while a heavy weight is attached to one at the bottom, till the basket has assumed its original tube-like form and length, and the whole of the liquid has been pressed out of the mass of mandioca.

One of the most curious features in a Brazilian forest is the vegetable cordage, or sipos, which hang down from every branch, like slack ropes from the rigging of a ship. Jerry and I several times could not resist having a good swing on them, while the doctor was hunting about for his specimens. Their roots are in the ground. They climb up a tree, then hang over a branch and descend, and often twist upward again by their own stem, to descend more than once again to the ground. We were shown the nests of some diminutive bees. The nests are not so large as a turkey’s egg, while the bodies of the bees are but little thicker than the bodies of mosquitoes. The comb is of a dark brown colour, and the construction of the nest is somewhat like that of ants. The only entrance is a small hole, at the mouth of which they construct a tube turning upwards. This is regularly closed up at night, so that no damp can enter, and it is never opened till the sun has been some time up. The bees have no stings, but they are very brave, and will drive away the ordinary bee from their hives. A sketch which the doctor took, and finished up afterwards on board, will afford a better idea of the vegetation of a Brazilian forest than any verbal account I can give.

I might go on indeed for hours describing all the wonders we saw during our short trip. Our last excursion was to the Corcovado Mountains, whence we looked down on the blue waters of the superb harbour of Rio, surrounded by sandy beaches and numerous snow-white buildings, peeping from amid the delicate green foliage which covers the bases of the neighbouring mountains, and creeps up almost to their summits; while the mountains are on every side broken into craggy and castellated peaks of every varied shape; the whole forming a not easily forgotten panorama. Once more we were on board and under weigh. The bay, as we sailed out, was full of vessels; but the flag of Old England was not, as I should have supposed, among the most numerous. With a fair wind we passed out of the harbour, and stood along the coast to the southward.

Chapter Five.

Adventures in the Falklands.

The reason, I believe, why sailors in a well-regulated ship are generally so happy, is, that they are never allowed to have an idle moment. Mr Renshaw was always finding something for the people to do; and when that work was finished, there was something else of equal importance to be done. The picture our deck presented on one day will serve for that seen on most days in fine weather: on one side the spun-yarn winches were going, manufacturing spun-yarn out of old junk—a never-ending source of employment; Mr Pincott and his mates were busily at work building a boat on the other; the sail-maker and his gang were repairing some of the sails, and making light ones for the gentle breezes of the Pacific; while Fleming and his crew were laying up rope, and the rest of the watch were knotting yarns, making sinnet, wad-bags, wads, chafing gear of all descriptions, such as worming, parcelling, roundings, spun-yarn, rope-yarn, marline, seizing, stuffs, and service of all kinds; the names of which things alone are, I suspect, sufficient to puzzle a landsman, so I will say no more about them. Aft were Captain Frankland, with one of the mates and Gerard and I, taking observations of the sun,—an employment in which, as I began to understand it, I felt great interest. It struck me that, as far as I saw, Captain Frankland took very little concern about the ship. He seldom spoke a word to any of the crew, and only occasionally on points of duty while on deck, to the mates. I soon found, however, that no man could more effectually exert himself, when his exertions were required. Hitherto there had been nothing to call forth his energies. With light winds and calm seas, he had better employment in his cabin. That very day a change came over the even tenor of our lives; scarcely were our sextants stowed away, when, as the captain was walking the deck, I saw him frequently turn his glance to the westward. There, over the land, in a moment it seemed, arose a bank of clouds, which every instant grew denser and denser, and came rushing toward us across the sky.

“All hands shorten sail!” shouted Captain Frankland, stopping suddenly in his walk. Quick as the word, the work in which everybody was engaged was stowed away, and up jumped the crew, all life and activity. Away they flew aloft—royals were sent down, top-gallant-sails were furled, and the yards were braced so as to take the wind on the starboard-tack. We had had the wind from the north-east, but it now fell almost a dead calm, and the lower sails began to flap idly against the masts; and under our topsails we waited the coming of the squall. It did not long delay; on it came in its majestic fury. On one side of us the whole sky was covered with a dense mass of threatening clouds, while the sea below appeared torn up into sheets of hissing foam; on the other, the sky was blue, and the water smooth as a polished mirror. There was not a breath of air where the ship lay. Then down on us came the fierce squall with its utmost fury—rain, hail, and wind united—over heeled the stout ship as if she had been a mere cockleshell, till her gunwale was buried in the water. I thought she would never rise again, but I kept my eye on Captain Frankland, who seemed as cool and collected as if nothing unusual was happening. With speaking-trumpet in hand, and holding on by the weather-rail, he ordered the mizen-topsail to be furled. The lee maintopsail braces were then slackened, to shiver the maintopsail; and the wind being taken out of it, the whole pressure was thrown on the headsail; the helm was then put a-starboard, and her bow paying off, righting herself, away flew the ship rapidly before the gale on an even keel. The foaming seas, rising every moment higher and higher, coursed each other up under our stern, as if angry at our escaping their power. Dark clouds were above us; dark hissing seas on every side; the thunder roared, the lightning flashed brightly: so terrific did the scene appear to me, that I thought at times that we must be hurrying to destruction. I concealed my feelings, for Gerard took the matter very coolly, and he was not likely to spare me if I expressed any unwarrantable alarm. After we had run on before the gale for some time, it began to moderate. We had all the time been going out of our course; so, to avoid losing more ground, the captain gave the order to heave the ship to. I had never before seen this operation performed. The fore-topsail was first furled, and the maintopsail, which was closely reefed, and the fore-topmast staysail were the only sails set. “Brace up the main yard!” was the next order given. “Now, down with the helm!” cried the captain, watching a favourable opportunity when a heavy sea had passed us. The ship felt the influence of the wind, and came up with her head to the westward; and then she rode, rising easily to the tops of the seas, and gliding slowly down into the valleys—their wild, foaming, hissing crests rushing furiously by her, but not a drop of water coming on board. I had never pictured to myself a scene so awfully grand as that which I now beheld in perfect security. On one side the waters rose in a wall high above the deck, and looked as if about to overwhelm us; while the next instant we were looking down into a vale of waters of depth so great, that it seemed, if we slipped into it, we should never again struggle upwards. When summoned to dinner, I went below with the expectation that I should be unable to have a mouthful; instead of which, there appeared to be very little more motion than usual, so easily rode the ship; and I could scarcely persuade myself that I had but just left a scene of such wild confusion on deck. The gale did not last more than twelve hours, and the ship was then once more put on her proper course for the Falkland Islands.

“Land ho! land ho!” was shouted one forenoon from aloft, with the usual prolonged cry. The Falkland Islands were in sight, and the land seen as we drew nearer, I found, was that about Cape Bougainville. We stood on, and next we made out the rugged hills above Berkley Sound, and then got close to the dark brown cliffs of Macbride’s Head, with hundreds of seals lying on the sands and rocks below them. We could hear the roar of the beasts as they looked up at us, indignant, I thought, at being disturbed by our approach; but Mr Brand told me that, fierce as they looked, they are a very harmless race, and easily captured. On the downs above were numerous cattle feeding, which gave us the idea that we were approaching some civilised part of the world. Passing Berkley Sound with a stiff breeze, which rushed out of it, we stood on for Mount Low, and then beat up Port William, which has a line of sand hills on one side of it, and Stanley Harbour at the end. Although the day was fine, the appearance of the country was not very attractive; for there are no trees—rocks, and sand hills, and tussac grass, and barren heights, being the chief features. We dropped anchor opposite Stanley, the capital of the settlement. Above a line of piers and quays appeared a double row of neat white cottages, inhabited by the pensioners who were sent out to assist in founding the colony. Round and about them are other houses and cottages, extending along the shores of the bay, and sprinkled on the sides of a gentle slope. They are generally of light tints, which contrast well with the dark background of the hill beyond, and give the place a pretty appearance. Further up is the church, not a very ecclesiastical-looking building; and beyond again, the cemetery, which has a neat chapel attached to it. The Government House is a long, low cottage edifice, which looks well from the harbour; and on the east of the town are some extensive stores, belonging to the Falkland Island Company, with their small fleet of vessels in front of it. On the west of the town is the Government Dock-yard, with block-house, workshops, guard-house, and stores, all neatly railed in. The surrounding country consisting of slight elevations, either rocky or covered with tussac grass, is not attractive. I could not help looking at the place with great interest, as the first infant British settlement I had seen; and I thought less of what it then was than of what it might become, under good management. The last idea was suggested to me, I must own, by Mr Brand.

The chief promenade in Stanley is called Ross Road, running right and left of the principal street for about two miles. On one side of it are built a number of houses facing the water, and among them are two or more hotels, of some pretensions. Behind this road are some smaller streets, inhabited by labouring people, Spanish Gauchos, and others. There are, perhaps, rather more than a hundred houses in the town, and between 400 and 500 inhabitants, including boatmen, stray sailors, Gauchos, and other wanderers. Several of the houses have gardens which produce a fair supply of vegetables, and beef is to be had in abundance; but as the colony produces very little else in the way of food, the inhabitants are somewhat hard up in that respect. The islands alternately belonged to England and Spain, till, in 1774, they were finally evacuated by the latter power, though it is only of late years that they have been systematically colonised by England. The first governor, Lieutenant Moody, arrived there in 1842, when the site of the intended town was changed from Port Louis to Port Stanley. As a proof of the value of the islands, Mr Lafosse, a British merchant at Monte Video, paid 60,000 pounds to have the right over all cattle of every description to be found on the East Falklands, for six years and a half. From what I heard, the climate is very healthy. It is at times windy, but in summer it is as mild and dry as the south of England. In winter the cold is never severe, and only at intervals of several years does snow fall to any depth, so as to risk the destruction of cattle. The most remarkable production is the tussac, a gigantic species of grass, which grows to the height of ten feet, and is capable of sheltering and concealing herds of cattle and horses. The core of this grass is of so nutritious a nature, that people have been known to live for months on it, and to retain their health. From this cause the animals on the islands grow to a great size, and their flesh is of a particularly fine flavour. The great object for which the settlement was founded, was to afford a place where ships might repair, and to supply those going round Cape Horn, or returning home that way, with fresh provisions. It is also under contemplation to make it a penal settlement, for which it is in many respects particularly adapted, if sufficient employment for the convicts can be found.

Gerard and I were very anxious to get on shore to enjoy some of the sport we had heard so much about. “Wouldn’t it be fine to kill a fat bull, who would make nothing of tossing one twelve feet up in the air if he could but catch a fellow on the tip of his horns?” said he, rubbing his hands.

I agreed with him; but we had little hopes of having our wishes gratified, when a gentleman from the shore offered to give us a trip round in one of the Company’s schooners to the West Falklands, where she was going to procure cattle. As the ship was to remain here some days to have one or two slight defects made good, and to take in a supply of beef, fresh and salt, Captain Frankland allowed us to accept the offer, Mr Brand going to look after us. Away dashed the little schooner, the Sword-Fish, having a fine fresh breeze, with as merry a party on board as ever put to sea. There was our friend Mr Nathaniel Burkett, and his friend Mr Jonathan Kilby, both keen sportsmen, and up to all sorts of fun; and Gerard and I, and the master of the vessel, Tom Cribb by name, who, though not a good shot, seeing that he had but one eye, and that had a terrific squint, knew every inch of the coast, and exactly where we were likely to find sport; and then there was Cousin Silas, who was a first-rate shot, though he did not throw away his words by talking about the matter. Pleasant as our trip promised to be, many a gale has to be encountered off those wild islands, and dangers not a few. We, however, instead of standing out to sea and going round all, took a course, well-known to our skipper, among the numerous isles and islets grouped round the larger Falkland. Their names I cannot pretend to remember. At last we dropped anchor in a snug cove where we were to remain for the night. We, the sportsmen, were to have a boat left us, and we were to land, while the schooner ran on to a station some way further. We had one dog with us, Old Surley by name, belonging to Mr Kilby—as brave an animal as ever flew at a bull’s neck, for he feared neither bull nor beast of any sort. With our guns, plenty of ammunition, and a stock of provisions, we pulled up a creek where we could leave the boat in safety, and landed. We first climbed a rock on the shore, whence we could look about us and take a survey of the island. It was of considerable size. We saw that we should have no difficulty in penetrating across it, through the high tussac grass which almost entirely covered the ground. We first advanced together. We soon came to some curious green mounds, covered with a velvety moss, about two feet high and nine in circumference. I happened to sit down on one to tie my shoe, and it made a most comfortable seat.

“Do you know what that is?” said Mr Burkett, giving it a blow with the butt end of his gun, which broke the moss to pieces as if it had been a huge toadstool. The mossy coat was an inch and a half in thickness, and the whole interior appeared filled with wide-spreading miniature fir-trees. Every stalk, of which there were a great number, was edged with diminutive leaves like those of the fir; and the tops were sprinkled with little pieces of resin, brown outside and white within, some not larger than a pin’s-head, and others half the size of a filbert. We afterwards came to some mounds where the plants had pushed through the green moss, and their leaves having slightly expanded, they looked like miniature myrtles. Instead of going directly inland, we made our way along the shore among the penguin grass. This grows to the height of ten feet, on the top of clumps of decayed vegetable matter, forming large hillocks, which made the shore look as if it had been covered with a coppice of underwood. We took our way through it, often being hid from each other by the high grass, and had not gone far when a loud roar saluted our ears. Jerry and I were together, but we had lost sight of the rest of the party. I instinctively drew back, and he looked very much as if he would have run away, had he known where to run to. He says he felt very brave though.

“What’s that?” I exclaimed.

“A lion!” replied Jerry, looking uncomfortable.

“A wild boar,” said I; “there are no lions here.”

“A big bull, perhaps,” cried my companion. “I hope his horns are not sharp!”

Our guns were loaded only with small shot, so that we could hope to make but little impression on the body of a wild animal. The roar was repeated, and there was a loud rustling among the penguin grass on a mound near us. The grass moved rapidly. We looked towards it. Presently the huge head of a ferocious-looking animal appeared glaring at us from among the grass. We shouted lustily for help to our friends.

“Let’s run, it is a lion—I told you so,” cried Jerry; “no time to lose, if we don’t wish to be eaten up!” Suiting the action to the word, Jerry turned round, and, in attempting to escape, tumbled over some of the tangled stalks, and lay sprawling on the ground, while I endeavoured to lift him up. The huge monster all the time came roaring towards us, Jerry and I shouting out,—“Help, help, help! a lion, a lion!” In another moment I expected to feel his claws on my shoulder.

“A sea-lion, my lads!” cried Mr Jonathan Kilby, who at that moment appeared close to us from among the high grass. “Jump up and attack him.”

The beast having no legs, and being able only to make progress with his fins, had not advanced so far as we expected. Our friend, having in the meantime drawn the small shot from his gun, and put a ball instead, fired at the head of the beast. The ball entered and stopped his further progress, and there he lay, helplessly floundering about, and roaring more lustily than ever. This gave Jerry and me time to recover ourselves, and to put bullets into our guns, with which we soon put an end to the sufferings of the poor beast. He was, we found, a species of seal, about eight feet long, of a yellowish-brown colour, and with a large mane, covering his neck and shoulders. He looked as if he would prove an ugly customer in the water; but as he had only flappers for front legs, with very small nails on them, and only a tail instead of hind-legs, a person on shore could very easily keep out of his way, and Jerry and I felt rather foolish at the fright he had put us into. We had achieved our victory before Mr Brand and Mr Burkett found their way up to us. As he lay not far from the boat, we settled to take his skin on our return. Going on, we reached a lake of some size, from which vast numbers of teal got up. Jerry and I shot several, which made us very proud; and the rest of the party tagged thirty or more between them, so that they were pretty well loaded. Before long, we again managed to get separated from the rest, but we had grown so satisfied with our prowess that we were indifferent to consequences. We felt that we were not likely to starve even if we lost our way. I was just going to fire at a teal, when Jerry pulled my arm, and pointing to an opening in the distance among the clumps of grass, I saw the head of a huge bull not fifty yards from us, and, as it seemed, fast asleep. Now was the time to show what we could do, so we withdrew our small shot and loaded with ball. Like North American Indians on a war-trail, we crawled stealthily towards him. We halted, and resting our guns on a bank, fired together.

“I am certain I hit him,” cried Jerry.

“So am I,” I added—though I was surprised that the beast did not move.

“We’ve killed him!” cried Jerry, as on we rushed, expecting to find a rich prize. He was lying down when we hit him, we saw that. We kept him in sight for some way, then we found our further progress somewhat impeded by the bogginess of the ground. At last we were brought to a stand-still about ten paces from our victim. Jerry gave a blank look at me, and I looked at him, and burst out laughing. The poor beast was not alive, certainly, but we were innocent of his death. He had evidently got into the bog in wet weather, and in vain struggling to free himself, had died of starvation. His head was stretched out, as if hopelessly longing for the rich food he saw growing not thirty yards from him, which yet he could not reach. All around the morass were the hoof-marks of his comrades, as if they had been watching him in his dying struggles, scampering round and round, perhaps with terror, or perhaps thinking how they might help him.

“At all events,” exclaimed Jerry, “we may say we hit a huge bull and left him as dead as mutton; and there’s no great harm if the rest go back to look for him. We can easily point them out the place by the side of the lake.”

A little further on we reached a smaller lake which was swarming with birds—geese, ducks, divers, and other wild-fowl. Among them were several swans, beautifully white, with black necks, which kept swimming gracefully about like the great lords of the feathered population among whom they moved. Jerry and I were very hungry, so we sat ourselves down to take a nibble at our biscuit and cheese, not wishing to disturb them till our friends should come up to help us to slaughter them. We had sat a little while, and opened our wallet, when, what was our surprise to see the birds swimming together, and landing in numbers below our feet! Slowly some advanced, as if to reconnoitre us, and then others came on, till some hundreds were within thirty yards of us, evidently wondering what strange animals we could be. Then they began to talk to each other in a most strange discordant cackle, their voices growing louder and louder, as if they were disputing on the subject, and could not settle it to their satisfaction. We lay back and watched them, highly diverted. Nearer and nearer they approached, talking away furiously all the time in tones of wonder and surprise, more than in those of anger.

“I know what they are saying,” whispered Jerry. “Well, these are two strange beings! How could they have come here? They are not seals, that’s certain, for they have legs; but they don’t look as if they could swim with those long, thin projections instead of flappers; and assuredly they can’t fly, for they have no wings. How can they feed themselves, for they have no bills? and see what great ugly round things they’ve got for heads. Evidently they cannot dive or live under water. They are not fish, then, nor birds; for if those are feathers growing on their backs, they are very rugged and dirty. Well, we pity them; for they are strange beasts, that’s a fact.” This quaint notion of Jerry’s tickled my fancy so much that I burst into a loud fit of laughter, which somewhat startled our flock of visitors; while Jerry, sitting up, hove a stick he had carried all day made fast to his side in among them. The missile did not, however, make them turn tail; but, instead, they clustered thickly round it, and, as if it had been some impertinent intruder, began pecking at it furiously. As we could not carry the birds away, with a praiseworthy self-denial we abstained from firing. When, however, we jumped suddenly up and clapped our hands, away they scuttled at a great rate, chattering and quacking louder than ever. We hoped, however, to reward ourselves for our present self-denial, by returning with all the party to have a shot at them in the evening. After this we walked on for a mile, and had begun to wonder what had become of our companions, and to be a little anxious at having missed them, when we were startled at hearing a loud roar not three hundred yards from us. It was very different from that of the sea-lion, and we too soon recognised it as the voice of an angry bull. Again the bull bellowed, and this time several other bulls lent their voices to the terror-inspiring chorus. We ran to the top of the highest mound near us, and thence we made out five or six bulls, with their tails up in the air, rushing towards us, following one whose voice we first heard. The spot on which we stood afforded us no protection, for the beasts would have rushed up it in a moment, but a couple of hundred yards on was a rock with steep sides, just rising above the grass; and our only chance of safety was to climb it before the horns of the first bull had reached our backs. Had he come directly on, as fast as his legs could carry him, this we should have had no chance of doing; but instead of that, he every now and then stuck his sharp ugly-looking horns into the grass, and tossed it above his head, as if to show how he intended to treat us when he caught us. We rushed on with our eyes fixed on the rock, not venturing to look behind, and expecting every moment to feel his horns at our backs. We kept a tight hold of our guns, but unfortunately dropped our wallets and the game we had shot. On we ran and on came the bull; the rock was a dozen yards before us, and he was not much further off in our rear. We sprang on; Jerry tripped over a lump of decayed grass, but he picked himself up, and, crying to me not to stop, followed me. The face of the rock was too perpendicular directly in front to allow me to get up it, but a little to the right it was more broken. I sprang towards the place, and scrambled up. Jerry reached the foot of the rock; the bull was making for the right side, where he had seen me climb up. In another moment he would have pinned Jerry to the rock, or tossed him up to me.

“Help me! help me, Harry!” he sung out, with good reason dreadfully alarmed. I had just time to throw myself down at full length, and, by loaning over the rock, to seize his hand, before the bull, seeing him, with a terrific bellow made a full butt at him. With a strength I did not think myself capable of exerting, I hauled him up to me, the bull’s horns actually passing between his feet! In his hurry, however, he dropped his gun at the foot of the rock, and the bull vented his rage and disappointment by giving it several butts as it lay on the ground; and I was in great hopes that he would strike the lock and make it go off—it would have astonished him not a little. Jerry almost fainted with the fright the brute had given him, but he very speedily recovered, and then we looked round to see what sort of a place we were on. We found that it was, fortunately, inaccessible on all sides; so we returned with much greater composure to watch the proceedings of our bovine enemies. The other bulls had now come up, with their tails in the air, bellowing at the top of their voices, and tearing the ground up on all sides, and throwing the grass over their heads. They appeared for some reason to be fearfully enraged against us. There were seven bulls altogether. Placed in the convenient position we were, we agreed that we could easily shoot them, and thus raise the siege; but on examining the contents of our pockets, we found that we had only got five bullets between us. Now, supposing every bullet to have had in this case its billet, and to have mortally wounded an animal, that would have left two unprovided for; and even with two we had no desire to contend on the level ground. Still we determined to do what we could; so I loaded and took a steady aim at the beast which had led on the attack. The bullet struck him on the head; but his skull was thick, and though it wounded him severely, it did not enter his brain. The pain made him tear up the ground more furiously, and bellow louder than before. Jerry said he would try the next time; so I loaded, and he took the gun. I thought he was going to make a good shot, but he was nervous, and the bullet only struck the beast’s shoulder, nor did it increase the sweetness of his temper. We had thus only three bullets, and all our enemies as vicious as ever. The most important thing we agreed to be done was to get rid of the leader; so I took the gun again, and carefully loading, waited till he made a tilt right up to the face of the rock, really looking as if he had been going to try and leap up at us. I tried to be perfectly cool, and fired. The bullet struck him, I was certain of that, but it did not kill him, so I supposed that it had glanced off over his head.

“I won’t miss again,” I cried, loading as rapidly as I could. “One of our last two bullets must do the deed.”

Our enemy, on receiving his last wound, turned off and made a rapid circuit round the rock, to discover, we concluded, if there was any place by which he could get up at us. Finding none, he returned. As soon as he appeared, I took a steady aim, resting the barrel on a lump of rock—I fired. Roaring with fury, he bounded along towards the rock. I thought he would almost have reached us. Suddenly he stopped—down went his head, and over he rolled close under the rock, and there he lay stone dead! We both of us simultaneously raised a loud shout of victory; but, as Jerry remarked, we began to crow rather too soon, for the other six bulls, no way daunted at the fall of their leader, continued raging round about us as furiously as ever. We had only one bullet left, and with that we could scarcely hope even to settle one of them. We sat ourselves down watching our enemies, hoping that they would grow tired of waiting for us and go away; but they seemed by no means disposed to move. Never did a beleaguering army watch more pertinaciously round a hard pressed garrison than did our formidable enemies watch to toss us in the air. In vain we stood up and looked around on every side for our friends, as far as our somewhat limited range of vision extended. There was not a sign of them. They, too, would have become not a little anxious about us, except Cousin Silas thought we were still with Mr Kilby, and the latter gentleman supposed we had joined our other friends. If so, unless they met they would probably not come to look for us. As we had taken but a light luncheon, we began to feel very hungry, and to cast longing glances at our satchels and the teal, which lay at some distance from the rock, but which we dared not attempt to got. Not ten feet below where we sat was the bull. Jerry looked over the rock—

“I should so like to have a juicy beef-steak out of you, old fellow!” said he, addressing the dead animal. “I say, Harry, don’t you think we could manage to get it? The other brutes will certainly grow hungry before long; and, as they don’t want to eat us, while they are picking up their dinners I shall have plenty of time to get down and cut out a few slices. I have my knife, and I sharpened it only yesterday.”

I had mine also; and, as I highly approved of his suggestion, we resolved to wait a favourable opportunity for our exploit. Raw meat was not, however, to our taste; so we agreed to try and light a fire and cook our steaks. There was plenty of dry moss and grass on the rock, so we set to work and collected all that we could find, so that we soon had a famous heap of it, sufficient almost to roast the whole animal. As we expected, the bulls, after looking at us for some time, feeling the calls of hunger, began to lower their tails, and putting their heads to the ground, commenced to munch the tender grass.

“Now, if these beasts had been lions and tigers, the more hungry they grew the more anxious they would have been to get at us. It’s lucky all animals are not carnivorous.”

Having delivered himself of this sagacious remark, Jerry said he was ready to turn butcher. We waited, however, till the bulls had got a little further off, and then he descended on the carcass of our victim, while I bent over the rock, as before, to help him up should they appear inclined to tilt at him. Enough steaks were cut to dine half-a-dozen men; and then, as the bulls did not observe him, grown brave from impunity, he went on further and picked up his gun. This he handed up to me, and it was not much the worse for the butting it had got. The bulls were still feeding quietly, apparently having forgot all about us.

“I say, Harry, I think some biscuits, and rum and water, would not be bad things with our steaks, not to speak of the teal,” said he, looking up at me. “What do you advise? May I venture to run for the satchels and some of the game?”

I agreed with him that it would be very desirable to have them, and offered to accompany him.

“No, no,” he answered, with a knowledge of generalship for which I had not given him credit; “do you load the gun, and stand by to cover me if I am pursued; you will be ready also to help me up the rock as before. If I were to take your place with the gun up there, the chances are that I should shoot you instead of the bull, and that would not do. I’ll go, never fear.” Jerry, as will be seen, was a creature of impulse. He was as brave as any one when he had time for reflection, and saw the necessity for coolness. As soon as I had loaded the gun and got ready, keeping his eyes on the bulls, he cautiously advanced towards our satchels. If a bull lifted his head, he stopped, and crouched down to the ground. Then he advanced again on all-fours; and so by slow degrees he worked himself up to the spot at which he aimed. He seized the things, and began to return as slowly as before. It would have been well if he had continued his caution, but when he had got about half way on his return, he took it into his head to run, laughing loudly at the success of his exploit. His figure moving alone, and his voice, roused the bulls. Up went their tails, and a terrific bellow made his laughter cease in a moment. I shouted to him to run faster. On he scampered, shouting loudly, “Fire, Harry, if you see one of them going to butt!” I was all ready, and he bravely held fast our property. The bull nearest to him, wildly whisking his tail and bellowing louder than ever, was close to him. I was in doubt whether or not to fire, lest I should still more infuriate the animal should I wound without killing him. In another moment I saw that there was no alternative. His horns were close to Jerry’s back, and in an instant he would have had him high up in the air. I shouted to Jerry to jump on one side. He followed my advice with wonderful coolness. I fired. My bullet hit the bull in the right eye. Down went his head, tearing into the ground. He rushed on almost close up to the rock, bellowing furiously, ploughing up the earth with his horns; and then, as if he had been making a voluntary summerset, he rolled right over, and was dead. It was indeed a triumph. I had no time to think about it then. On rushed Jerry, for the other bulls were coming up fast. Throwing aside my gun, I helped Jerry up the rock with the things he had so courageously recovered at the moment the other beasts were up to him.

“Bravo, Harry!” he sung out; “you’ve saved my life and shot the bull; you are a capital fellow!”

I proposed that we would not compliment each other till we had lighted our fire and cooked our steaks. As we had now some teal, we added a couple to our repast. We had some lucifers, so we soon made a glorious fire. Having plucked our teal, we poked them under the ashes, while, in true sportsman fashion, we toasted the steaks at the end of our ramrod. Having also pepper and salt, we had every reason to be satisfied with our repast.

“I say, I wish those other fellows were here,” said Jerry. “It would be great fun if they would come, thinking we were stuck in a bog, or spiked on the horns of bulls, and find us so jollily eating away up here. Here’s to your health, Harry. May you always make as good shots as you did just now, when you saved me from the butt of that beast’s head! Hillo! have a bit of your brother?” cried he, holding a piece of the steak at the end of his ramrod down towards one of the bulls, which came snuffing up towards us.

Thus we went on laughing and joking, perfectly contented, and thinking only of the present moment. We forgot that our fuel would soon be expended; that the position we occupied would be a very unpleasant one on which to pass a cold and perhaps rainy night; and that our friends would become really alarmed should we not make our appearance at the boat. These considerations did not begin to weigh with us till we had finished our dinner. When, however, we had time for reflection, we were not quite so well contented with ourselves.

“This is very good fun,” I remarked, “but I should like to know how we are to get away unless these beasts of bulls choose to raise the siege.”

“They’ll not do that in a hurry,” answered Jerry. “We must wait till night-time, when they can’t see us, and then make a run for it.”

“But how are we to find our way to the boat in the dark?” I asked. “I scarcely know whereabouts she lies.”

“To the westward, then, I think,” said he. “If the sky is clear we may steer by the stars, and we shall manage to find our way.”

I cannot say that I felt as hopeful as my friend professed to do, still there appeared to be no other means of escaping the bulls, and getting back to the boat. Should we wait till the morning the brutes would probably espy us, and run a tilt at us as before. We had provisions to last us for many days, but we had no liquid, with the exception of a little rum and water, which, although we had carefully husbanded it, was very low in the flask. A breeze had sprung up from the east, and it was already rather cold on the top of the rock; so, making up our fire, we sat down by it. We were amused at the way in which the bulls occasionally came and had a look at us; as much as, Jerry said, to ask, “Well, when are you coming down to let us give you a toss? We don’t intend to go away till we’ve tried it on. We are at home here, you know, so we are in no hurry.” Provoked, as he declared, at their impudence, he at last seized a bundle of burning grass which, he had twisted into a torch, and when a bull came near he hove it at his head. The flaming mass caught on his horns, and certainly had the effect of making him turn tail, and rush bellowing off from the rock; but it had another effect, and a most disastrous one, on which we had not calculated. Galloping on, the animal very soon freed himself from his burning head-dress by sending it into the middle of a large clump of tussac grass.

“Hurrah! the brute has made a famous bonfire!” exclaimed Jerry, clapping his hands as he saw the bright flames burst out from the easily ignited grass.

“Larger than we may bargain for,” I remarked, as in another instant, fanned by the wind, the fire began to run along the ground, and a neighbouring clump broke forth into a furious blaze.

“Well, that is a bonfire!” cried Jerry, still not comprehending the extent of the mischief he had commenced; but it was not long before he also saw with me what was going to occur. On went the fire, running along the ground as if it had been strewed with gunpowder—then for an instant playing round some tall clump, out of which directly afterwards forked flames darted forth, and quickly reduced it to ashes, while thick volumes of smoke curled upwards to the sky. No sooner did the bulls scent the smoke than up went their tails, and with loud bellows they dashed off through the grass, trampling it down in their fright.

“Now is our time!” I exclaimed; “the siege is raised; let us make the best of our way to the boat.”

Following the impulse of the moment, we seized our guns and the birds we had shot, and leaping off the rock, began to run in an opposite direction to that which the bulls had taken.

“Hurrah! the bulls are off. There they go like mad things, with their tails up in the air!” exclaimed Jerry, as we ran on.

“I did it finely—didn’t I? That bonfire was a capital idea. We’ve killed two, and the rest won’t be in such a hurry to butt at people in future.”

On we scampered, but we had not gone twenty paces before I seized Jerry’s arm and came to a stand-still, looking with dismay at the scene before us. The flames, blown by the wind, had caught the neighbouring clumps of tall grass. Dry as tinder, they were blazing up furiously. Our further progress was completely barred by the fierce flames which were rapidly extending on every side, and even then running along the ground towards us. We had already passed over a quantity of dry grass which, in another moment, might be on fire, and then all hope of escape would be lost.

“Back, back!” I exclaimed—“to the rock, to the rock! It is our only place of safety.”

With frantic speed we rushed back, the fierce flames, like hissing serpents, close on our heels. Hotter and hotter became the air—more dense and suffocating the smoke. Blinded and confused by it, we could scarcely find our way. A trip over the tangled grass-stalks we knew would be fatal. The flames were already scorching our backs. On either side we saw them leaping upwards round the tall tufts of dry herbage. We shrieked with pain and terror. The rock was reached, but to scale its steep sides seemed beyond our power. With a strength I did not believe myself to possess, I seized Jerry and hoisted him up. Grasping the clumps of grass and rugged lumps of rock, he scrambled to the top, and then leaning over, lent me his hand, and dragged me after him. Horror of what might be my fate enabled me to do what I otherwise could not have accomplished. At the same moment that I reached the top of the rock, the whole surrounding surface of the ground below became a sea of raging fire—leaping, tossing, hissing, roaring, the flames blown here and there by the wind; it was like the ocean in a storm. The devouring element came circling round us, the bright flames darting up like the tongues of huge serpents, eager to make us their prey. Bewildered by the scorching heat and black circles of smoke, we were nearly falling back into the fiery sea. I felt that I could not much longer retain my senses. I seized Jerry’s arm, and dragging him back, we retreated towards the centre of the rock. Even there the heat was so intense, and the smoke so suffocating, that it was with difficulty we could breathe.

“This is dreadful!” he exclaimed faintly. “Harry, I cannot stand it—I am going to die.” Saying this, he sunk gasping to the ground. At the same time I felt an agonising sensation in my chest, and fully believing that the same fate as his was about to overtake me also, I dropped down senseless by his side.

Chapter Six.

Our boat adventure among the Falklands.

A current of cool air was passing over the face of the rock, I conclude, for, to my no small satisfaction, I discovered that I was alive, and could very speedily sit up. The spectacle which met my sight, however, was terrific in the extreme. Far as the eye could reach, the whole country was in a blaze, the flames crackling and hissing as they fiercely attacked clump after clump of the tall tussac grass, while the ground over which they had passed was charred and blackened, the globular masses of the bog balsam glowing with fervent heat. The flames also still burned brightly close round us, and I saw no means by which we could escape from our position. As soon as I had collected my thoughts, I remembered my companion. I found a few drops of spirits and water in our flask. I poured them down his throat. He looked up.

“What! am I still alive?” he muttered faintly. “Oh, the bulls and the fire! what’s going to happen next?”

“That is more than I can tell you exactly,” I answered; “but I suppose, in time, the fire will burn itself out, and then we may get away from this. Let us watch it meantime. It is worth looking at.”

In a short time, after a few sighs, Jerry lifted up his head from the ground, and sat up. The sight at which we gazed was especially grand when a fresh puff of wind sent the flames rolling along, and throwing up forked flashes, as they found new fuel to feed on. All the beasts it had encountered had, of course, fled, terror inspired, before it; but numberless young birds must have been destroyed, and we saw hundreds of their parents hovering over the spot where their nests had been, in the vain effort to save their offspring. Some we saw fall into the flames, either from having their wings singed from approaching too near, or by being suffocated with the smoke. When we saw the effects of the fire, we were doubly thankful that we had not attempted to make our way across the island. Once surrounded by that fiery furnace, we must have been, to a certainty, burned to death. Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to me.

“Jerry,” I exclaimed, “where can our friends be all this time? Is it possible that they can have been among the grass, and that the fire may have caught them up? Good Cousin Silas, and Mr Burkett, and jolly Mr Kilby. Poor fellows! we may be much better off than they are.”

“Oh, don’t talk about it,” said Jerry, shuddering; “it is too dreadful. I hope—I hope they will have got into a place of safety. Poor fellows! and it was all my doing. Do you know, Harry, I think we ought to pray for them. They may be requiring aid which no mortal man can give them.”

“Yes, indeed,” said I; “we ought—let us.” And together we knelt down on the hard rock, surrounded by the roaring flames, the thick black smoke curling around us, and sometimes almost suffocating us; and most earnestly did we offer up our prayers for the safety of our friends and for our own; and most thankful did we feel that we had been preserved from the dangers into which we had been thrown. I pity the person who is ashamed to acknowledge that he prays for protection both for himself and those he cares for. How should we go through the world without the protection of an all-merciful God? Often and often I have had proof of how utterly unable we are to take care of ourselves. Among the many blessings and advantages I have enjoyed is that of having had parents who taught me to pray, and not to be ashamed of praying. At school, when some poor, weak, foolish boys were afraid to kneel down by their bedsides to say their prayers, my brothers and I always persevered in the practice; and very soon we put to shame those who tried to interrupt us—and not only we ourselves, but other boys who did the same, were from that time never interfered with. Sure I am that our prayers were heard, and that the blessings we prayed for in earnestness and simplicity were given us. When we rose from our knees we found our courage much increased. The occasion had made us serious, and reminded us of our duties. I wish that it had been always so, that it were still always so; but even now as I write, I feel how much day after day I have left undone of what I ought to have done. Is it not so with all of us? Then what necessity is there for prayer for strength from above to enable us to do our duty. I say again, don’t be ashamed. Pray always; and if it is for your good, what you ask with faith God will most assuredly give you. He has said it, and his promises never fail.

Night was now approaching, but we could yet see no prospect of our escaping from our present position. The darkness, as it came on, served to brighten the effect of the fire; and as we gazed round on every side, as far as the eye could reach, we could see only the bright glare of the conflagration as it went on widening its circle round us. Now and then, as it reached spots more thickly covered with clumps of tussac grass, we could see the flames rushing upwards in pyramids of fire; but in other places a dense fierce glow could alone be perceived as the fiery wave receded from us. The sight we beheld was certainly a very grand one, and not easily to be forgotten; but our position was far from pleasant, and we would thankfully have found ourselves on board the schooner, or even in the boat under shelter of a sail. Our clothes were scorched, and so were our hands and feet; we were getting very hungry, and no fuel remained to enable us to cook our provisions, while now that the fire was removed from us the sharp wind made us feel very cold. When we considered the small area of the rock which had been at one time like an island amid the fiery ocean, we had more reason than ever to be thankful that we had escaped destruction. On further examination of the locality we discovered that the proximate cause of our escape was owing to the position of the rock near a piece of water, the extent of which we perceived when the fire in our neighbourhood had burned itself out. A narrow belt of grass only intervened between the rock and the water, the rest of the ground being a marsh covered with moist rushes, which did not burn. As the wind had for the greater part of the time blown over the pond, we were thus saved from suffocation. Had the rock been thickly surrounded by high grass, I think that we must have been burned to death; for, blown by the wind, the flames would have reached the very centre of the rock where we lay; and had we not been roasted, we should have been suffocated by the smoke. We crouched down on the rock, and sat for some time without speaking, watching the progress of the flames. The ground around us was still glowing with the remains of the fire. How long we had sat silent I do not know, when Jerry exclaimed, with animation—

“I say, Harry, why shouldn’t we have a steak off our old friend the bull? He must be pretty well done through by this time.”

“We will try him at all events,” said I; and descending the rock, we very soon had some fine slices of beef out of him. Finding that the ground was sufficiently cooled to allow our walking on it without burning our shoes, we advanced with our steaks stuck at the end of our ramrods to a glowing heap of bog balsam. Kicking it up with our feet, it soon sent forth a heat amply sufficient to cook our already half-roasted steaks. When they were done, collecting our guns, and bags, and game, we sat down on the lee side of the rock, and speedily silenced the cravings of hunger. We should have been glad of something to drink, but we were not yet sufficiently thirsty to induce us to get water from the pond. We felt very tired after all the exercise we had taken, and the excitement we had gone through during the day; but we were afraid to go to sleep lest the bulls should wander back, or something else happen we knew not what; besides, the anxiety about our friends kept us awake. At last, however, as we sat shoulder to shoulder under the rock, sleep stole imperceptibly on us, and I do not think that I ever enjoyed a sounder slumber than I did that night. When we awoke we rubbed our eyes, not knowing where we were. It was broad daylight. We rose to our feet, and after stretching our cramped limbs, we climbed to the top of the rock to look about us. The fire still raged over part of the island, which was enveloped in thick wreaths of black smoke; but to the west we caught sight of the blue sea, sparkling brightly in the sunshine, the intervening space being free from flames, though presenting a surface of black ashes, not a blade of grass apparently having escaped the conflagration. We thought, too, that we recognised a point round which the schooner had come just before dropping us in the boat. This encouraged us to hope that we might not be very far-distant from the place where we had landed. Without waiting, therefore, for breakfast, we determined at once to set off.

“Let us take some beef, though,” exclaimed Jerry; “it will prove that by our own prowess we have killed a bull at all events.”

The slices of beef were speedily cut, therefore, and strung on over our shoulders, and, like two young Robinson Crusoes, we set off in the hopes of soon relieving our anxiety about our friends. Nothing could be more melancholy than the appearance of the country through which we passed—cinders and blackness on every side. Every now and then we nearly tumbled into a glowing heap of bog balsam. It was sad, too, to see the number of nests, some with eggs in them, and others with young birds completely roasted; indeed, we passed many old birds burned to cinders. At last we struck the shore; but the face of nature had been so completely altered by the fire, that we were uncertain whether it was to the north or south of the creek at which we had landed. At last we agreed that we were to the south of the spot we wished to reach, so we stood along the beach to the north. We had not got far before we saw, a little way inland, where the grass had been, two black masses. We grasped each other’s arms. Were they the figures of men? Trembling with fear we hurried towards them. Though burned to cinders, still we had no difficulty in recognising them as two seals. The poor things, stupified and astonished by the fire, had probably had no time to waddle into the water before it had overtaken them. Perhaps seals, like fish, are attracted by fire, and the foolish animals had thought it a fine sight to behold. We had taken no breakfast, and were beginning to feel the want of food, but, at the same time, we were so thirsty that we did not feel as if we could eat. There was plenty of salt water; but that was not tempting, and would only have increased our suffering. Jerry sat himself down on the beach and said he could go no further; but I urged him to continue on, in the hopes that we might come soon upon a stream of water. I remember even then being struck by the immense quantities of kelp which fringed the shore. The long leaves and roots, where left by the tide, looked like pieces of thick brown leather; and we agreed that cups and bowls, and all sorts of things, might be made out of it. Kelp is a species of sea-weed of gigantic size, and its sturdy stems have been known to reach the surface from a depth of nearly three hundred feet; some of the wide-spreading weeds looking like tanned hides extended on the surface. Its roots cling with a powerful gripe to the rocks, on which alone it grows. Some of the stems are sufficiently strong to moor a boat with. I had a knife, the handle of which was made by simply sticking the hilt of the blade into a piece of the root while it was wet;—when the kelp dried the blade was firmly fixed in it. We had not gone far when a rippling sound saluted our ears; and running on, we found a bright, sparkling stream gurgling out of the bank. We put our mouths down to the spot where it gushed out, and oh, how we enjoyed the cool pure draught! Nothing could then have been more gratifying to our taste. We found this gave a remarkably keen edge to our appetites; so we sat down by the stream and produced a piece of the steak we had cooked the previous evening, and the remains of our biscuit. While discussing them, Jerry exclaimed that he saw something galloping along the shore.

“Is it a bull?” I asked, thinking that we might have to decamp, and looking out for a place of safety.

“It comes on very fast,” he answered. I jumped up, for I was sitting a little below him, and looked in the direction he pointed.

“It’s old Surley! it’s old Surley!” I shouted. “Our friends cannot be far-off.”

On came the old dog, and was very soon jumping up and licking our hands and faces, and wagging his tail, till it looked as if he would wag it off. He seemed in no way displeased at receiving a piece of beef; and as soon as he had got it he began to trot off with it in his mouth in the direction from which he had come. After going a few yards, however, he stopped and turned half round, and wagged his tail, as much as to say, “Come along with me; I trotted all the way on purpose to fetch you.”

We took up our guns to show that we were about to follow; and on this he began to jump, and frisk about, and bark, to exhibit his satisfaction, and then he stopped and went on a little, and then stopped again to see that we were following. In great hopes that he was leading us to our friends, we went on as fast as we could walk. Our path led us under some cliffs which were literally crowded with penguins and young albatrosses, or mollimauks. There was a regular encampment or rookery of them, extending for five or six hundred yards in length, and from one to two dozen in breadth. The nests of the albatrosses were nearly a foot high, and of a cup-like form. Feathers were just beginning to spread on the backs and wings of the young birds, and to take the place of the down with which they had originally been covered. Old Surley passed by without taking any notice of them. When we approached the spot they set up a loud gabbling, and spouted out an oily substance at us. The penguins were much more dignified, and looked at us with silent contempt. The surface of the sea near at hand was covered with the parent birds, and the air was alive with them as they flew backward and forward to carry food to their young; but as, following old Surley’s example, we did not attempt to molest their broods, they took no notice of us. The penguins were the most numerous, and appeared to be the original inhabitants of the spot. They were arranged with great regularity, those having just broken the shell being together, as were those with their feathers appearing, and also those expecting soon to fly. Never had I seen so many birds together. However, we were too anxious about our friends to stop, so we hurried on after old Surley. From the steady way in which he proceeded, we felt sure that he was leading us in the right direction. Nor were we deceived. Before long we recognised the creek where we landed, and soon we reached the boat drawn up on the shore. We rushed towards her to discover if our friends had lately been there. We examined her thoroughly; but after all we could not decide the point. Thus we remained as anxious as ever. While, however, we were engaged in this manner, we had not watched old Surley, and when we looked up he was gone. Just before we got into the boat, Jerry’s cap had tumbled off, and when he wanted to put it on again, though we hunted about in every direction, it was nowhere to be found. At first we thought of continuing our search for our friends, but we soon agreed that it would be wiser to stay where we were; that if they had escaped they would certainly return to the boat, and that if we went in search of them, the so doing would only delay our meeting. Being somewhat tired, therefore, we got into the boat, and drawing the sail over the after-part, we lay down in the stern-sheets and were soon fast asleep. We were both awoke by old Surley’s bark, and jumping up, we saw Mr Brand with his other two companions running along the beach. We jumped out of the boat and hurried to meet them. Mr Brand had Jerry’s cap in his hand, which old Surley had carried with him to show that he had found us. We speedily narrated our adventures to each other. They had been dreadfully alarmed on our account. It turned out as we had supposed—Mr Kilby had reached the sea-shore by himself, thinking that we were with the other party, while they supposed we were with him. However, they had not been very anxious about us till they saw the conflagration burst out, and guessed that we were by some means the cause of it. They were on their way to look for us, but the flames, like some mighty torrent, rushed towards them. They had with frantic haste to dart through the clumps of tussac and penguin grass to reach the beach. They hurried to the boat, and had barely time to leap into her, and shove off, before the flames, fanned by the wind, came crackling and hissing up after them, and would very probably have set her on fire. Cousin Silas was almost in despair about us, and Mr Kilby told me that he said he should never forgive himself if we came to harm. They were much interested with the account we gave them of our adventures; and as it was time for dinner, we agreed to cook and eat the trophies we had brought with us—the beef-steaks—before putting to sea. We were amused at finding that we had committed an illegal act in killing the bulls; but, as it was in self-defence, it was agreed that the act was justifiable.

It had been arranged that we were to rejoin the schooner on the evening of this day, at a point of land running out from an island a little to the west of where we now were, unless the weather should prove bad; in which case she was to come in for us. The weather, however, was very fine, so making sail we stood across the channel. The station to which she had gone was three or four miles further to the south. The water was very clear, and as we passed through the kelp we looked down in some places where it grew less thickly, and could see its vast stems and branches, with their huge leaves, springing up from the depth of many fathoms, like a forest of submarine oaks or Spanish chestnuts. We were amused with the flight of some of the ducks we put up. Mr Burkett called them loggerheads, racers, or steamers. Their wings will not lift them from the water, but whirling them round and round, they went scuttling and waddling away over the surface at a rapid rate, generally two and two—the loving husband and his wife—leaving a deep furrow in the water behind them. We burst into fits of laughter at the ridiculous manner in which they moved. They are fat and fishy, and not at all fit for food. I never expected to have seen more birds together than we had passed at the rookery under the cliffs in the morning; but we sailed by an island, of which birds of all descriptions had taken entire possession. There were various species of ducks, and geese, and snipe, and teal, and shags, and grebes, and penguins, and albatrosses, and sea-rooks, and oyster-catchers, and gulls with pink breasts, and many others, of whose names I have no note. As we believed that we had plenty of time, we landed near some cliffs to have a nearer look at them. So tame were they that we could knock down as many as we liked with our sticks; but it was murderous work, and as we did not want them to eat—indeed many were not fit for eating—we soon desisted from it.

Near where we landed the cliffs ran out into the sea, forming natural docks, and in one of these cliffs we discovered a large cavern, which seemed to run a great way under the ground. By climbing along the ledges of the rocks, somewhat slippery with sea-weed, at no little risk of a ducking, we got to the mouth of the cavern. The sides were composed of ledges rising one above another, and every available spot, as far as the eye could penetrate, was occupied by shags and divers, and other sea-fowls. There were thousands—there might have been millions of them, if the cavern ran back as far as we supposed it did. They in no way seemed alarmed at our intrusion, but allowed us to kick them over, without attempting to escape. However, at last, old Surley found his ways after us, and his appearance created the wildest hurly-burly and confusion. Such clapping of wings, and hurrying to and fro, and quacking, and shrieking, and whirling here and there, was never seen among a feathered community. They must have been very glad when we took our departure.

We had got into high spirits with our walk, and had begun to forget all about the bulls and the fire, when, as Jerry and I were in advance scrambling along the shore, we saw basking, a little way inland, among some tussac grass, a huge animal. “Why, there is an elephant!” I exclaimed, starting back “or a live mammoth, or something of that sort. I don’t like his look, I own.”

However, screwing up our courage, we advanced cautiously toward the monster, as he seemed no way disposed to move at our approach. Then we halted and examined him more narrowly. He was alive, for we saw his eye complacently looking at us, as Diogenes might have looked out of his tub at the passing crowd. He was fully twenty feet long, with a huge unwieldy body and a big head. The most curious thing about his head was a huge nose, or trunk rather, which hung down nearly half a foot below the upper jaw. His skin was covered with short hair of a light dun colour, and he had a tail and fins like a seal. While we were still in doubt what he could be, Mr Kilby overtook us, and laughingly seizing our hands ran up behind the monster.

“Are you for a ride?” he exclaimed; and before Jerry suspected what was going to happen he found himself seated on the monster’s tail! “There you go, on the back of a sea-elephant,” exclaimed Mr Kilby, giving the beast a poke with his stick. “Hold on tight, and he can’t hurt you.”

Jerry did hold on, not knowing whether to laugh or shriek out with fear. Away crawled, or whalloped rather, the elephant towards the water, Mr Kilby and I keeping alongside, ready to catch Jerry should he fall off. I soon saw there was no real danger, except the monster should roll round, when his weight would kill any one under him. Jerry also instantly entered into the joke of the thing, and was delighted with the idea of being able to boast that he had ridden on a sea-elephant.

“I shall be carried off into the depths of the ocean, and you, Mr Kilby, will have to be answerable to my disconsolate father,” he sang out, half laughing and half crying. “Good-bye, Harry; a pleasant voyage to you round the world. May you not be spirited away by a sea-monster like this. Oh! oh! help me off, though!—he’ll have me into the sea to a certainty, and then he’ll turn round and gobble me up—he will. I know he will.”

As the beast approached the beach, lest the joke might be carried too far, we lent him a hand to dismount, while his steed crawled on as sedately as before into the water, and, as he swam off, turned round his head, as much as to say, “Hillo, master, are you not coming too? Just try it, and see how you like a swim with me.” Mr Kilby told us that this animal had probably been sick, and had remained behind while his companions had taken to the sea, which they always do on the approach of summer. In autumn they come on shore, and live in large herds in marshy places by the sides of rivers, eating grass like cattle. The females, which are without the snout, suckle their young, of which they have generally two at a time. As they are very slow in their movements, to afford themselves time to escape they have sentinels posted while they are feeding, whose duty is to give notice of approaching danger. They are very good tempered and inoffensive, though the mothers will attack those who molest their young. Mr Kilby told us of a man who had his leg bitten off by a female, while he was attempting to carry away her cub. We now once more took to the boat. We had not been long under weigh before I saw Mr Burkett looking up anxiously at the sky.

“I don’t quite like the look of the weather,” he remarked. He had been a sailor, and had long been cruising about the islands. He was therefore our pilot on the present occasion. “Brand, can you make out the schooner anywhere?” Cousin Silas replied that he could nowhere see her. “Then something has delayed her at the station,” observed Burkett. “As the tide is making in that direction, and the wind is fair, we’ll run down there instead of crossing the channel to the point proposed.”

This plan was agreed to, though it might have been wiser had we kept to our original purpose. For some time we made fine weather of it, but getting into another channel, we found the wind first scant, and then directly against us. We had consequently no choice but to attempt to beat up to the station. This delayed us much beyond the time we expected to get there. We of course kept a bright look-out for the schooner, lest she should pass us; but evening was closing in apace, and still we had a long way to go. However, Mr Burkett said he knew exactly where we were, and that we should be able before long to make out a light in one of the cottages, which would guide us to the station. So we kept a press of sail on the boat, and looked out for the light. The boat stood well up to her canvas, but after passing high cliffs, and opening a channel from the sea, a sudden squall took her, and before we had time to cast off the sheet, she was over on her beam ends. Cousin Silas whipped out his knife and tried to cut the main-sheet, while I let go the head-sheets, and Burkett jammed down the helm; but it was too late—over went the boat. Our ballast, happily, consisting of water-casks, she did not sink, though she turned bottom upwards. It was a moment of intense horror and dismay. I felt myself under the boat, entangled in the rigging! I had no time for thought. I felt that death had come, far away from home and friends. The next moment I was dragged out and placed on the keel—Cousin Silas was my preserver. Where was poor Jerry, though? Again Silas dived, and brought him to the surface, handing him up near me. Mr Kilby and Mr Burkett were clinging on to the gunwale, and now they all climbed up; and there we sat, our lives for the moment preserved, but with very grave apprehensions as to what should become of us. Old Surley, when the boat capsized, kept swimming round her; and when we climbed up on her bottom, be followed our example, sitting as grave as a judge, thinking it was all right. Had we been near inhabited shores, or in a channel frequented by vessels, we might have had some hope of being rescued; but the schooner was the only vessel we could expect to pass that way, and the chances of her seeing us appeared very remote. Happily the wind fell, and there was not much sea, or we should have been washed off our insecure hold. The current was running very strong, and Burkett was of opinion that it would drift us down towards the station; but it was a question whether we could reach the place before the tide turned, and whether we should get near enough to it to make our cries heard. These discussions occupied us for some time, and perhaps assisted to divert our minds from the very awful position in which we were placed. Jerry and I were sitting near each other astride on the keel at the after-part of the boat. Cousin Silas had climbed up over the bows, while Burkett and Kilby hung on, lying their full length amidships.

“I say, Brand, don’t you think we could manage to right the boat?” said Burkett. “If we could do it we might paddle on shore somewhere, and we should, at all events, have no fear of starving.”

“We’ll try what can be done,” answered Cousin Silas, slipping off into the water, and we following his example. “All ready now—heave away.” We hove in vain. The sail, and something else heavy, which had got foul of the rigging, prevented us righting her.

“We must give it up, I fear,” cried Burkett at last. “The oars went adrift, I fear; and as we have no hats among us, we should have nothing to bail her out with.”

As it happened, we all wore light sea-caps, which would have helped us very little in getting rid of the water. With sad hearts we had to abandon the attempt, and again to climb up into our places, considerably exhausted with the efforts we had made. Night was now coming on rapidly, and the darkness which grew round us much increased the horrors of opposition.

“One thing I have to tell you,” said Burkett,—“there is always a light kept burning at the station. If we sight it, we shall know whereabouts we are, and be able to calculate our chances of reaching the shore.”

This, however, I thought very poor consolation. The light could be of no use to us unless the tide took us near enough to it to allow of our voices being heard on shore. Fortunately we could still distinguish the dim outline of the coast as we drifted by, or we should not have known in what direction to look out for the expected light. Cousin Silas said very little—he was anxiously looking out for the beacon, to us of such vital importance. How dreadful, indeed, was our situation! I dared not think—I dared not hope to escape—still I dared not turn my eye to the future. I waited with a sort of apathetic indifference to the result. No light appeared; the current was evidently setting us through the centre of the passage out to sea, in the direction of that storm-surrounded promontory, Cape Horn. We must abandon even the remote prospect of being drifted on shore on one of the southern portions of the Falklands. For some time there was a complete silence among us. It was broken by Cousin Silas.

“My friends,” said he, in a calm, grave tone, but without a sign of agitation, “has it occurred to you that we may soon be called upon to die? Are you prepared for death? Are you ready to stand in the presence of the Judge of all the earth?”

No one answered him. What were their thoughts I do not know. Mine were very terrible. I thought how hard it was for those young as Jerry and I were, to be summoned to leave the beautiful world which we expected to enjoy so much. I forgot that numbers young as ourselves had been called away.

“It is a fact we should all of us attempt to realise,” continued Silas. “We must be judged. Have we gone to the Fountain which washes away all sins, to be cleansed from our iniquities? Do you trust on Christ, and Christ alone, as our Saviour, who will acknowledge us as his disciples—who will present us purified from our sins for acceptance by the Father? My dear friends, I put before you these great truths, because our happiness or our misery for that eternity which we are now approaching depends on them. On what do you trust? Oh, be able to give a satisfactory answer before it is too late.” I will not give the conversation which followed. It was very brief. The result was, that each of us turned ourselves to prayer, and prayed as we had never prayed before. Had we even been more disposed to levity than we were, we could not but have felt the earnestness of the appeal made to us—the importance of the subject—the awful truths uttered by our companion. Darker grew the night—the sea-birds screamed above us—the distant cliffs grew dimmer, their outline less distinct—the rushing tide earned us rapidly onwards—the cold wind pierced through our wet clothes, and sent the spray dashing over us. Shivering, benumbed, hungry and faint, I felt as if I could no longer retain my hold. Death—death, I thought, was truly approaching. Still, notwithstanding all Cousin Silas had said, I did not so much picture the future; I did not even dread it as I mourned for what I was leaving—the distant home I loved so well, and all those who so dearly loved me. I thought of the anxiety the uncertainty of my fate would occasion, the grief when they learned the truth; and bitter tears burst from my eyes, not for myself, but for them I loved. I mention the state of my mind and feelings on this awful occasion for a very important object. It agrees with my own experience, and all I have heard from others placed in similar situations;—a person who has been living unprepared for death, for eternity, cannot on a sudden change the whole current of his thoughts, and fix them on the awful state into which he is hurrying. If he has not before found peace with God, there is little hope that he will seek it then. Oh no! the time to do that is while we have health and strength, and hope to have a long life before us to be consecrated to him. He has an eternity prepared for us—are we to give him alone the dregs of our short span of life? He gave us everything—are we to return him only a few hurried prayers and ejaculations of sorrow? We cry out for mercy—on what do we ground our expectations of receiving it? Remember that God is a just God—what, in justice, do we deserve? Oh! remember also that “in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh;” and as you value your happiness for eternity, say not in your heart, “My Lord delayeth his coming.” I was thinking of home, and all I loved there. Suddenly a shout brought my thoughts back to the sad reality of our own position.

“The light! the light!—there it is—I see it clearly,” exclaimed Jerry, whose bright eyes had been constantly on the watch for the looked-for beacon.

“Where? where?” we all simultaneously cried out.

“At a right angle with the boat’s keel, as she now lies, on the port-side. There—there, it is quite bright.”

All of us looked intently in the direction he indicated. There was the light—there could be no doubt about it, beaming forth cheerfully through the darkness. It was still a mile or more to the south along the shore past which we were drifting, and we certainly were nearly a mile, if not a full mile, from the coast.

“How near do you judge that we shall drift to the station?” asked Cousin Silas of Burkett.

He considered a little—“Not much nearer than we now are,” he answered.

“What chance, then, have we of making ourselves heard, and getting help from them?” again asked Cousin Silas. “None,” said Burkett, in a sad tone.

“Then it must be done!” exclaimed Cousin Silas, in a firm tone. “Friends, one of us must endeavour to reach the shore by swimming. The risk is great. It is a long way, but it is the only means by which we may be saved. The strongest and best swimmer must make the attempt.”

“I wish that I were a better swimmer than I am,” said Burkett, “but I do not think I could do it.”

“I am but a poor one—I know that I could not,” added Kilby with a sigh.

“I’ll try, Mr Brand,” cried Jerry; “I can float for ever so long, if I can’t swim all the way.”

“I’ll go with you,” said I, preparing to throw off my clothing as Jerry was doing.

“No, no; neither of you lads must go,” exclaimed Cousin Silas, eagerly. “I was prepared for the risk when I made the offer. Harry, tell my mother, if you escape, how I thought of her to the last. Never forget what I have just been talking to you about. Gerard, your father will understand that I died in the discharge of my duty. Friends, good-bye; I trust that God, in his good pleasure, will enable me to bring you Help.”

Saying these words, he handed us his clothes, which we hung across the keel of the boat, and then he slid off into the dark water, and struck out directly for the shore. As soon as he was gone, old Surley seemed resolved to follow his example; and though we tried to hold him, he dashed off into the water, and away he went, swimming quietly by the side of Mr Brand.

“One good thing is, the old dog will perhaps help him if he gets tired,” remarked Jerry. “I’ve heard of them doing such things.”

Cousin Silas calculated that, being carried to the south by the set of the current he should thus land directly under the light. With calm, steady strokes, he clove his way through the yielding fluid. Not a sound escaped from his manly breast, nor could we detect the noise made by his slowly-moving hands, as they separated the water before him. How earnestly did we pray for him!—how eagerly did we watch him, till his head was shrouded in darkness.

Chapter Seven.

Rounding Cape Horn.

On drifted the boat! Darkness was above us—darkness was around us!—that small beacon-light the only source of hope. Without it we must have given way to despair. How eagerly, how intently we listened for the sound of Cousin Silas’s shout, should he have succeeded in reaching the shore! We came almost abreast of the light; not a sound reached our ears.

“It is a long distance for the voice of a man exhausted with swimming to be heard,” said Burkett. “He scarcely, too, could have reached there yet.” We thought not either. We relapsed into silence and listened.

“O Burkett! what of the kelp?” suddenly exclaimed Kilby. “Can he ever swim through it?”

My heart sunk within me as I heard the question; what man, even the strongest swimmer, freshly taken to the water, could force his way through those tangled masses of sea-weed? My noble-hearted cousin, was he then to be the first victim among us?

“The shore is sandy thereabouts, and unusually free from kelp. There is a natural dock where the schooner lies, and clear water all round.”

These words spoken by Burkett again revived my hopes. Still not a sound reached us. We could distinguish no signal from the shore to give us hope. Blacker and blacker grew the night. More keenly whistled the wind. The sea-birds’ shriek, echoing it seemed from the caverned rocks, sounded like a funeral wail. We fancied that many a fierce albatross was hovering over our heads, to pounce down on us when nature gave way before our sufferings.

“Harry, Harry!” said Gerard in a low voice, “I don’t think I can stand this much longer. Oh, my poor father! my poor father! how sorry he will be to think that I should often have done things which I knew would vex him.”

“Silence,” said Burkett; “we must try at all events and make ourselves heard, lest Brand should have failed to reach the shore. Now get ready for a shout; never fear cracking our voices.”

We were just then, as far as we could judge, directly abreast of the light. Every instant after this would be making our case more hopeless. How we shouted, again and again! but all we heard in return was the discordant shriek of the sea-fowl as they flew away startled at the noise. So we drifted on. In vain we shouted; our voices grew weary, and we gave it up in despair. Our eyes were still fixed on the light. We sunk lower and lower. We held on to the boat, but every moment increased our difficulty in so doing, the wind getting up, or rather we had drifted into a more exposed part of the channel, and the boat began to toss about, while the spray beat wildly over us. How long the time seemed! Every moment was counted as a minute; every minute as an hour. We had to gripe on to the keel with all our might, or we should have been washed off. With the greatest difficulty we could retain our hold. Yet we could still see the light dimly glimmering in the distance; but as that grew fainter and fainter, so did our hopes of being rescued. Scarcely could we see the light; dimmer and dimmer it grew; then we looked—it had disappeared! The rapid current hurried us on. The wide, storm-tossed Southern Ocean lay spread out before us. Darkness was around us. No land could be distinguished. Hope of life fled. We all prayed. We encouraged each other. We resolved not to give way to despair while life remained. We had to speak in a loud tone to be heard.

“Silence!” exclaimed Burkett abruptly. “I heard a sound. Yes, yes! See, see! Heaven be praised; that noble fellow Brand is safe, and we may yet be saved!” As he spoke, a thin stream of light shot upwards from the dark ocean, and broke into a thousand beautiful coruscations above our heads. “A rocket! the schooner had some on board for signals,” cried Burkett. “She is under weigh to look for us!”

About the light we had no doubt; but it was scarcely possible that he could have heard any sound. None, at all events, had reached our ears. A few moments before, we had been prepared to die; now life, with its many fancied advantages, occupied all our thoughts. With intense eagerness we looked towards the spot whence the rocket had ascended. All was darkness. Suddenly a light burst forth; of intense brightness it seemed, as it shed its rays over the foam-sprinkled, dancing water, and showed us clearly the spars, and rigging, and white canvas of the schooner. We shouted long and lustily, but we were too far off to be heard. Our hearts sunk, for she was standing away from us. Once more we shouted. Our shout was answered from a different direction from that where we had seen the schooner. Earnestly we listened. We could distinguish, too, the loud barking of a dog.

“Old Surley is safe, at all events. I am glad of that, poor fellow,” exclaimed Gerard. “I like that old dog.”

We watched eagerly. A light was observed dancing over the seas. Again we cried out. How cheery struck those sounds on our ears, which we had thought would never hear the human voice again. In less than five minutes a whale-boat dashed up to us, with old Surley in her bow, and at her stern sat Cousin Silas. We were saved! and before we could speak, we sank down on our knees, to return thanks to Him whose right arm had preserved us. A few words served to tell us how Cousin Silas had reached the shore a little way above the station, with old Surley as his companion; how kindly he had been received, and how promptly every one rushed to man the boats to hasten to our rescue.

In less than an hour we were at the station, when the schooner and the other boats soon returned. We were put to bed and rubbed with blankets, and had hot rum and water poured down our throats, so that very soon we recovered; nor did we suffer any material injury from the cold and wet to which we had been so long exposed. The schooner had been delayed, being unable to complete her cargo of seal-skins by the time expected. The next day we sailed, and in three days arrived safely in Stanley. We found the Triton ready for sea, and only waiting our return to sail. I was in the cabin when Captain Frankland first saw Gerard after hearing of our escape. Tears stood in the old man’s eyes as he took his son in his arms; and I saw by the expression of his countenance how he loved him. Mr Brand always stood high in his estimation; when he heard of what Silas had done, he stood higher still. I must own it, Jerry and I very soon forgot the awe-inspiring thoughts which had passed through our minds while we expected so soon to be called into eternity. Our chief concern was, having lost our guns and gamebags. We were, therefore, highly delighted when Burkett and Kilby made their appearance on board, each with a very good fowling-piece in his hand, with powder-flasks and shot-belts, and all other requisites, and begged our acceptance of them, in remembrance, as they said, of the adventures we had gone through together.

“Thank you, thank you,” we exclaimed; “we’ll not forget you, at all events, wherever we go.”

We called our guns after the good-natured donors, and had their names engraved on them. Many a wild-fowl did Burkett and Kilby knock over in various parts of the world. Old Surley accompanied our visitors. Mr Brand and he had become great friends after their long swim together; and Kilby, to whom he belonged, in the warmth of his heart presented him to Cousin Silas, who, very much to our satisfaction, did not refuse the gift. Thus old Surley became our companion in many a subsequent adventure. Just before we sailed, some very sad news reached the colony. It was the death of Captain Allen Gardiner and his six companions on the bleak coast of Terra del Fuego, where they had gone for the purpose of forming a missionary establishment, with the hope of spreading a knowledge of the Christian faith among the benighted inhabitants of those wild regions.

Captain Gardiner had left England in the autumn of 1850, with Dr Williams, a surgeon, who went forth as a catechist; Mr Maidment, who held the same office; Erwin, a carpenter; and three Cornish fishermen, named Badcock, Bryant, and Pearce. The Ocean Queen, the ship in which they took their passage, proceeded on her passage to the Pacific, after landing them at Banner Cove in Picton Island, which will be found near the entrance of Beagle Channel, about half way between the Straits of Le Maire and Cape Horn. They had with them two large boats, called the Pioneer and Speedwell, and two small punts, with tents and stores; but their supply of provisions appears to have been very scanty. Scarcely had they pitched their tents when the natives collected in considerable numbers, and threatened to attack them. To avoid collision, they ultimately took to their boats, intending to seek another spot where they might form their station. They put to sea; but in going out of the harbour the Speedwell, under charge of Dr Williams, got entangled among the rocks, and was nearly lost. All hands on board suffered much. Captain Gardiner had in the meantime found Bloomfield Harbour, which he thought would suit them, but during his cruise had lost the punts he had in tow. He at last returned to Banner Cove; but on sailing again his boat got on shore. Then it was discovered that all their powder had been left on board the ship, and so they had no means of killing the wild-fowl on which they depended chiefly for their support. Some of their provisions they buried here as a reserve. Again they put to sea; but their boats, which they clearly had not strength to manage, were beached on their way to Bloomfield Harbour. After a fortnight’s delay, they got afloat and sailed on to a spot about forty miles along that iron-bound coast, called Spaniards’ Harbour, which, after much consultation, they agreed would be the fittest place for their location. Here they arrived at the end of January 1851; but the Pioneer was driven on shore, and irretrievably wrecked. So they collected what stores they could save, and dragged them into a cave near the spot—her remains being hauled up on the beach. Dr Williams, meantime, carried the Speedwell further up the harbour, and anchored her there. Disasters followed them. A tide higher than usual washed into the cave, and swept away a large portion of their stores; then a hut they had built under the rook caught fire; and Captain Gardiner barely escaped with his life; lastly, scurvy broke out. Their provisions were running very short, so they sailed back to Banner Cove, to procure those they had left there. The provisions were found; but the scanty store could only last them a few months. They seemed to have a foreboding of the fate which awaited them. On conspicuous places on the rocks they wrote in large letters, “Go to Spaniards’ Harbour. Hasten! hasten! We are suffering from sickness—we are nearly starving!” Words of the same signification were written on paper, and buried in bottles where they might most likely be found.

They reached Spaniards’ Harbour by the end of March. Captain Gardiner took up his habitation at the cave, in the place he called Earnest Cove, to watch for those who, it was hoped, would come to their relief; while Dr Williams went to a more sheltered spot, up the harbour, at the mouth of Cook’s River, with the Speedwell. The months passed slowly by. Their food was all gone. They caught and ate mice, a fox, a fish half devoured, a penguin and shag—most unwholesome food—and then mussels and other shell-fish; and then the Antarctic winter set in; and lastly, through disease and starvation, one by one they died. They had kept a daily record of their proceedings—of their sufferings. While they had strength, they occasionally assisted each other. The last effort of the two survivors was to go on crutches to Cook’s River, to learn the state of Dr Williams, who had for long not come to them; but their weak state compelled them to abandon the attempt, and they returned to die in Earnest Cove. Maidment had been sleeping in the cave—he died there; Captain Gardiner near the remains of the Pioneer, which had been hauled up on the beach, and with which he had formed a slight shelter for himself from the weather. They had kept their journals to the last; and wonderful as it may seem, though storms had raged and rains had fallen, those journals had been preserved. Captain Gardiner’s last written words were addressed to Dr Williams, of whose death he was not aware:—

“Dear Dr Williams,—The Lord has seen fit to call home another of our little company. Our dear departed brother left the boat on Tuesday afternoon, and has not since returned. Doubtless he is in the presence of his Redeemer, whom he served faithfully. Yet a little while, and though ... the Almighty, to sing praises ... throne. I neither hunger nor thirst, though ... days ... without food ... Maidment’s kindness to me ... heaven.”

In October a schooner was despatched from Monte Video with provisions, under the charge of a Captain Smyley. Too late he reached Spaniards’ Harbour, and having just time to visit the Speedwell in Cook’s River, a gale springing up, he was compelled to put to sea without ever landing at Earnest Cove. In the meantime, Captain Morshead, in the Dido frigate, having sailed from England, was ordered to call at Picton Island with relief for the party. After continuing the search for some time, they were about to abandon it, when the inscriptions on the rocks were discovered, calling on them to go to Spaniards’ Harbour. There the Dido proceeded. Maidment’s body was found in the cave, Captain Gardiner’s by the side of the boat, with their journals and books scattered around. Their remains, with those found at Cook’s River, were carefully interred in a grave on the beach—the funeral service being read by one of the lieutenants. The colours of the ship and boats were struck half-mast, and three volleys of musketry fired over the graves. The journals—not a word of which was, as I have said, rendered illegible—were carefully forwarded to England, and, like voices from the grave, have undoubtedly instigated many to aid those who seek to spread the truth of the gospel among the savage inhabitants of those wild regions.

“Those noble Christian men have not suffered in vain; and yet they met the just doom of those who neglect to take those precautions which are necessary for the preservation of life. God has, in his infinite wisdom, given us reason and forethought; and that reason and forethought we ought to employ as much when engaged in his service, as when occupied about the ordinary affairs of life.” This remark was made by Captain Frankland, and I have often since reflected on it; and I trust that by repeating it, it may tend to guide the plans of those labouring in objects for the spread of God’s great name and glory, and all the blessings of the gospel throughout the world. The particulars of the narrative I have thus briefly given had just reached Stanley, and were the subject of conversation among all those who had any idea above that of the price of seal-skins and the profits of the last wreck on their shores.

With a fair wind and fine weather we sailed to double Cape Horn, intending to pass through the Straits of Le Maire. Often on the passage did Gerard and I and Cousin Silas talk of the fate of Captain Gardiner, and long to visit the spot where he and his brave companions died, and to see the strange wild natives it had been his ardent desire to bring to a knowledge of the truth. The favourable breeze carried us through the straits, and as the well-defined outline of the rocky shores of Terra del Fuego rose before us, we gazed with deep interest on a land which had been the scene of the sad catastrophe now occupying our thoughts.

To the west and north of us were numerous islands clustering together, of various sizes, with deep channels between them, most of them consisting of rocky mountains, often rising in perpendicular precipices from the ocean, and shooting upwards to a vast height in towering peaks and rugged crags, untrod by the feet of man or beast. Along the shores of these numerous isles and islets are gulfs and bays, and coves and creeks without number, often with level ground in their neighbourhood producing a somewhat rich vegetation, and forming a great contrast to the terrifically wild and barren tracts which are the chief characteristics of the region. Bold, precipitous headlands, with dark barren elevations behind them, appeared on our right as we skirted the northern shores of the straits. We made Cape Good Success, and a little way beyond it, crossed abreast of the mouth of Spaniards’ Harbour, into which rolls the whole set of the South Atlantic. Then standing on till near the entrance of the Beagle Channel, up which a little way lies Picton Island, we stood away towards Cape Horn, so as to steer close round it into the Pacific. Captain Frankland had often been here, and had once brought up in a harbour for many days from bad weather, when he had surveyed many of the passages in his boats. I was below; Gerard rushed into the cabin.

“We are off the Cape! we are off the Cape!” he exclaimed; “it is a sight worth seeing.” I hurried on deck, and thence I beheld rising not a mile from us, in all its solitary grandeur, that far-famed promontory Cape Horn,—a lofty pyramid frowning bold defiance towards the storm-tossed confines of those two mighty oceans which circle the earth. Dark clouds rested on its summit, foam-crested waves with ceaseless roar dashed furiously at its base, the sea-fowl flew shrieking round it; and as I gazed at it, I could not help thinking how an old heathen would have believed it the very throne of the god of storms. Well has it earned its fame. Scarcely were we round the Cape, when the wind, which had hitherto been favourable, shifted suddenly to the westward and southward, and dark clouds came rushing up from that quarter in hot haste, like a stampede of wild animals on the prairies of America. The long swell which had been rolling up from the east was met by a succession of heavy waves torn up by the fierce gale blowing along the whole course of the Southern Pacific, creating the wildest confusion on the world of waters. A few minutes before it seemed we were gliding smoothly on before a favourable breeze, under topsails and top-gallant-sails; now the ship was madly plunging into the foam-covered tossing seas.

“All hands shorten sail!” cried Mr Renshaw, the first officer.

“All hands shorten sail!” was repeated along the decks.

“I thought how it would be when I saw the nightcap on the top of the Horn,” muttered old Ben Yool. “We shall have a sneezer before we have done with it, and it may be this day month won’t see us round the Cape.”

Old Ben’s prognostications were not very pleasant, for we were anxious to be round the Cape among the wonders we expected to behold in the Pacific. Scarcely was the order given, than the crew were in the rigging. Top-gallant-sails were quickly stowed, three reefs were taken in the topsails, and the courses were brailed up and furled. This was done not a moment too soon: the mighty seas came rolling up mountains beyond mountains, with wide valleys between them, into whose depths the ship plunged down from each watery height as it came under her, seeming as if she could never rise again. Still once more she was lifted upwards among showers of spray, which flew off from the white-crested seas, deluging us fore and aft. Overhead the wild scud flew fast, the stern Cape looked more solitary and grand, and the sea-fowl with discordant shrieks flew round and round, closing in the circles they were forming till they almost touched our masts. The ship struggled bravely onward on the starboard-tack, rapidly increasing her distance from the land, but making very little way to the westward.

More than once I held my breath and clenched my teeth, as I felt the ship sending forward, and saw the wide, deep valley into which she was plunging, and the long, huge, watery height rolling on towards us, and looking as if it must overwhelm us. And then, when having, by a miracle it seemed, escaped the threatened danger, to see another valley just as deep and wide, and another mountain just as big—and to know that though we might rush ever so fast onward, we should find valley after valley just as deep, and mountain after mountain just as big for days and days, or weeks to come, perhaps; when, too, I heard the howling and whistling of the wind, and the creaking and complaining of the timbers and bulkheads, and the roar and dash of the seas,—I own that I could not help wishing that my feet were planted on some firm ground, and that I were enjoying the wild scene from a distance.

“O Jerry, where are we going to?” I exclaimed, when we first met the full swell of the Pacific.

“Going? why, to the west coast of South America, and to Robinson Crusoe’s Island, and to all sorts of wild places,” he answered, laughing. “We have rather a rough road before us, as you say; but never mind, Harry, you’ll soon get accustomed to it, and a little bumping is good for the digestion, they say.”

Jerry was right; in a very short time I was as much at home as any one in a gale.

The puff we had got off the east coast of America showed me what a gale was; but that was mere child’s play to the storm now blowing. When I thought anything was at its worst, when matters wore a most gloomy and threatening aspect, I could not but admire the coolness and self-possession of Captain Frankland and his officers. They seemed to take it all as a matter of course, and walked the deck as composedly as in a calm, only they had to hold on pretty tightly at times to the weather-railings, when the ship, with a sudden jerk, was sent over to port, and then back again almost as far on the other side. It was fine, however, to see the tall figure of Captain Frankland, as he balanced himself, leaning backward when the ship shot downwards into the trough of the sea; and I soon gained confidence from the perfect composure he exhibited. Very soon the wind came round more to the northward of west, and the ship looked up rather nearer to her course round the Cape. Our satisfaction, however, was soon destroyed by the redoubled fury with which the gale came down on us. The captain beckoned Mr Renshaw and Mr Brand to come to him. They stood in earnest conversation on the quarter-deck. Darkness was coming on—I could just see their figures grouped together. With startling energy Mr Renshaw had just given the order to furl the fore and mizzentop-sail, to heave the ship to, when there was a loud crash.

“Down! down for your lives!” shouted the captain. The main-topmast had been carried away. Masts, and yards, and blocks, and rigging, came hurtling down on deck in one mass of ruin, injuring two or three of our men, and knocking one poor fellow overboard. In vain an attempt was made to save him. To lower a boat would have been madness. His death-shriek sounded in our ears as he dropped astern, and soon sunk beneath the dark, troubled waters. We had little time to think of his fate—the fate of many a gallant seaman. Our own danger was great. The mates sprung forward to clear the wreck, and to secure as well as could be done the other masts. The fear was that the fore-topmast and mizzen-topmast, if not the lower masts, deprived of their support, might go likewise. The wreck was quickly cleared, and the masts got on board. To stand on or to heave to were equally out of the question. It was necessary to put the ship before the wind. The mizzentop-sail was furled, the helm put up, and the ship was to be wore round. Now came the danger. In wearing, if a sea strikes a ship abeam, there is a great risk of her bulwarks being stove in, and of everything being washed from her decks. Every one held on to whatever he thought most secure. The ship wore steadily round. A huge sea came rolling on, but already the fore-yard was squared; it struck her on the counter, and she flew unharmed before it. Instead, however, of running to the eastward, she was headed up towards the land. No one turned in that night. Sharp eyes were on the look-out for land. Cape Horn, like some gigantic spirit of the deep, was seen towering up amid the raging ocean. On we kept. Once more we were under shelter of the land, the mizzen-top-sail was set, and we ran up just outside those islands which cluster thereabout so thickly, till at daylight we were off the mouth of a channel, up which we ran, and dropped our anchor in a fine land-locked harbour.

“We are far better off here than battering about outside, and knocking the ship to pieces,” observed Mr Pincott, the carpenter. “Now, if we could but get a fresh spar for a topmast, we should soon be all ataunto.”

As, however, we were not likely to find spars large enough for the purpose in this part of the world, it was necessary to make use of the broken one. While this work was going on, it was resolved to hold some communication with the natives. A boat was lowered, under charge of Mr Brand—Gerard and I and Mr McRitchie going in her, and two hands, as no more could be spared from attending to the repairs of the ship. We were all armed, but the captain directed us to be very careful in our intercourse with the wild people we might meet. We had with us some trinkets, glass necklaces, bracelets, rings, gilt lockets, knives, scissors, and other trifles, to barter with them, or to win their good-will. After pulling some way, we reached a sandy cove surrounded with trees of good height, and a quantity of brushwood below them. We saw several wigwams among the trees, and two canoes hauled up on the beach. Beyond the wood were ranges of high hills, the nearest ascending almost precipitously from the water, while those further off were worthy of the name of mountains. It was altogether a very beautiful and attractive scene—the more so, that it was totally unexpected in that region. No natives were visible, so we ran the boat on shore, and landed. The wigwams were in shape like those of the North American Indians composed of a number of long sticks stuck in the ground in a circle, and bending inwards till their other ends met, and were secured together with a band. Instead of being covered with birch bark, these were thatched very neatly with dry grass or reeds, and formed very warm abodes. In the centre a pile of ashes showed where their fires were placed. Their canoes were very like those of North America, being built of bark, with ribs neatly formed, and kept in shape by several beams athwartships secured to the gunwale. Near the wigwams were two other partly finished canoes. While we were examining these rude habitations and means of locomotion, a shout from the two men left in the boat made us look up, and in an opening in the wood we saw some dozen or more savages advancing stealthily towards us. Mr Brand, the instant he saw them, told us to fall back behind him; and he then advanced alone, patting his stomach,—the sign of amity among these people. It is as much as to say, I suppose, “I have had a good dinner, and I hope that you have had one also.” They, in return, all shouted and gesticulated most vehemently, pointing to their mouths in their eagerness to speak, not being aware, probably, that we did not understand a word they said; however, at last they began to pat their stomachs, and then we knew that all was right. Accordingly we advanced to meet them, patting our stomachs with one hand, and holding out the other to grasp theirs. They were of a brownish copper colour, well formed and athletic, with long shaggy hair—their only clothing being a piece of skin thrown over one shoulder. In such a climate as that of Terra del Fuego, their being able to go without clothes shows that they must be of a very hardy nature. We were soon surrounded by some thirty or more of these very unprepossessing gentlemen, all talking most furiously to us or at us, some patting us on the back, and others examining our handkerchiefs, and caps, and buttons, or any article of our dress they could get hold of. We patted them on the back in return, but as they had no clothes, we took hold of their hair and admired it; and Jerry must needs catch one fellow by the nose, and assured him that he had a very handsome nob! In this way we in a short time became excellent friends, though, as we had no interpreter, we could only communicate with each other by signs. When they found that we did not understand what they said, they hallooed louder and louder; and as they had voices of most stentorian power, they at last spoke to us in a perfect roar, till they almost deafened us! By their tones we fancied that they were saying, “Well, if you cannot understand that, you must be desperately stupid fellows.”

When they found that we had come as friends, they invited us to accompany them to the village, or, as Jerry called it, their wigwamment, about a quarter of a mile off, in a sheltered nook among the trees. Fearing no treachery, we agreed, and we walked along in the most amicable way, they slapping us on the back, and we slapping them, while they often indulged in the most uproarious shouts of laughter. Stopping suddenly, they asked us by signs if we were hungry, and immediately gathered a number of fungi, which grew in clusters round the roots of a tree which Mr McRitchie told us was an evergreen beech. They handed them to Jerry and me, at the same time patting us on the stomach.

“What are these toadstools for, old gentleman?” exclaimed Jerry, holding them up and laughing. “They don’t want us to eat these, surely, for our luncheon?”

“They do, though,” said Mr McRitchie. “They are the edible fungi. Just take a piece; the people hereabouts eat them largely.”

Jerry on this took a large mouthful, but spat it out, declaring that he would just as soon eat shoe-leather. I ate a small piece, but thought it tasted very insipid, and not very digestible. The savages looked astonished at our want of taste, and, to show that they appreciated the production more than we did, crammed quantities of it into their mouths.

“Come, Mr McRitchie, for the advancement of science you must eat some!” exclaimed Jerry, handing him a big fungus.

This was a favourite expression of the doctor’s; nor, to do him justice, was he slack to put his principles into practice. I have since often remarked in England the roots of beech trees completely surrounded with masses of fungi not unlike them in appearance. The doctor ate enough to redeem our character with the savages, and then we proceeded in the same amicable way as before, till we reached their village. It consisted of ten wigwams, some of considerable size, capable of holding twelve or more people. They were neatly thatched with straw, and their doorways had a piece of carved wood, so as to form an arch overhead. Several little, long-backed, sharp-eyed, hairy terriers came barking out and snapping at our heels, and wore very annoying till they were called off by their masters. In and about the huts were a number of women and children, the former far from unpleasant in their looks, though as dirty as the men. Indeed, from their appearance, we had reason to doubt whether any of the tribe had ever washed in their lives. The women had a modest, retiring look; and the children seemed in no way frightened when they saw us. Cousin Silas had a happy knack of making friends with savages, and especially with their children. His secret, I found, was great gentleness. While Mr McRitchie, Jerry, and I sat down on a log facing the huts, he advanced slowly towards the nearest group of children with some bracelets and lockets, which he now first produced, singing and dancing at the same time, so as to attract their attention. They stared at him with open eyes, but showed no inclination to run away till he got near enough to slip the string of a locket over the neck of the tallest child—a little girl—and a bracelet over the arm of another; and then, taking their hands, he began slowly to move round and round in a circle, beckoning to the rest of the children to join hands. This they readily did, and then two or three of the men—their fathers probably—joined the circle, and we got up and united our hands to those of the savages, and then several of the women came; and there we were—Mr Brand, and the doctor, and Jerry, and I, and the savages—men, women, and children—all singing, and dancing, and jumping, and laughing like mad, till we were fain to stop for want of strength to go on. To show their satisfaction, the savages gave us all round some over-affectionate hugs, which, besides nearly squeezing the breath out of our bodies, were unpleasant on account of the very dirty condition of the huggers. We would not tell them that we did not like it, so we had to submit to the ceremony as often as they thought fit to perform it, and to put the best face we could on the matter. The dance over, they invited us into a wigwam. It was ten feet in diameter, with a fire on the ground in the centre. Round it were heaps of dry grass, on which apparently they slept; while bunches of grass were hung to the roof, probably to dry. The smoke found its way out of the doorway, and through a small aperture, where the poles at the apex joined. There we all sat round the fire, squatting on our heels, and talking away as fast as our tongues could move, as if we were keeping up a very interesting conversation. The smoke and heat, not to mention the want of cleanliness in our hosts, made us very glad to get out again into the fresh air. Besides the fungi I have spoken of, the Fuegians live chiefly on fish and the shell-fish they gather on the rocks, though they eat birds and grubs of all sorts—and, I fancy, nothing comes amiss to them. We observed that a platform of clay was placed in each canoe, on which to place a fire. There was also a sort of well at the bottom of the canoe, and out of it a man was constantly employed in bailing the water, which leaked in through the seams. The men we met were of good size, and robust; but their legs were thin and weak, owing to their sitting so much in their canoes and walking so little. When by degrees we produced our gifts, and distributed them among the party—men, women, and children—their pleasure knew no bounds. They danced, and laughed, and shouted into our ears louder than ever; so that we thought it would be as well to be off while they remained in such excellent humour. They were much astonished at seeing the doctor pull out his note-book and write in it. The doctor, to indulge them, made a few clear strokes; and a young man, who had attached himself to Jerry and me, imitated them in a wonderful way, considering his rough and uncouth hand. We had heard them making a number of strange sounds, and at last we discovered that they were imitating our words.

“Good-bye,” said Jerry, as we got up to go away.

“Good-bye,” replied our young friend as clearly as possible, seeming fully to comprehend the meaning of the words.

“You speak capital English,” said Jerry, laughing.

“Capital English,” repeated the savage, shouting with a laughter which was quite catching, as if he had said something very clever.

Then, having gone through another process of hugging, we proceeded to the boat, accompanied by our new friends. Having refitted the topmast, we waited till the gale had blown itself out; and once more putting to sea, we had a very quick passage round Cape Horn, now no longer clothed in storms, to Valparaiso, the sea-port of Santiago, the capital of Chili.

Chapter Eight.

Adventures in Chili.

One morning, when it was my watch on deck, soon after dawn the cheery sound was heard of “Land on the starboard-bow!” I looked out; and as daylight increased, there appeared, as if rising out of the ocean in their desolate grandeur, capped with snow and towering high above the clouds, the lofty summits of a range of mountains trending away north and south far as the eye could reach. They were the giant Cordilleras. On we sailed with a fresh breeze. The sun ascended with stately pace from behind them, and then a mist arose and shrouded their base. Hour after hour we ran on, and yet we seemed not to have got nearer; till once more the mists lifted, and wild, rocky, and barren heights sloped upwards before us from the ocean. Full sixty miles were gone over from the time those snowy peaks were first seen till we reached Valparaiso, far away down at their base. We must have been a hundred and twenty miles off them at sunrise.

Coming so suddenly from the wild regions of Tierra del Fuego and the unattractive Falklands, Valparaiso appeared to us a very beautiful place. It is very irregularly built—at the bottoms of valleys, on the tops of hills, and on their steep and sometimes rugged sides, rising directly out of the blue ocean, with a succession of range after range of lofty mountains behind it the Cordilleras towering in the background beyond all. Gerard and I were very eager to get on shore; so was old Surley. He wagged his tail, and ran to the ship’s side and barked, and looked up in our faces and looked at the land, as much as to say, “How I should like to have a scamper along the beach there!”

“Yes, you may all three go, if Mr McRitchie will take care of you,” said the captain, laughing. Fleming got leave to accompany us, as he had been unwell for some weeks, and the captain thought a trip on shore would do him good. We found that there would be time to get right up among the mountains, where we hoped to find some good sport, our great ambition being to kill a guanaco—the name given to the llama in its wild state. A number of boatmen good-naturedly helped us to land on the beach, with our guns and carpet-bags. It was market-day; the market was full of vegetables and other provisions, and the place bore a very cheerful aspect. We heard that, in spite of the want of level ground, the town has very rapidly improved in the last few years. The country generally, since order has been established, has become prosperous. Everybody praises the climate, and perhaps there is not a finer in the world; for, although hot in summer, the air is dry and pure, and tempered by the sea-breeze, which regularly sets in every forenoon. In the harbour were two or three old hulks, the remains of the fleet commanded by Lord Dundonald, when he performed one of his most gallant exploits—the cutting out of the Esmeralda frigate, belonging to the Spaniards, from the port of Callao. Fleming was with him, and told me all about it.

“What a lucky adventure!” I remarked.

“No, Mr Harry, it wasn’t luck, it was prudence and forethought which gained the day with him then at all times. There never was a more prudent, and never a braver man. He feared nothing, and took every precaution to insure success. We were three days getting ready. We were all dressed in white, with a blue mark on the left arm—160 blue-jackets and 80 marines—and armed with cutlass and pistols—all picked men. Every man knew exactly what he had to do—some to attack one part of the ship, some another; others to go aloft and loose pails, some to the main, and others to the foretop. The admiral sent all the ships of the squadron out of the bay, except his own flag-ship. At midnight we were told off into fourteen boats. A line of booms had been placed across the mouth of the inner harbour, with only a narrow entrance. Just then the admiral’s boat, which led, ran foul of a Spanish guard-boat; but he whispered to the crew, that if they gave any alarm he would kill every one of them; so they held their tongues, and we were quickly alongside the Esmeralda. The Spaniards were asleep, and before they had time to seize their arms, we were upon them, the frigate’s cables were cut, and we were running out of the harbour. Had the admiral’s directions been followed in all points, we should have cut out every craft in the harbour, and a rich treasure-ship to boot; but he had traitors serving under him, and all was not done which ought to have been done.” Fleming told me also how Lord Dundonald took the strong forts of Valdivia, to the south of Chili, by storm, with his single ship’s company; but I must not now repeat the story.

We engaged two calèches, rattle-trap vehicles, like gigs with hoods, to carry us to Santiago, the capital of Chili. One horse was in the shafts; another on the left side was ridden by a postilion on a high-peaked saddle, with a long knife at the saddle-bow; he being dressed with a straw hat over a silk handkerchief tied round his head and the ends hanging down behind, a short jacket, coarse pantaloons, high boots, huge spurs, and a poncho hanging over one shoulder. Jerry and Mr McRitchie went together, Fleming accompanied me, and we had old Surley, who sat up between our legs, looking sagaciously out before him. Away we rattled. The road was much better than we had expected to find it in a place so far away from England as this seemed. My idea was, that once round Cape Horn, we should not see anything but painted savages or long-tailed Chinese; and I was quite surprised to find good roads and carriages in Chili. We slept two nights on the road; admired Santiago, which is full of laughing gas, the air is so fine; it stands 1700 feet above the level of the sea. Then we started off on horseback towards the Cordilleras, to a spot called the Snow Bank, whence Santiago is regularly supplied with snow all the year round. At the capital we fell in with an English sailor, Tom Carver by name, who had served with Fleming under Lord Cochrane, and having married a Chilian wife, had settled in the country. He came as our interpreter, for without him a guide we procured would have been of very little service. Leaving our horses at a small rancho, or farm-house, we set off with our guns, Fleming and the guide carrying most of the provisions, though we each of us had a share. The scenery was wild and grand in the extreme, consisting of the snow-capped peaks of the Andes, of rugged heights, and of dark glens and gorges, with precipices which went sheer down many hundred feet below us. We had not gone far before we came to a suspension bridge made of hides, cut into strips and twisted together, thrown across a fearful gorge. Bundles of sticks placed on the ropes form the road. It was full of holes, and as I looked through, far down into the torrent foaming below, I could not help feeling how very disagreeable it would be to slip through. Surley followed at my heels, and even he did not like it. We now reached a wide valley, on the sides of which, far up on the mountains, we descried a number of animals, which Jerry and I concluded, without doubt, were the much-desired guanacoes. Mr McRitchie, with Simmons, the sailor, and the guide, were ahead; Fleming was with us; so we agreed, as we could not fail of being seen by our companions, we would climb the mountain in chase of the game. Up, up we climbed, old Surley after us. He seemed to think it very good fun; but Fleming, not accustomed to such exercise, was soon blown.

“Come along, Fleming,” cried Jerry; “we shall soon be up to the beasts; don’t give in, man.”

“No, Mr Gerard, you go on, and leave me to follow you slowly,” answered Fleming. “If I stop, you’ll easily find me again.”

We, of course, were ready enough to follow this advice; so Jerry, Surley, and I, pushed on up the mountain as fast as we could climb towards the nearest herd of guanacoes. They were of a light-brown colour, of about the size of a stag. I should describe the animals we saw as having small heads, with large and brilliant eyes, thick lips, and ears long and movable. The neck was very long, and kept perfectly upright, while the haunches were slightly elevated; so that they looked somewhat like little camels—the purpose of which, indeed, they serve when domesticated. We could see several herds in different parts on the side of the mountain. There was one low down near the path in the direction the doctor and his companions had taken. They were feeding quietly, when one looked up, then another, and away the whole herd scampered at a tremendous rate up the mountain. We thought that the sight of the doctor’s party had put them to flight; and it showed us that we must be cautious in approaching the herd we had marked. Old Surley was very eager to be after them, and we had great difficulty in keeping him back.

The air was keen and at the same time hot. There was not a cloud in the intense blue sky, and the rays of the sun came down with great force, and blistered our skin and peeled our noses till we were afraid of touching them; but we did not think much about that trifle while the guanacoes were in sight. Concealing ourselves as much as possible behind rocks and bushes, and here and there an evergreen quillay-tree, we got nearer and nearer to them. Sometimes we got behind clumps of the great chandelier-like cactus, whose sturdy green twisted stems afforded us capital shelter.

“It is lucky we are not very big, or we should not be able to hide ourselves so well,” observed Jerry as we crept on. The valley lay far below us, with steep precipices and a brawling torrent, with rocks and shrubs scattered about; and high above us wild jagged peaks and snow-covered mountain-tops. The stillness of the air was most extraordinary. Not a sound reached our ears. Never have I been in a wilder or more magnificent scene. I do not know what our four-footed companion thought of it, but he certainly enjoyed the idea of catching a guanaco—so did we, indeed, more than anything else. We had got within five hundred yards of the nearest without being discovered. Hitherto we had gone on very cautiously. Our eagerness overcame our discretion. We left cover and ran on exposing ourselves to view.

“Stop, stop, Harry!” sang out Jerry. “We are near enough to fire; stop and let us recover our wind.” The advice was good, and I was about to follow it, when one of the guanacoes turned his head and saw us. Before we could bring our rifles to our shoulders, they were off like the wind. Jerry was going to fire after them but I stopped him, pointing to another herd a short distance further off, along the side of the mountain.

“You’ll frighten them too if you do,” I observed. “Let us try to get up to them more cautiously.” One great difficulty was to keep Surley back, or he would have followed the herd till he had caught one of them, or broken his neck over a precipice. Consoling ourselves for our disappointment with the hopes of getting near enough up to the next herd to fire before being seen, we scrambled on as before. Now and then we glanced behind us to mark the spot where we had left Fleming, while we kept an eye in the direction Mr McRitchie had taken; and on that broad exposed mountain-side, we did not think it possible that we could miss each other. We climbed on, therefore, without any misgivings as to how we should find our way back again. I fastened my handkerchief through Surley’s collar to keep him back. He was thus able also sometimes to help me up a steep place or a rock quicker than I could have got by myself. Jerry followed close behind me. The distance was, we found, greater than we expected to the next herd. We were, fortunately, to leeward of them, and not one of them noticed our approach. We halted behind a thick cactus. There was a rock some three hundred yards further off, and within a good shot of the herd.

“Now, Jerry, you mark the fellow to the left; I’ll take the one to the right,” said I, almost trembling in my eagerness. “Don’t let us fire till we get up to the rock; then rest a moment, and it will be hard if we don’t hit one of them. If we miss, we’ll see what Surley can do for us.” Jerry nodded his agreement to this proposal, and crouching down, we crept on till we reached the rock. For an instant we waited to recover breath, then we lifted up our rifles and rested them on a ledge of the rock. It would be impossible to have got a better aim. Crack—crack—we both fired. Off scampered the herd up the mountain.

“We’ve missed! we’ve missed!” we cried. “Oh, bothera— No, no! there’s one fellow staggering. The one I fired at,” I exclaimed. “Hurrah!”

“There’s another! See, see!—he’s over—no! he’s up again, and away with the rest,” sung out Jerry. “Let Surley after him, Harry. He’ll bring him down. Hurrah, hurrah, what luck!”

With such like exclamations we darted from behind our cover, and ran as fast as our legs could carry us up to the guanaco I had hit; while Surley, hounded on by us, went off in hot chase after the animal Jerry had wounded. We were soon up to the guanaco I had hit. Poor beast! he staggered on, and then over he went on his side. He looked up at us with his mild eyes, as much as to say, “Oh, you cruel white men, who come from far-off across the seas, you have well-nigh destroyed the original people of the country, and now you would wage war against us, its harmless four-footed inhabitants.” He tried to spit at us, but his strength failed him, and in an instant more he was dead. As soon as we saw this, off we went after Surley. He had singled a guanaco out of the herd, and marks of blood on the grass showed that it had been wounded. Old Surley was among them. Then one beast was seen to drop astern. Slower and slower he went, kicking out all the time at the dog, who ran leaping up to try and catch hold of his neck. He got a kick, which sent him rolling over, but he was up again.

“Hurrah!” cried Jerry. “He has him now, though. Remember, Harry, that’s the beast I shot.”

On we ran and clambered to get up with Old Surley and the guanaco, which was still struggling to get away. He made several desperate springs forward, but he struck out with his heels and spat in vain, for the stanch dog was not to be shaken off. He was rapidly getting weaker—he struggled less violently—at last over he came, and we saw there was no chance of his escaping. We stopped, and, like good sportsmen, loaded our rifles in case they might be required. By the time we got up the guanaco was dead, and Old Surley was standing over him, looking wonderfully proud of his victory. What was to be done with the game now that we had got it? was the question. We could not carry it away, for each animal was fully four feet high, and eight or nine long. We looked about for marks by which we should know the spot where the last killed lay. We thought that we had found some that we could not mistake, but, still more certainly to recognise it, we piled up all the stones and bushes we could collect on a rock, till we had made a considerable heap, which we thought would be conspicuous at a distance. We then began to consider that it was time to look about for our companions. We could nowhere make them out, but we had no doubt as to easily finding the spot where we had left Fleming. First, however, we had to go and mark the place more distinctly where we had left my guanaco. It took us as long to descend the mountain as to climb it; for we often came to steep places which we had to make a circuit to avoid. We reached the edge of a small precipice, where we had a tolerably clear view of the hill-side below us, and of the valley beyond. In ascending, we had passed on one side of the rock. We looked about to discover the spot where we had left the guanaco. There it lay; but not a hundred yards from it we saw another animal approaching it by stealthy steps. We watched it narrowly.

“It must be a big cat!” cried Jerry.

“No, no; it is a puma—the South American lion,” I sang out. “Oh, if we can but get a shot at him it will be fine!”

He was so intent on the prospect of a feast off the dead guanaco that he did not see us. He crawled up near it, and then sprang on the carcass. We did not like to have our game destroyed, so we could not help shouting out, “Get off from that, you beast!” Our voices startled the puma, and looking round and seeing us, and Surley approaching with an angry growl, he trotted off down the mountain. We agreed that he was probably an old fellow, and that, having lost his activity, he could not catch the live animals. We both fired, but we were not near enough, and missed him. Away he bounded down the mountain without once stopping to look behind him.

“I vote we take some slices out of our friend here,” said Jerry. His suggestions were generally very practical. “I don’t see why we should run the risk of losing our dinner altogether. The chances are that another of these pumas finds him out and leaves us but poor pickings.” I agreed to the wisdom of the suggestion, and so we supplied ourselves with enough meat for all the party. We then raised a mark near our guanaco as we had done before.

“That will do famously,” said Jerry, finishing the heap with a long piece of cactus. “Now, let us go and look for Fleming. The doctor and guides will be back soon. I’m getting very hungry, I know, and if they don’t come I vote we make an attack on the prog baskets without them.”

“Let us find Fleming and the baskets first,” I answered; for my mind began to misgive me about finding him as easily as we had expected. The chase after the guanacoes had led us a long way, and I found it very difficult to calculate distances or the size of objects in that bright atmosphere, where the proportions of all surrounding objects were so vast. Still I did not express my fears to Jerry. We kept our eyes about us, on the chance of falling in with another puma; for we agreed that it would be much better to be able to talk of having killed a lion than even two harmless llamas. On we went for a long time, scrambling over the crags, and precipices, and rough ground.

“Where can Fleming have got to?” exclaimed Jerry at last; “I am certain that we are up to the spot where we left him.” I thought so likewise. We shouted at the top of our voices, but the puny sounds seemed lost in the vast solitudes which encompassed us. “I think it must have been further on,” said I, after I had taken another survey of the country. So on we rushed, keeping our eyes about us on every side.

We had gone on some way further, when Jerry laid his hand on my arm. “What is that, Harry?” he exclaimed. “It is the puma! See the rascal how stealthily he creeps along! He’s after some mischief, depend on it. I hope he won’t go back and eat up our guanacoes.”

“We must take care that he does not do that,” said I. “We’ll stop his career. Is your rifle ready. We’ll creep after him as stealthily as he is going along. He is so busy that he does not see us, and the chances are that we get near enough to knock him over.”

“Come along then,” exclaimed Jerry; and, imitating the puma’s cautious mode of proceeding, we rapidly gained on him. We had got up almost close enough to fire when Jerry whispered, “O Harry, what is that? It’s Fleming, dear! dear!”

Just below where the puma was crouching down ready to make his fatal spring, lay the form of the old seaman; but whether he was dead, or asleep, or fainting, we could not tell. There was not a moment to be lost. In another instant the savage brute would have fixed his claws in his throat. We rushed on—so did old Surley. The puma had actually begun his spring when we fired. Both our bullets took effect, but still he leaped forward. He fell close to Fleming. Our shipmate sprang up on his knees, but it was only to receive the claws of the brute on his chest. The blow knocked him over. We were running on and shouting all the time, to distract the attention of the puma.

“He is killed! he is killed!” cried Jerry. “No.” In an instant, with a clasp-knife in his hand, Fleming was up again and plunging away at the throat of the brute. He rose to his knees. He gave stab after stab, and prevented the puma from fixing its jaws on his own throat, which seemed the aim of the enraged animal. The brave Surley was at his flanks tearing and biting at them with all his might.

“Hold on, Fleming,” we shouted; “we will be up to you directly.”

“Fire! fire!” cried Fleming; “I can’t keep the brute back much longer.”

At length Surley’s attack seemed to produce more effect on the puma. For a moment he turned round to try to repel him. Fleming seized the opportunity, and, taking better aim than he had hitherto been able to do, plunged his knife right up to the hilt in the animal’s breast, and then sprang back out of his way. We came up at the same moment, barely in time to save Surley from some severe handling, for the puma had turned all his fury on him. We stopped and loaded, and then running on got close up to the beast, to run no risk of hitting the dog, and fired. Over he rolled, giving a few spasmodic clutches with his claws, and with a snarl expired.

“You’ve saved my life anyhow, young gentlemen,” said Fleming. “When I felt the brute’s claws on my breast, before I saw you and honest Surley there, I thought it was all over with me.”

Surley was standing over the dead body of the puma, and he seemed to think that he had had the chief hand in killing him. We were very proud of the trophy; and when we found that Fleming was scarcely injured, though his clothes were somewhat torn, we were very glad that the adventure had occurred. Fleming told us that when we did not return he had set off to look after us; but at last, overcome again with the heat of the sun, he had sat down and dropped asleep. It was now getting late in the day, so after we had marked the place where the dead puma lay, we agreed that we would return to the bottom of the valley and try and find our companions. That we might enjoy a whole day in the mountains, it had been arranged that we should bivouac in the valley, and not commence our return till the following morning. We looked about for the doctor and guides, but they were nowhere to be seen. We fired off our rifles, but no one answered in return. We began to be anxious. Could they have been stopped by robbers? or could any Indians have attacked them? Such things had occurred before now, we were told. Sometimes bands of the fierce Araucanian Indians had been known to make incursions into the province from the south, and to attack farm-houses and even villages among the mountains. Robbers, too, in large bands once frequented the country, and laid contributions on all the peaceable inhabitants. Still, since the government has been settled and order established, such occurrences were no longer heard of. We therefore resolved that it would be unwise to make ourselves unhappy; so, after having partaken of some of the articles of Fleming’s basket to stay our appetites, we set to work to prepare for our encampment for the night. We fixed on a spot under a high rock, which would shelter us from the prevailing wind; and we then looked about for fuel with which we could light a fire. We found a plant in great abundance, but we could not tell whether, it would burn or not. “Try, at all events,” said Fleming. We made a heap, and put some paper and matches under it. It burned admirably, exuding a resinous smell; and we afterwards found that it was called the Alpinia umbellifera. After we had collected enough fuel for the night, we sat ourselves down before the fire wrapped up in our cloaks, which Fleming had been carrying for us. When enough ashes had been made, we produced our meat and toasted some slices at the end of our ramrods.

“I say, Harry, does not this remind you of the night we spent at the Falkland Islands?” said Jerry. “I like this bivouacking life amazingly.” I agreed with him that it was very good fun in fine weather, but that with cold and snow, or rain, I thought we should very likely change our tune.

“That you would, young gentlemen,” observed Fleming. “Remember that you’ve only seen the bright side of life as yet. There’s a dark side as well, and you should be prepared for it when it comes, otherwise you won’t be fit to meet it like men. Don’t go on fancying that the sun is always to shine on you, and that you are always to be warm and comfortable, and to have plenty of money in your pockets, and no troubles and sorrows, and pains and sicknesses. You’ll have your share, and it is better that you should depend on it, not to make you value this world too much.”

“I say, Fleming, don’t preach—there’s a good fellow!” exclaimed Jerry. “I want just now to enjoy my slice of guanaco. I know what you say is very true, and I’ll remember and think about it by-and-by.”

Fleming might have made further remarks on the subject, had not a faint shout, as if from a distance, reached our ears. We listened. Could it be from Indians or robbers? Jerry put his hand to the top of his head. “Oh, my scalp!” said he; “it feels very uncomfortable already.” Again the shout reached us. We shouted in return. We had little doubt that it was raised by the doctor and his companions. Soon they emerged out of the darkness laden with all sorts of specimens of natural history. We crowed over them, however, for they had not killed either a guanaco or a puma. They could not doubt our assertions, as they had proof in the slices of the former which we cooked for them. Fleming and Old Surley, too, showed the marks of their encounter with the puma; and we got great credit for having killed him. We were a very merry party as we drew round the fire recounting our adventures; and Surley sat up looking as wise as any of us, and if he could but have put his words together, he would have told as good a story as any of us. At all events, he dogfully played his part at the feast, and ate up with evident relish all the scraps of guanaco flesh which we gave him. Mr McRitchie was as satisfied as we were with the result of his day’s excursion; and as we had an abundant supply of everything to make the inner man comfortable, and good cloaks to keep the outer warm, we were all very happy. Our guide talked a good deal, though no one but Tom Carver understood a word he said. Tom and Fleming, however, spun the longest yarns, all about Lord Cochrane and all the wonders he had done, and how from his daring and bravery he made the people of the country believe that he was in league with the Evil One, if he was not rather the Evil One himself. They gave him the name of the Diabo.

“No one ever deserved it less,” exclaimed Fleming. “The devil, to my mind, is cunning and cowardly, and a fool into the bargain. Resist him, and he’ll run away. Act a straightforward, honest part, and he can never get round you. Lord Cochrane, you see, mates, was as true and honest as steel, as brave as his sword, and so wise, that he never undertook to do anything when he didn’t see the way clear before him that would lead to success.” Tom agreed also in heartily praising their old chief, though they were not very complimentary to the Spaniards or to the people of Chili, whom he had come to assist.

“I say, Tom, do you mind when we were going away from Valparaiso to attack Callao, and you and I were serving aboard the O’Higgins, how that lieutenant brought the admiral’s little son on board?” said Fleming, for the purpose, I suspect, of drawing his friend out.

“Ay, that I do,” answered Tom Carver. “You see the flag-lieutenant had gone on shore for some of the admiral’s traps, when he fell in with the little chap, who wasn’t more than five or six years old. ‘I want to go with father,’ says he. ‘I must go with father aboard the big ship there. I will go.’ At first the lieutenant said he couldn’t take him; but the little fellow cried out so, that he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse him; so he lifted him up on his shoulders and carried him away to the boat. The child shouted and crowed with pleasure, waving his little hat above his head, just like a sucking hero as he was. When the people saw it, they seemed as if they would grow mad with delight, and followed him in crowds, cheering and crying out, ‘Viva la Patria’ at the top of their voices. I was one of the boat’s crew, and certainly there was something in it somehow which took our fancy mightily. Off we pulled aboard the flag-ship, before Lady Cochrane found out what had become of the child, and I daresay she was in a great taking. Well, we only got aboard just as the ship was under weigh, and he couldn’t be sent on shore again. There was nothing to be done but to take him with us. We weren’t sorry to have him, for, you see, next to a monkey, there’s nothing does a ship’s company more good than having a little child to look after. The small chap had nothing but the clothes he was dressed in. ‘What’s to be done with him?’ says the admiral. ‘Why, bless ye, my lord, he’ll have fifty nurses, every one as good as the she-maids as has to look after him ashore,’ answered Ben Brown, the admiral’s coxswain; ‘and as for clothing, the ship’s tailor will rig him out in no time.’ To my mind, the admiral rather liked having the little fellow with him. Fearless himself, he couldn’t even feel fear for one of those he loved best on earth. Young master very soon made himself at home among us, and in a couple of days the ship’s tailor had as complete a midshipman’s uniform made for him as you’d wish to see.

“We were bound, do you see, to Callao, where the admiral discovered that a large Spanish ship was about to sail for Europe, with great treasure aboard. Besides her, there was a Spanish squadron of considerable force lying in the harbour, under the protection of the guns of the forts. The admiral was up to all sorts of dodges, so he hoisted American colours, and, as two United States’ ships of war were expected with another ship, stood in. A fog, however came on, and the Lantaro, one of our squadron, parting company, his plan was defeated. However, we fell in with a Spanish gunboat in the fog, and took her. Fogs and light winds baffled us for some time; but the admiral was not a man to be turned aside from what he had intended, so at last we got in before the forts, and with springs on our cables began blazing away at them and the fleet, of which there were altogether some fourteen vessels. Well, I was telling you of the admiral’s little son. Of course his father was very anxious about him, for it was no child’s work we were about, so he locked him up as he fancied safe in his after-cabin. As soon, however, as the firing began, the youngster thought he should like to see some of the fun; so what does he do, but work his way out through the quarter-gallery window, and find his way up on deck. ‘Go down below, sir, this moment,’ says the admiral when he sees him. ‘You’ll be having your head shot off if you stay here.’ The shot was flying about us pretty thick by that time, let me tell you. ‘No, no, daddy,’ says he. ‘Let me stay here. You stay, and de oder midshipmens stay; why shouldn’t I?’ He couldn’t speak quite plain yet, do you see. ‘Take him below out of harm’s way, one of you,’ says the admiral, turning to me. You see he had plenty to do watching the enemy and issuing orders, and had not time to look after the boy. So as the admiral ordered, I seized up the young gentleman, and was going to carry him off below, when he began to kick up such a hubbub, and to kick, and scratch, and bite, it was as hard work to hold him as it would have been to gripe a rattlesnake. ‘Put me down, I say—put me down,’ he sung out. ‘I’ll not go below. I want to stay on deck and fight the enemy.’ Well, I saw that there was no use in taking him below, because, as no one could be spared to look after him, he would have been soon up again; besides, to my mind, a shot finds its way into one part of a ship as well as another. So I put him down again, and there was his little lordship as busy as any powder-monkey, handing up the powder to the gunners. Well, as I was saying, the shot was falling pretty thick about our ears, when a round shot takes off the head of a marine standing close to the small boy, scattering the brains and blood of the poor fellow right over the small chap, almost blinding him. The admiral was looking that way. His tall figure bent forwards. I thought he would have fallen from the agony of his mind. He believed his child was killed. In an instant, however, the little hero recovered himself, and dashing the blood from his face, ran up to his lordship. ‘Don’t be afraid, papa,’ says he; ‘I’m not hurt—the shot did not strike me. Tom says the ball isn’t cast that can kill mamma’s boy.’ That was true enough, for he’d heard some of us say, what we believed, that he couldn’t come to harm any more than his father could. The admiral’s face brightened again, when he saw that no harm had happened to the boy. I suppose after this he thought as we did, for he let him stay on deck during the whole action; and a pretty sharp one it was, when I tell you we had two hundred guns firing away at us for a couple of hours. If it hadn’t been for the fog, we shouldn’t have had a stick standing at the end of it. After this we had several brushes with the enemy.

“At last the admiral considered that it would be a great thing to take Valdivia, a strongly-fortified place on the south of Chili, still held by the Spaniards. We had some Chilian troops on board, and very brave fellows they were, under a French officer. Our own officers were worth very little, and the admiral had to look after everything himself. One night we were off the island of Quiriquina, and he had turned in to take a little rest, leaving the deck in charge of one of the lieutenants. The lieutenant thought he should like a snooze, so he turned in and left a midshipman in charge of the ship. The midshipman went to sleep, and when he awoke he found the ship all aback. In trying to box her off he ran her on shore, on the sharp edge of a rock, where, if there had been any swell, she would have beaten her bottom in. Many of the people wanted to abandon the ship; but the admiral was not a man to allow such a thing while there was a hope of getting her off; and telling them that they would be all murdered by the savages on the coast if they landed, he set all hands to work at the pumps. When they came to be examined, they were all out of repair; and as the carpenter could make no hand at mending them, what does the admiral do but whip off his coat and set to work with his own hands. Didn’t we feel that he was a man we’d follow through thick and thin, though we knew that pretty well before then. At last, what with pumping and bailing, we found that the water did not gain on us, so the stream anchor was got, and heaving on it with a will, we once more set the old ship afloat. ‘Never mind, my lads,’ says the admiral; ‘if we can but make her swim as far as Valdivia, we shall do very well without a ship for a time.’ By that we knew he intended to take and occupy the place. The admiral wanted to take the Spaniards by surprise, so he shifted his flag aboard the Intrepedo brig-of-war, taking with him the Montezuma, a man-of-war schooner, and, in spite of a high sea, all the troops were put on board the two vessels. You should just see what sort of a place Valdivia is, with strong forts on both sides of a channel not three-quarters of a mile wide. There is only one small landing-place, called the Aquada del Ingles, with a fort protecting it. Towards that we stood, for the surf sets so heavily on the shore, that a boat attempting to land anywhere else would be knocked to pieces. We had a gallant English officer in command of the troops, Major Miller. I never saw such a fire-eater. His body was almost riddled with shot, but he never seemed to mind; nothing sickened him of fighting; and as soon as he got well he was as ready for work as ever. So, as I was saying, the brig and schooner ran in and anchored close to Fort Ingles, keeping the boats on the other side of the vessels, out of sight. The admiral hailed the fort, and said we had lost our boats coming round Cape Horn, and begged they would send one; but just then one of ours drifted astern, and the Spaniards, smelling a rat, opened fire on us. Instantly the admiral ordered the troops to land, and a launch, with the gallant Major Miller, and some forty-four marines, shoved off, and under a heavy shower of musket-balls, pushed for the shore. His coxswain was wounded, and he received a shot through his hat. On we shoved (for I was with him), and leaping on shore with loud cheers, we drove the enemy before us at the point of the bayonet. I forgot to tell you that when the O’Higgins got on shore, we had nearly all our powder spoiled, so that he had to depend entirely on the bayonet. There’s no better weapon to be used when Spaniards are concerned. They can’t stand it. Other boats followed, and in less than a hour we had 300 troops landed. We waited till it was dark to begin the attack. There was a gallant young ensign, Mr Vidal. While the main body advanced in front, firing off their muskets, and shouting to show the Spaniards that we were going to give them a taste of the bayonet, he got round to the rear of the forts, and opening his fire, the enemy got frightened, and took to their heels, while we took the forts—which was what we had come to take. At the same time 300 more Spaniards, who were marching into Fort Ingles, were seized with a panic, and all fled together. The brave Chilians bayoneted them by dozens; and when the gates of the other forts were opened to receive the fugitives, they entered at the same time, and thus fort after fort was taken with very little loss to us, but a good deal to the enemy. Two days after, we attacked the forts on the other side of the water with the same success, and then took the town of Valdivia itself, which is some little way up the river. We found a large supply of ammunition in the place, and I know that I got a fair share of prize-money. That Major Miller I was telling you of was soon after this again desperately wounded in attempting to take another fort. When he had fallen, his faithful marines made a desperate charge, and brought him off. They were all Chilians, it must be remembered. One of them, named Roxas, was a very brave fellow. He was the first to land with the major, and had helped to carry him to the beach on their retreat. Two out of three were wounded, and when the major invited him to step into the boat, ‘No, sir,’ says he; ‘I was the first to land, and I intend to be the last to leave the shore.’ You see, young gentlemen, it is not only Englishmen can do gallant things, and I like when I have an opportunity to praise those with other blood in their veins.

“You’d like to know how we took the Esmeralda, I daresay?” said Tom.

“I told Master Harry all about that the other day,” observed Fleming. “It was a gallant thing, wasn’t it?”

“But, I say, I wonder if the gentlemen over heard talk of what my lady did? She was, for a woman, and a young, beautiful woman too, just as brave as my lord. Well, I’ll tell you. The first part I heard from a man, a soldier, a brave, faithful fellow, who was with her; the rest I saw myself. She, with her baby, was up the country, at a place called Quilca, among the mountains, when, as she was at a ball at some great man’s house there, she heard that the Spaniards had made up their minds to seize her and her infant, and to detain them as hostages. To think with her was to act. Going quietly out of the ball-room and changing her dress, she popped the nurse and child into a sort of palanquin, and mounting one of her horses, and ordering out all the rest, she started away in the middle of the night, and pushed on without stopping anywhere, or telling any one where she was going. All that night and all next day she travelled on, mounting another horse whenever the one she rode grew tired. At last she arrived at a dark ravine, just a split in the mountain some hundred feet deep, with a foaming torrent roaring below. There was just the sort of rope bridge we had to cross yesterday. Some of the people had gone down below to haul the horses over, and she had sent her own horse across, when what should they hear but the sound of the enemy’s bugles. Seizing her child, she ordered the palanquin-bearers to go over, and then followed close behind them herself. Again the bugle sounded,—the enemy were close at hand. She hurried on, but the movements of so many people crossing made the bridge swing fearfully from side to side. She felt as if she must be thrown off into the raging gulf below. More and more the bridge swung, and at length, overcome with terror, she sank down on the narrow pathway, clasping the infant to her breast. I’ve heard people say they dream of such things. Here was the reality. The bridge continued to swing backwards and forwards with a fearful motion, and she clung to it for her life. It was a great risk for any one else to venture on the bridge, but, in spite of that, Pedro, the soldier I told you of, crawled along, and, says he in his own language, ‘Give me the child, my lady, and I’ll take care of it;’ and crawling along with it in his arms, he placed it in safety. Then he went back, and helped Lady Cochrane across. Just then the advance guard of the enemy’s troops appeared, winding down the sides of the mountains. Pedro and the other men hacked away at the bridge; the ropes parted and fell into the torrent, and her ladyship was safe, while the Spaniards ground their teeth in vain. On she pushed, till she reached the coast, and there she found the admiral’s ship, and came on board. We were all proud to have her; for you see, with all her beauty, there wasn’t a bit of vanity or nonsense about her, and she would speak kind-like to any one of us, just as if we was her equal. Soon after she came on board, the admiral heard that there was a rich Spanish ship just about putting to sea, and a very good sailer. He knew if she once got ahead of us we should never catch her up, so, without waiting to land Lady Cochrane, we slipped our cables and made sail up to where the treasure-ship and several others of the enemy’s vessels lay at anchor. We beat to quarters, and got up to them about midnight all ready for action. We were not long in beginning the sport, nor they in returning the compliments we paid them; for, besides the treasure-ship, the Spaniards had some gun-boats moored under their forts. While we were firing away, the mother, just like her little son, wouldn’t leave the deck, but stood there like any hero, animating the men.

“After some time one of the crew of a gun, a Chilian, seemed to be afraid of firing. What does her ladyship do, but, seizing his arm, and guiding the match to the touch-hole, fire the gun! She thought maybe that the man would be punished if he was observed. However, the effort was too much for her, for you see she was but a young woman, and she sank down on deck in a fainting fit. We thought she was wounded, and several of us ran forward to lift her up and carry her below. It did our hearts good to find that there was nothing really the matter with her. When the action was over, and we had pretty well knocked the treasure-ship and gun-boats to pieces, we returned in the morning to our former anchorage. As we were furling sails, her ladyship came on deck to show us she was all to rights. No sooner was the canvas stowed, than we manned yards of our own accord, and then didn’t we cheer her and the admiral with right good will; and the whole crew, one and all, Chilians and Englishmen, five hundred of us, burst forth with the hymn of the Republic, praying at the end that Heaven would bless and prosper them. She bowed more than once, but didn’t say a word, and then burst into tears.

“Ah! she was the lady who knew how to win a sailor’s heart!”

Chapter Nine.

Robinson Crusoe’s Island.

Fleming and his old shipmate, Tom Carver, kept spinning their interesting yarns about Lord Cochrane’s gallant deeds till a late hour. At last it was time to go to sleep; so we wrapped ourselves up as closely as we could in our cloaks, with our feet to the fire and our backs to the rock, to seek repose. Fleming, and Tom, and the doctor, however, kept watch one after the other, both to keep up the fire and to prevent our being taken by surprise by the visit of a puma, or any other unwelcome visitor. By-the-by, the doctor told us that the puma very seldom seeks his prey in the day-time, or attacks men, though he has been known to do so at times. The fellow we killed measured fully five feet from the nose to the tail, which was itself, in addition, two feet and a half long. The back was of a brownish-red colour, and the breast of a reddish ash colour, and the lower jaw and throat white. Its face was like that of a huge cat, and it is said to be able to climb trees, and to drop down from them on its prey. Its ordinary way of seizing its prey is to spring on the back, and draw back the head of the animal till its neck is broken. The guanaco, which is common throughout South America, was used by the ancient Peruvians, in great numbers, as a beast of burden. It carried about a hundredweight. Its flesh also served them for food; of its skin leather articles were made, and its hair was woven into cloth. When domesticated, it is known as the llama. It feeds on vegetables, and requires no attention. Its voice resembles the shrill neighing of a horse. Its use as a beast of burden has been superseded by the horse, the ass, and the mule. The fleece of the tame animal is not so long as that of the wild one. Their appearance I have already described. I shall never forget that night among the Andes,—how the stars of the southern hemisphere came out, and shone with a brilliancy I had never before seen in that purest of pure atmospheres, among those grand old mountains. For a long time I could not go to sleep: at last I did, and it seemed but a moment afterwards that Terry aroused me to go with Tom and the Indian guide to bring the guanaco and the skin of the puma. With their aid we were not long in finding the puma, and in having his skin off him. We found the first guanaco untouched, so we took his skin and some of the flesh. As, however, we were looking for the spot where we had left the other, a huge condor rose into the air, followed by two or three others.

“Ah! you’ll not find much beyond his bones, depend on that,” said Tom. “These birds don’t leave pickings for anybody else.”

Such being the case, we agreed that it was not worth while to climb up so far, as we were in a hurry to get back to the rock to breakfast. Directly after it we set off on our return to the city. The natives of Chili, we were told, often catch the puma with the lasso. They also hunt it with dogs, and shoot it when it climbs up trees. When we came to the bridge of hide-rope it looked more rickety and impassable than ever. Just fancy a few rotten-looking strips of leather slung across a chasm some thousand feet deep!

“Never mind,” said Fleming, laughing; “hold on to something. If it give way don’t you let go, at all events, and the chances are you are brought up somewhere. My maxim is, Never let go of one rope till you have got hold of another.”

However, we crossed in safety, and spent a very pleasant day at Santiago, seeing all the sights of that city, though Jerry and I agreed that we would rather have been in the mountains shooting guanacoes or hunting pumas,—so I daresay would old Surley. We got back in good time to Valparaiso. When dining at the hotel, we met an Englishman who had travelled over all parts of South America, and had made an infinite number of sketches, which he did in the most rapid way. He made me a present of several, which he drew at the hotel; among them was the Frontispiece to this volume. He gave us the following information at the same time. He told us that apes’ flesh was very nice for eating—a fact some of our party were inclined to doubt. He laughed at our scruples, and assured us that he had frequently dined off apes. The Indians on the Amazon go out regularly to hunt them, and have a very successful mode of so doing. Every hunter is provided with a hollow cane, called a sarbacan—I before described it in our trip up the Amazon. It is about twelve feet in length; and a quiver containing a dozen little pieces of very hard wood, sharp at one end, and fitted with a bit of cotton-wadding at the other. Concealed by the luxuriant foliage of the forest, the Indian, resting his sarbacan on the branch of a tree, waits the near approach of his prey; then blowing out one of the little polished arrows from the tube with his mouth, he invariably strikes the ape, and brings him to the ground. What ensures the success of this mode of hunting is, that it is carried on without the slightest noise, and a whole troop of apes may be killed without their discovering whence the death-dealing darts proceed. When we were on the Amazon we did not know that the poor monkeys were killed in this way. I forgot to mention before the beautiful regularity of the land and sea-breezes which we experienced at this place. It was the dry season of the year, and the air was wonderfully bright and clear. The atmosphere being in a state of equilibrium (so the doctor told us), was ready to obey even the slightest impulse, and to rush towards any spot where rarefaction was taking place. Thus, at about ten in the morning, as the rays of the sun gain power and shed their influence over the earth, the air from the sea begins to move towards it. As rarefaction increases, so does the strength of the wind, till by three or four in the afternoon it rushes in with great force, creating a considerable sea, and if a vessel is not well moored, driving her before it. Captain Frankland knew what to expect, and was therefore prepared for the emergency.

On the afternoon of our return to Valparaiso, we put to sea. From the cause I have mentioned respecting the strength of the sea-breeze, it is necessary to make a good offing from the land. We therefore stood off shore till we had sunk the tops of the Andes below the horizon. The name of the Pacific was given to this ocean by the Spaniards, who first crossed the Isthmus of Panama, under the belief that the whole sea was always as calm as was then the portion they beheld. Storms, if less frequent, are certainly not less violent than in other portions of the world. We certainly very frequently experienced the fickleness of the elements. As we were about to haul up to the northward, the wind suddenly shifted round to that very quarter, and then shifted somewhat to the eastward. We stood away on the starboard-tack, but were evidently making a great deal of lee-way. At last Captain Frankland, finding that no progress could be made, hove the ship to. Jerry and I had by this time got pretty well accustomed to knocking about, so that we did not mind it. We suffered the greatest inconvenience at our meals, because very often the soup which we had intended to put into our mouths without signal or warning rolled away into the waistcoat-pockets of our opposite neighbour. The doctor more than once suffered from being the recipient of the contents of Jerry’s plate as well as of mine; but he took it very good-naturedly, and as he very soon returned us the compliment, we were all square. Not long after dinner, while we were on deck, Ben Yool, who was aloft, hailed to say that he saw bearing right down for us a large brig, and, considering the gale, that she was carrying a wonderful press of canvas. Her courses were brailed up, but her topsails were set, while the top-gallant-sails and royals were flying away in ribbons, except the main-royal, which, with the mast, had gone over the side. We accordingly all looked out for her. We soon, as we rose to the summit of a long rolling sea, caught sight of her, plunging over the foaming waters and often half buried in them. There was something very strange in her appearance, and in the way she came tearing along through the waters. Captain Frankland looked at her attentively through his glass.

“I cannot make it out,” he exclaimed; “the people on board are either all drunk or must have gone mad.”

We were not kept long in suspense. On came the brig. She was a fine-looking vessel; but such a sight met our eyes as I never expected to see. Her deck was crowded with men, but instead of attempting to shorten sail, they were all shrieking and fighting together. One party seemed to have taken possession of the after-part of the vessel, the rest were forward—while in the intermediate space several lay weltering in their blood. Now one party would rush forward and meet the other in the waist, and then after a desperate struggle one would retreat before the other. Thus they continued as long as they remained in sight. It appeared, from the glimpse we got of them as they drove by, that the crew had risen against their officers, who were fighting to regain the upper hand. What they were it was difficult to say, but their appearance bespoke them to be a great set of ruffians. I asked Ben Yool what he thought of them.

“To my mind, Master Harry, they are nothing better than a set of pirates, and I had just as soon not have fallen in with them in smooth water.”

Every spy-glass on board was directed towards them. Strange as it appeared, there could be no doubt about the matter. In spite of the terrific gale—in spite of the prospect of the masts going overboard, and of the ship being reduced to a complete wreck, an event which might any moment occur, the wretched crew of the brig were destroying each other with the maddest fury. From the state of things on board as we saw them, the chances were that the survivors of the victorious party would not have strength to take in sail or clear the deck at the end of the fight.

“That was an extraordinary spectacle we have just witnessed,” observed Cousin Silas, as Jerry and I were holding on to the rails near him as the strange brig disappeared, hidden by the dark foam-topped waves which leaped up between her and us. “Never heard anything like it before, perhaps you will say, lads. Now, in my opinion, you have heard of many things exactly like it before. What is the world doing at the present moment? What has it been doing since the flood? Men have been quarrelling, and fighting, and knocking each other on the head, while ruin has been encircling them around, from that time to the present. We were sent into this world to perform certain duties—to help each other in doing them—to love God and to love each other. If we obey God, we are promised eternal happiness: if we disobey him, eternal punishment. We are told that this world must come to an end, and that all things in it will be destroyed. What do men do? They shut their eyes to all these truths. They live as if they and everything in the world were to last for ever—as if there were no God to obey and love; and, like the madmen we have just seen, they separate into parties, hating each other, and fight, and quarrel, and deface God’s image in which he made man, utterly regardless of the terrible doom awaiting them—just as the people aboard that ship were doing.”

“The simile would not have occurred to me, Mr Brand,” observed Jerry. “I see it now, though. Still, if people do as little harm as they can, it is all right.”

“No, no, lad. Don’t for a moment indulge in such an erroneous, foolish notion, put into people’s heads by the spirit of evil himself, to deceive them. I tell you we were sent into the world not only to abstain from sin, but to do as much good as we can—to actively employ ourselves—to look about us to see how we can do good,—not to wait till some opportunity occurs that may never come. But we are certain to find some good work if we look for it; and if your heart is right towards God, and you earnestly wish to serve him, and not the world, and not yourself, he will point out to you what to do.”

The conversation was interrupted by a heavy lurch the ship made, which sent Jerry and me tumbling away into the lee scuppers; a huge sea at the same moment came rolling up with a foaming crest towards us. It caught the brig broad on the bow—up it rose like a wall, and then with a loud angry roar fell right over us. I felt myself swimming in deep water, with my mouth full and almost blinded. I heard Jerry’s cry close to me. The dreadful thought occurred to me that we were both overboard, and the utter impossibility of lowering a boat to save us flashed across me. I shrieked out for help. A whirl—a confused sound of roaring, hissing waters—a sensation of battling and struggling with them—an eager desire to clutch at something,—are all I remember. Down came the gale on the ship with greater fury than before—another sea from the opposite quarter struck her. I felt myself grasped by a strong arm, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that I was being dragged up to windward by Cousin Silas, who, at the imminent risk of losing his own life, had sprung out with a rope in his hand and hauled me on board again.

“Oh, where is Jerry—where is Jerry?” were the first words I uttered. No one answered. “Oh, he is lost! he is lost!” I cried, and burst into tears, forgetting altogether to thank Cousin Silas for having saved me. I felt that I could never survive the loss of my young shipmate. Just then I saw several of the crew running to leeward. Two or three heads were in the water, with arms wildly striking out. Shrieks, too, rung in my ears. Ben Yool was among them; I saw his face clearly; he did not seem alarmed, like the rest. A long rope was hove to him. He grasped it. He struck out towards another of the swimmers; it was Jerry. Ben seized him in one of his arms, while he was striking out with the other. There seemed, however, but little chance for him of escaping with his life; for when the ship again surged ahead, the rope would have been torn from his grasp, but just then another cross sea providentially rolled up to leeward, and sent him and Jerry close up to the bulwarks. There they were grasped by the crew, and when the ship rolled over again to the other side, they were hauled on board safe and sound. Two other men remained in the water. They turned their faces with straining eyeballs imploringly towards the ship, which was drifting from them. In vain they shrieked out; no one could help them. A foaming, hissing sea rose between us and them. Far, far away the unhappy men were carried, and when the ship rose again to the summit of a wave, they were nowhere to be seen. I felt then how mercifully I had been preserved, and grateful to Him who had thought fit to save me, while, for his own inscrutable ends, he had allowed others to be taken. Jerry, I know, had the same thoughts and feelings, though I fear their impression soon faded, but not away altogether. Its traces, however faint, were permanently left on our minds, and I believe that they have often since had a powerful influence on us. I hope, also, as we grow older, that we may often recur to them instead of endeavouring to drive them away. Joyful as Captain Frankland was at recovering his son, he felt much the loss of his two men; for he truly was the father of his crew, and they knew and gladly acknowledged it. This was the secret of the influence he had over them. The ship still lay to, but the gale increased. Suddenly there was a loud report, like a clap of thunder. The fore-top-sail, close-reefed as it was, had blown out of the bolt-ropes, and the shreds fluttered in streamers from the yards. Away it flew, lashing the yard with fury, and coiling itself into thick twists of rope. The wind unfortunately caught the bow, and bringing her right round, exposed her broadside to the sea. The instant the accident happened, the mates, with some of the crew, had rushed forward, and loosing the fore-stay-sail, were hoisting it just as a big sea came roaring towards us. It was half way up at the moment the sea reached us. “Hoist away, my lads!” was the general cry. The ship felt its effects; springing forward, she seemed to dash through the sea, which, however, broke in a deluge over us. Her head came round, and away she flew before the storm. Before, however, the fore-stay-sail was up it was blown clean away, and the ship dashed on under bare poles to the westward, leaving our two poor shipmates in their watery tomb far astern. All that night we ran plunging on. In the morning watch the wind began to fall. I asked Yool, who was in the same watch with me, what he thought was going to happen.

“Why, Master Harry, that the gale is tired of blowing, and that we shall before long have a calm, or only just a light, pleasant breeze,” he answered. So it proved; after this the wind rapidly decreased, and by sunrise all hands were aloft bending new sails, and busily employed in repairing the damages received in the gale. Just as the captain came on deck, one of the mates hailed from aloft that he saw a whale, or a rock, or some large black object, just rising out of the water—he could not make out what.

We had been on the point of hauling our wind to stand back for Callao, but the captain ordered the ship to be kept on, to ascertain what the object could be. I with others had gone aloft to look out also, when, as the sun arose, I saw before me what I at first took to be a cloud, but gradually it grew more and more distinct, till I was certain that it was a lofty mountain. The rest of the crew were so busily employed about the rigging, and in looking out for the whale or whatever it was, that I was the first to see it;—of this I was very proud.

“Land ahead!” I sung out.

“Ay, ay; all right, Harry,” he answered, knowing of course what land it must be. I soon after went down on deck, where I met Jerry, looking rather pale and ill after his bath.

“Do you know what that land is?” I asked, pointing to it; for with the increasing light it was now seen clearly from the deck.

“Why, it’s no other than Robinson Crusoe’s island—Juan Fernandes; and my father says he intends to run in there, as it will be more convenient to repair damages at anchor; and he thinks that very likely the gale may come back again on us. Won’t it be jolly to go on shore and to see the very cave he lived in, and the sand where he first saw Friday’s foot-mark, and the descendants of the goats he had, and various other animals? I am certain I could find out every spot of ground he talks about. There’s no place I would rather see than this.”

“So would I,” I observed. “But you forget, Jerry, there was no such person as Robinson Crusoe. We may be disappointed when we get there.”

“I won’t believe it!” he answered, indignantly. “There was, and there must have been, and there shall have been a Robinson Crusoe! How could he have written his life if he had not lived, I should like to know?”

“There was a man called Alexander Selkirk, who was left there from one of Lord Anson’s ships, and a first-rate writer—Daniel Defoe by name—got hold of his account, on which he founded the story of Robinson Crusoe,” I answered.

“I tell you that is all bosh,” said Jerry. “I don’t believe that any man who had not gone through every scene he describes, could have given as good an account of them as does Robinson Crusoe; so I intend to stick to my belief, and not care what anybody else says on the subject.” I must own that I felt very much inclined to agree with Jerry, and to look on Defoe very much in the light of a pirate, who had got hold of a ship which did not belong to him. The important discussion was cut short by the report of the first mate, who had again gone aloft with his glass to take another look at the object seen ahead.

“As far as I can see, I’ve no doubt that it is the hull of a ship floating bottom uppermost,” he sung out; “but whether any one is still clinging to her or not, is more than I can make out.”

“Get one of the boats ready, Mr Brand; we’ll board the wreck, at all events,” said the captain. While the boat was quickly prepared, we made good progress towards the wreck.

“There is a man on her; I can see him clearly,” sung out the third mate from forward. “He is lying along the keel. He is alive; he sees us; he is waving to us.”

As soon as the ship got up to the wreck, she was hove-to, and I followed Mr Brand, with Ben Yool, into the boat. There was still a great deal of sea running; and when we got up to the wreck, there was no little danger, we discovered, in getting alongside her. There were masts and spars still hanging on by the rigging around her, which would at once have stove in our boat if we had got among them incautiously, and we should very likely have lost our own lives. There was only one man on the ship’s bottom; we saw him just lifting his head and watching us anxiously as we pulled round. We could discover no spot free from danger; so we pulled off again to consult what was best to be done. The poor wretch thought we were going to desert him, and shouted out to us in English and Spanish, imploring us to have compassion on him, and save his life.

“Ay, ay, friend!” answered Ben Yool. “Don’t suppose we’d leave you there; we should be rum sort of Christians to do that. Wait a bit; we’ll get you off directly.”

“He appears to be unable to help himself, or he might lower himself down by a rope,” observed Mr Brand. “Make a line fast round me; I think that I could manage to got in just under the quarter, and so haul myself up by some of the ropes I see hanging over it.”

To propose was with Cousin Silas to act, and in another moment he was striking out towards the wreck. Avoiding the main-mast—close to which, with some of its spars, he had to pass—he at length got hold of the quarter without injury. He was soon up alongside the stranger. The man was apparently unable to walk; so Mr Brand supported him as he helped him along the keel, till he reached the after-part; and then, securing a line to him, he beckoned us to pull in, while he lowered both himself and the man into the boat. We quickly pulled back again, before the shattered mast drove towards the hull. From the appearance of the wreck, she did not look as if she would have floated much longer. The stranger was a mulatto—a fine, tall fellow, apparently, but now looking very wretched and weak from loss of blood and want of food. We soon had him on board, dried and put into a clean hammock, under the doctor’s care. His manner at first was rough, and somewhat sullen; but it improved by degrees, and he seemed grateful for the kindness shown to him. He was evidently suffering so much from pain that no one asked him for particulars about the wreck, or how he had been brought into his present position. It was not till the doctor came in to dinner that we began to suspect the truth.

“Do you know that that man has received a couple of desperate wounds with a long, sharp knife?” said he. “When I discovered this, it occurred to me that he must have been one of the crew of the vessel which passed us yesterday, and that she had met the fate which was to be expected.”

“No doubt about it,” answered Captain Frankland. “I have thought so from the first; but I did not wish to prejudice anybody against the man.”

“He is not disinclined to be communicative; but whether he speaks the truth or not is another question,” said the doctor. “He says that the vessel capsized was a Peruvian brig; that he and another man had a quarrel, in which he received two stabs; that soon after the brig was struck by a squall, and capsized; that one of the boats was uninjured, and that some dozen people escaped in her.”

“I think the latter part of his account is very likely in some respects to be true,” observed Captain Frankland. “If so, they are a class of gentry we must be on the watch for and keep clear of. They cannot be far-off, and they are not likely to stand on ceremony, if they want a ship, which is probable, about helping themselves to the first they fall in with likely to suit them.”

Jerry and I agreed, however, that we should very much like to meet with the pirates and have a brush with them.

“They would find us better prepared than they expected,” said he. “They do not know, besides our big guns, what a supply of arms we have on board.”

Notwithstanding our strong suspicions of the character of the stranger, he was treated from the first with every possible kindness. All this time we were approaching Robinson Crusoe’s island. We almost expected to see a man dressed in goat-skins, with a high conical cap, a gun in his hand, and a negro and goat moving behind him, waiting on the shore to welcome us. In my opinion, he would have found his dress of skins very hot in that climate, while his savage could have been only of a lightish-brown colour. As we drew in with the land, rocks, trees, and shrubs, clothing the sides of the lofty and picturesque mountains, grew more and more distinct; and then a few cottages peeped out here and there, and a fort guarding the only harbour, with the Chilian flag flying over it, showing us that it was no longer a deserted island; but, unfortunately, the inhabitants we found were not of a class to make it the abode of peace and contentment. The Chilian Government have turned it into a penal settlement, and the chief residents are the convicts and their guards. It is only to be hoped that the result of their labours may make it a fitter place for the habitation of more virtuous people. We ran into the harbour, which is nearly land-locked, and dropped our anchor. It was a curious feeling, coming suddenly from the storm-tossed ocean, to find ourselves surrounded by land, with lofty mountains rising up from the shore close to us. We all agreed that we were never in a more beautiful or picturesque spot. Even now the town is a very rough sort of a place. There might have been a hundred cottages, some neatly white-washed, but others made only of boughs and mud; and even the governor’s house is only of one story. The fort was a mere stockade, and of little use as a defence. The governor was an Englishman, who belonged to the Chilian navy. Poor fellow! his was a very unpleasant and dull life; for, except a priest and the officer in command of the soldiers, he had no one with whom he could converse. While the crew were employed in setting up the rigging, Jerry and I and the doctor accompanied Captain Frankland on shore. We were received on landing by a very ragged set of soldiers, many of whom had not even shoes on their feet, and all, more or less, seem to have borrowed some of Robinson Crusoe’s garments. Besides the governor’s house, there was a chapel—a little, low building, with a cross on the top of it to show its object. The poor soldiers crowded round us, and asked if we had shoes to sell. Fortunately there were some cases on board, one of which the captain sent for; and the third mate, who acted as supercargo, disposed of the whole of them, though there was some difficulty in finding articles for barter when their cash ran short. Had not the governor helped them, they would have remained shoeless. We were delighted with the quantity of fruit which was brought to us. There were cherries, and very large strawberries, and melons, and grapes—all of which, we had no doubt, were planted originally by Robinson Crusoe. We lunched with the governor; and then, while the captain returned on board, Jerry and I and the doctor started with a guide to take a long walk into the country. Away we went, highly delighted, and soon found ourselves in a beautiful and fertile valley, with waterfalls coming down the sides of the hills, and bright streams and ponds. We came, too, upon a flock of goats; and one very old fellow had a nick in his ear, so we had no doubt that he was one of those left by Robinson Crusoe himself. The doctor would not give, an opinion on the subject, but Jerry asserted that there could not be a shadow of doubt about it. Going on a little further, we came upon a cave—a veritable cave—in the side of the mountain, with a sort of rough porch in front of it, built of boughs and thatched with straw. Jerry uttered a loud shout of delight.

“There!” he exclaimed. “I knew it was all true. Why, there is the very hut Robinson Crusoe built for himself.”

His voice must have aroused some one who was within, for a door was pushed open, and a figure appeared, who, if he was not Robinson Crusoe, was very like pictures of him. He had a long beard, and was dressed in goat-skins, and had sandals on his feet, and a thick stick in his hand—altogether a very wild-looking character. Jerry drew back, and looked at him very much as if by some incantation he had conjured up the spirit of the long-departed hero.

“It can’t be Crusoe!” he gasped out. “Yet, if it isn’t, who can he be?” At length he gained courage, and both of us slowly approaching the man, he said, with a desperate effort, “Pray, tell me who you are?”

A grim smile lighted up such of the features of the man as could be seen through his bushy beard, whiskers, and moustaches. He shook his head. Jerry repeated the question.

“No intende,” he answered.

“Then he can’t be Robinson Crusoe if he doesn’t understand English,” whispered Jerry, with a sigh.

The doctor, who had been behind gathering plants, now came up. He laughed heartily when we told him that we had had great hopes that the rough-looking stranger might turn out to be Robinson Crusoe himself, gone back to live on his own island. He exchanged a few words with the stranger.

“The man tells me that he is a goat-herd—a convict—unjustly banished here;—that of course. He begs that we will give him a few coppers to buy a glass of rum.”

Jerry and I eagerly searched in our pockets, when we discovered some Chilian coins, which we bestowed on the poor goat-herd; but even as I dropped them into his hand, I could not help feeling that I was offering an insult to a great man in distress by giving him such a trifle. The provoking part of the affair was, that, as the doctor told us, the man himself had never even heard of Robinson Crusoe in the whole course of his life. We had a delightful ramble through the valley, and over the hills. We found an abundance of the sandalwood-tree growing on the mountains, and myrtles in great quantities, with a variety of other aromatic shrubs. Vegetables of all sorts were growing in profusion, and there were a number of cattle, and horses, and mules. There was also plenty of milk; and from what we saw at the governor’s table, there was no lack of provisions of any sort.

Old Surley was with us, and he made acquaintance with a great number of the canine race of high and low degree, though those of low degree, I must say, vastly predominated. We made a collection of all sorts of things,—bits of myrtle, and sandalwood, and leaves, and flowers, and shells; for we were sure our friends at home would highly prize everything coming from Robinson Crusoe’s island. We got some delicious milk also, I remember—which sailors as well as Londoners know how to value. There is an abundance of wood on the island, and delicious streams of pure water, one of which runs through the centre of the town. I must not forget to mention the immense quantity of fish we caught. This abundance of fish, Captain Frankland considered, is owing to a cold current which flows by the island from the Southern Pole, and at the same time tempers the air and adds fertility to the soil. The island is about 300 miles from Valparaiso, 33 degrees 30 minutes south latitude. It is about fifteen miles long, and five broad. After we had seen it in all directions, we agreed that it was indeed a pity that it was in the possession of those who were so little able to make a good use of it. I never saw a more idle set of people than the inhabitants who were not compelled to work. All the time we were on shore, they did nothing but walk about or lie down in the shade, wrapped up in their big cloaks.

When we returned on board we accompanied the doctor to see his patient, the mulatto we had rescued from the wreck. The doctor asked him whether he would not go on shore, where he might have fresh fruit and vegetables, and be better taken care of than he could be on board.

“No, no,” he answered. “Thank you, though, much. There are no good people in this place. I do not want to be among them.”

“Then you know something about them?” said the doctor.

“There are very few places where I do not know somebody,” he answered, evasively.

The doctor did not press the point. Indeed the poor man was not in a condition to be carried. He told us that his name was Manuel Silva; that he had all his life been knocking about the world, and that he did not look upon any one country as his home. We asked him no questions, and he did not choose to tell us how he had got on board the vessel where we found him. The next day, when we went on shore, the governor told us that he had often difficult work in keeping the convicts in order, and that not long ago a dozen of them contrived to run off with a boat, headed by a desperate fellow who had been a seaman. They got clear away, and soon after news was brought that a large brig had been attacked and taken, and all the crew made to walk the plank.

“It will be necessary for us, then, to be on our guard,” remarked the captain. “They would be ugly customers to fall in with.”

“Indeed it will,” observed the governor. “They were desperate and cunning fellows, too, and they will, I fear, do no small amount of mischief before they come to an end. I have sent notice to the Chilian Government, who will despatch one of their ships of war in search of the fellows; but in this wide ocean, with thousands of islands among which they may lie hid, there is but little chance of them being found.”

We had another day’s delightful ramble over the hills and across the valleys of this lonely island; and except that Robinson Crusoe must have found it somewhat dull, being alone for so long before Friday came to him, Jerry and I agreed that he was in no way to be pitied, and that we should like nothing better than having to spend some time there. We did not quite settle how long. There are a number of caves high up in the sides of the mountain, overlooking Cumberland Bay harbour, as it is called; and those barbarous fellows, the Spaniards, compel the convicts, who labour at the stone quarries, to live in them. The challenges of the sentinels, reaching all the way down to the harbour, broke the still silence of the night, as we lay at our anchors, ready to sail with the first dawn on the following morning. A light wind wafted us away from that romantic spot, our visit to which is among the most pleasant recollections of our voyage. We gazed astern as if we were looking our last on the land of our birth, and did not leave the deck till its faint blue mountains had sunk beneath the horizon. In consequence of what we had heard from the governor, we got our guns and small arms in order, to be ready for the supposed pirates, should we fall in with them, while a sharp look-out was kept, that we might not be taken unawares. Captain Frankland was too brave and experienced a man to be afraid of taking necessary precautions on all occasions. It did not occur to the captain, till we had been some time at sea, to inquire of Manuel Silva whether he knew anything of the pirates. Grave suspicions had begun to cross his mind that he was in some way connected with them. Of course Silva denied all knowledge of them. When pressed to give some account of himself, he replied, “I am grateful for all your kindness. If I have an opportunity I will show it. I do not wish to tell you falsehoods, therefore do not press me on that subject.” With a favourable breeze we steered a course for the coast of Peru.

Chapter Ten.

Visit to the Empire of the Incas.

To the south of Lima, in the Bay of Pisco, are found three small islands, or rather barren rocks. Not a tree grows on them—not a blade of grass. The feathered race for ages past, probably since the last flood rolled over the face of the globe, have made them their abode. Strange as it may seem, they are of more intrinsic value than the richest mines of Potosi; yet their produce is all on the surface, and to be obtained but with little labour. They are the three Chincha Islands, and their produce is guano. It is the result of the droppings of birds, which in that dry and rainless region has preserved all its fertilising qualities, and has been stored up, by the decree of a beneficent Providence, to restore strength and vigour to the far-off lands of the Old World. We sighted them one morning, and running in, brought up in their neighbourhood. There were sixty ships, mostly English, anchored near them, for the purpose of loading with guano; and sometimes there are upwards of a hundred. A boat was lowered, and the captain, Jerry, the doctor, and I, went in her. We had to climb up to the top of one of the islands by a ladder; the cliffs are so steep, and being composed of felspar and quartz, so broken away by the action of the sea, that it is the only method of reaching the summit. The island was covered with thick layers of guano, and one cutting, about a hundred yards from the cliff, was sixty feet deep, or rather high, for the cutting is made into it from the side, just as a slice is cut out of a cheese. A steam-engine is employed in digging it out, and filling a set of cars, which run on a tramway to the edge of the cliff under which the vessels lie to load. Two hundred convicts were engaged in shovelling down the guano, and a number of stout negroes are employed in the hold to distribute it as it comes down through a canvas shoot. They have to wear iron masks, as the fresh guano is stronger than volatile salts, and more penetrating than coal-dust.

The bird which produces the guano is a sort of tern, with red bill and legs. It has a long whisker-like feather curling out under the ear on each side. The top of the head and the tips of the wings and tail are black. The body, which is about ten inches long, is of a dark-slate colour. Large flocks of gulls, divers, and pelicans, likewise visit the islands. It is calculated that, on one island alone, there were 2,000,000 tons of guano; and although from 200,000 to 300,000 tons are annually imported into England, it will take some time to exhaust the supply. Guano is a corruption of the Quichua word huaim. The Quichua is the language of the Incas. Under the enlightened government of the Incas the value of guano was well-known, and severe laws were enacted against any one disturbing the birds during the breeding season. Pulling away to another island, we found a number of Chinese employed in digging out the guano. We were not surprised at seeing them look very miserable and unhappy, for the oppressive odour arising from the fresh-dug guano was intolerable, to us even for a short time. We were told that many of them in their wretchedness commit suicide, flying, through their ignorance, from present evils to those they know not of, instead of endeavouring manfully to support their lot, if inevitable, or to seek proper means to escape from it if they have the power—not that I thought this at the time, by-the-by. I only remarked to Jerry that they were very great fools for their pains. A little way up the bay, on the mainland, is the sea-port of Pisco, a neat Spanish-built place. In the neighbourhood are numerous remains, which prove how populous must have been the country under the sway of the Incas.

Sailing north, we entered the Bay of Callao, the port of Lima. Before us lay Callao, with rich green plains on either side, covered with white farms and willow-trees, with the high cliffs of Morro Solar to the south, and below it the bathing-place of Cherillos. Six or eight miles inland appeared the white towers of Lima, surrounded by orange-groves; while above them, far into the blue sky, rose peak beyond peak of the ever-glorious snow-capped Andes. Such is the scene which, for many ages past, has been looked on; but a change—a great and important one—is taking place in the land; and what was our surprise, when we went on shore, to see English omnibuses and broughams—and more than that, the terminus of a railway, the carriages of which ran rattling on to Lima.

“Funny,” cried Jerry, when we found ourselves, with the captain and the doctor, in one of the aforesaid carriages, “to think that we are all away on the other side of that great big straggling continent of America, and yet to feel, as we look about this box, as if we were only skurrying off from London to Liverpool.”

I entered into his feelings, and the voyage round Cape Horn, and our different adventures, seemed like a dream, till we looked out and saw the giant Cordilleras, and then we were soon reminded where we were. We met a Peruvian gentleman on the railway, who told us much about the country. Among other things, while the Marquis of Villa Garcia was viceroy of Peru in 1746, on the 28th of October, during a warm but perfectly calm evening, while the inhabitants of Callao and Lima were not dreaming of evil, on a sudden, without a moment’s warning, the earth shook with tremendous violence. Every house in Callao fell level with the ground, crushing their hapless inmates. Many of those in Lima were likewise overthrown; and as the affrighted survivors looked seaward, a vast wave like a gigantic wall came roaring on towards the devoted place. In an instant every living soul in Callao, with the exception of one man who clung to a piece of timber, was overwhelmed by the raging waters. Not a vestige of the town remained. On went the wave, carrying with it a Spanish frigate, the Saint Fernim, and other vessels, leaving them high and dry far inland. Lima narrowly escaped complete destruction, and it was long before the inhabitants recovered from the panic into which the catastrophe had thrown them. For years after the destruction of the Inca rule, unhappy Peru groaned under the misgovernment and tyranny of the Spaniards, and rapidly and surely the aboriginal inhabitants decreased in numbers. Several revolts occurred, but were crushed with barbarous severity. At length the colonists of Spain conceived the hope of throwing off the yoke of the mother country. Although frequently defeated, the people of Chili were, by the aid of Lord Cochrane, at last successful. General San Martin, who had become the president, entered Lima on the 19th of July 1821, the viceroy La Cerna being cut off from any support from Spain by the Chilian fleet having retreated to Cuzco, where he took up his head-quarters. Ultimately he was completely defeated, and his whole army was destroyed. On the 20th the independence of Peru was proclaimed, and though the republic was long subject to intestine commotions, from what we could learn and see it now appears to be making very satisfactory progress.

We next wished to get up to Cuzco, the ancient capital of the Incas, situated high up among the Andes; but we had no time to accomplish the journey. We heard, however, of a very interesting place twenty-five miles to the south of Lima, on the coast. It was the city and temple of Pachacamac, “the creator of the world,” supposed to have been built in times long anterior to those of the Incas. We had two days to spare before the ship was to sail, and the captain said we might visit the place. The doctor, Jerry, and I, with a guide, a half Indian, set out, accordingly, at an early hour on horseback. We were accompanied by Silva, who, from speaking Spanish perfectly, went as our interpreter. He was still ill, and weak from his wounds and his exposure on the wreck, but he begged so hard that he might go on shore, that the doctor could not refuse him. He had won the regard of all by his respectful and unobtrusive manners, and had managed completely to obliterate the suspicions which the captain at first entertained of him. The doctor told us during the ride more than I knew before about the country. The early inhabitants were worshippers of Pachacamac, and when the Incas introduced the religion of the Sun, instead of destroying the faith they found existing, with an enlightened policy they allowed the temples of both to exist side by side. Passing close to the lofty cliffs of the Morro Solar, we rode through a large sugar estate, and then across a sandy desert, with several lakes in it stocked with water-fowl, and soon afterwards, from the top of a gentle ascent, we saw before us the hill on which stands the remains of the once celebrated temple. The mighty fane stood at the top of the hill, with terraces encircling it, and surrounding the base was the town. Beyond were seen the blue waters of the Pacific rolling on the sandy shore. We could not help feeling sad and awe-struck as we rode into the deserted city. The walls were there, although many were battered down, but the roofs of all had disappeared. Passing through the town, we climbed up a height 400 feet above the sea, where the remains of the great temple were standing. The walls surrounding the centre space are about twenty feet high, and we discovered even some of the vermilion paint with which they were adorned still adhering to them. Below this wall were a succession of three broad terraces. The interior shrine was entirely destroyed by Hernando Pizarro, when he was sent by his brother, at the suggestion of the Inca Atahuallpa, to collect the treasures which it was supposed to contain. The priests had got notice of his purpose, and flying, had concealed the greater portion of their wealth. Disappointed in his expectations, Pizarro having stripped the shrine of all its gold and ornaments, levelled it with the ground. The interiors of the larger portion of the houses were full of sand.

Having wandered about through this melancholy relic of the past with old Surley at our heels, who in no way seemed to enter into our enthusiasm, we turned to retrace our steps to where we had left our horses. We had observed some figures at a distance among the ruins, but they seemed to take no notice of us. Suddenly they disappeared. We found our guide standing by our horses where we had left him. He seemed rather agitated, but we could not make out what had happened, as we did not understand a word of his language. When we mounted, he inquired of us by signs whether we had got pistols. We showed him that we had not, or arms of any sort. He did not treat us as we afterwards thought he might have done had he not been an honest man, and say, “Oh, if that is the case, I will rob you myself.” He shook his head and showed us his own long knife, and signified that very likely we should have to use it for our defence. Such was the interpretation, at all events, that we put on his various signs. Silva, who had been a little behind, now came up.

“The poor man has seen some blacks who bear a bad character, it appears, and he is afraid they will attack us,” he observed. “However, show a bold front, and we shall easily drive them off if they do.” As there was no avoiding the danger, whatever it was, we made up our minds to meet it as well as we could.

“It has something to do with those fellows we saw among the ruins,” said Jerry. “Only I think they would have robbed us then, had they intended to do so.”

“Perhaps we are mistaken altogether, or, what is as probable, our guide has unnecessarily frightened himself, and tried to frighten us,” observed the doctor.

“We shall see, doctor,” said I. “I hope you are right.” Just then we reached a small hut, such as is inhabited by Indians. Jerry declared that he must have a draught of milk, as we saw some cows feeding near, and before the guide could stop him, he had knocked at the door. Instead of the kindly face of an Indian appearing at his summons, out rushed a big, savage-looking negro, and by his angry gestures seemed to inquire what we wanted.

“A calabash of milk, friend Sambo,” answered Jerry, in no ways daunted. While, however, he was speaking, two other blacks appeared at the door, while three or four more, flourishing long knives, came running toward us from a neighbouring wood.

“Put spurs to your horses, boys, and let us get away from this!” cried the doctor. As we were attempting to follow his advice, one of the blacks seized Jerry’s rein, and though I struck the fellow a heavy blow with my stick, he would not let go his hold. The consequence of the blow was nearly fatal to me, for the fellow with his other hand struck at me with a long glittering knife, and had not I pulled back my horse by an involuntary movement, he would have plunged it into my side—as it was, he cut my trousers and drew blood from my leg. Seeing things come to this pass, the doctor and Silva, who proved himself a brave fellow, began to lay about them, one with his stick and the other with a heavy Spanish riding whip; while old Surley, who, after growling fiercely, saw that the time for action had now arrived, began to bite away at the negroes’ thin calves and long heels, greatly to their annoyance. Each man, as he found himself bit, turned round and endeavoured to stab the dog, and very much afraid I was that they would succeed; but so actively did he jump about from side to side, now bounding here, now there, that not one of the numberless blows which were struck reached him, while his furious barking and repeated bites served most materially to distract the attention of our assailants. Still they were fully eight armed savages to five people with sticks and a whip, and a dog; and as Jerry and I were only boys, and old Surley had only his teeth to fight with, it must be acknowledged that we were very unequally matched. Feeling this, we should certainly have felt it no disgrace to run away if we could; but the black held on so tightly to Jerry’s rein that we could not escape. At last the negro I speak of, finding that he had missed me and could not hit the dog, lifted up his long knife and made a desperate lounge with it at Jerry. I saw what he was about to do, and crying out to Surley, my stick instinctively came down with all its force on the ruffian’s arm, while the dog sprung up and caught him by the throat. He let go at that moment the rein.

“Now on, boys, on!” sung out the doctor, who saw what had occurred; and bringing our sticks down on our horses’ backs, we dashed past the infuriated negroes, on whose heads Silva bestowed many a terrific whack with his stout stick, as they attempted to catch his rein. We were followed closely by the guide and our valiant ally, old Surley, at whom several blows were aimed, but he escaped them all, and at full gallop we pushed over the sandy plain, pursued by our black assailants. Happily they had no fire-arms, or we should have fared ill. When we had got beyond their reach we pulled up and congratulated ourselves on our escape, while old Surley came in for his due share of praise and thanks. He wagged his tail and opened his mouth, as if he were about to speak and say, “I only did my duty, masters; you feed me well, and treat me kindly, and I love you, and am ready to fight for you, and do you any other service in my power, as I hope to prove whenever I have the opportunity.”

It was very late when we got back to Lima, to the house of a merchant who had asked us to stay with him. He told us that the blacks who attacked us were, he had no doubt, emancipated slaves, who had always borne a very bad character. Had they been properly educated, and prepared for freedom, they might have turned out well; but those wretches are a melancholy example of what will be found to be the case in other countries where slavery still exists, should the slaves suddenly be made free, or should they rise and win their freedom for themselves. Unless they are carefully trained—taught to depend on their own exertions, and instructed in the pure truths of Christianity—they will, when freed, sink into a state of sloth and wretchedness; or if they rise to obtain their own freedom, they will, very certainly, be guilty of the most dreadful murders and every kind of atrocity in carrying out their designs. I often have since thought of what our friend said, and have prayed that the people of the United States will make due preparation for enlightening those held so long in bondage. On the nature of that preparation it defends (I have often heard Captain Frankland say) whether their dear-bought liberty shall give joy and gladness, or poverty and misery.

The next morning, before returning to Callao, we rode out to visit the ruins of an Inca town, situated on a hill forming one side of a fertile and well-irrigated valley. The walls of the houses were built of unburnt brick and mud, carefully constructed at right angles to each other, and very thick—indeed, they put us in mind of some of the pictures we had seen of Egyptian architecture. We were surprised to hear of the great number of Indians who still exist in the country. Under the present government they live happy and contented lives among the lovely valleys of their ancestors. Their huts are generally built of stone and covered with red tiles, creepers being trained to trail over the walls, over which often a huge pumpkin is seen to hang, while a prickly cactus stands as a sentinel at the doorway. The dress of the men is a serge coat of an emerald green colour, without a collar, and with a short skirt; loose black breeches, open at the knee, after the Spanish fashion; and a long red waistcoat with large pockets. Pieces of llamas’ hide fastened round the feet serve them for shoes, while their legs are stockingless. On their heads they wear broad-brimmed hats or caps, adorned with gold-lace or ribbons of gay colours. The women wear the same hat as the men, with a mantle over the shoulder secured in front by a silver pin; a red bodice, and a blue petticoat reaching a little below the knee. Altogether they present a very picturesque appearance. We made another very interesting excursion in a canal up a river—or a stream rather, for it was very narrow—but what we were most struck with was the richness of the vegetation, the bark, reeds, and trees, and shrubs of all sorts which grew close to the water. What was remarkable were the palm-trees, which shot up above the other trees—themselves of no inconsiderable growth. We were sorry not to be able to spend a longer time on the river. It put us very much in mind of the scenery of the Amazon. We saw enough of the country to make us long to see more of it, but were obliged to hurry back to the railway-station to get to Callao, once more to embark on board the Triton.

It was night by the time we reached the harbour, the sea calm as glass; and it struck me that there was something peculiarly solemn as we looked out on that dark, silent expanse of water, after gazing as we had done for some days on the lofty snow-capped Cordilleras, and the laughing green valleys round Lima. Dark as was the water, no sooner were the oars dipped in it than it appeared as if they were ladling up some red-hot fluid metal; and as the boat which was sent to take us off pulled toward us from the ship, she left a long line of fire in her wake. Even when we scooped up the water in our hands and threw it into the air, it appeared like sparkles of fire, so long did it retain its brilliancy. The slightest movement in the water caused a flash of light. Jerry and I agreed that we had never seen anything more beautiful. The doctor told us that this phosphorescence or luminosity of the ocean is caused by a minute animal, scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, though sufficient to tinge the water of a brown or reddish colour. Other marine substances are, however, luminous. While we were waiting to step into the boat, the bay having returned to its original darkness, on a sudden it appeared as if it had become a vast caldron of molten lead. The waters tumbled and rolled about in sheets of flame.

“It is indeed a beautiful sight,” exclaimed the doctor; “never saw such a display of luminosity.”

“Grand, grand!” cried Jerry. “A thing to talk about—ah! what is that?”

We were all silent. There was a low, rumbling, awful noise, neither like distant thunder nor the report of cannon—nor, indeed, anything else I ever heard; the earth seemed to sink under our feet, and then as if it were being crushed together—rocks, and earth, and sand, all in one lump by some mighty force. It was very dreadful. Our knees positively trembled under us, at least I felt mine doing so. The boat rose and fell several times. I remembered the way in which old Callao had been destroyed, and I began to fear that a similar catastrophe was about to occur. For a time there was a perfect rest, no movement of earth, or water, or air—not the less awful on that account though.

“Is it all over?” at length exclaimed Jerry, who was the first to break the silence.

“I hope so,” answered the doctor; “but let us get into the boat, and pull on board; we shall be safer there than on shore, at all events.”

We followed his advice. As the boat clove her way through the water she seemed to be gliding over a surface of gold, overlaid by some dark sand which was parted as she went by. When we got on board, we found that our shipmates had felt the shock, the vibration of which must have come up as they supposed by the chain cable. For a long time we walked the deck, expecting another shock, but the night passed off quietly, and when morning returned there was nothing to indicate that an earthquake had taken place. I ought to have said that the present town of Callao was built at a little distance from the site of the old town destroyed by the earthquake, and on a higher and more commanding position.

Once more we were at sea. One of the most interesting places we called at, on account of its position and associations, was Panama. For many a year it slept on neglected and almost forgotten. Now it has been completely aroused from its lethargy, to find itself in the middle of the highway to California, and the chief resting-place of gold-diggers. It is bounded by the sea on three sides, and surrounded by a wall with ditch and bastions on the land side. In the centre is the plaza, into which converge several streets of old-fashioned, sedate-looking Spanish houses, with broad verandas and heavy folding-shutters. Now a change has rudely come over them. Above the door of one appeared, in huge characters—“American Hotel”; while a board announced that “Good Lodging, Brandy Smashes, Sice, and Egg-nog,” were to be obtained within. There are several other hotels with conspicuous signs, all denoting that they have been established by citizens of the United States, while there exist several restaurants, cafés, and newspaper and billiard-rooms besides. A steamer had arrived only a few days before at Aspinwall, on the east side, and the town was consequently full of passengers who had come across by the railway. Nowhere, perhaps, are the past and the present brought into greater contrast. We visited the ruins of several churches and other buildings with massive walls, which probably never were finished,—all attesting the departed importance of the place. Now palm-trees grow in their lonely courts; tropical climbing plants throw their festoons in rich luxuriance over their elaborate architecture, and banana-trees have taken root in the clefts of the crumbling walls. Panama, however, is not the identical city whence Pizarro sailed for the conquest of the kingdom of the Incas. That city stood six miles down the coast; and after it was sacked and utterly destroyed by Morgan, who murdered every soul then within it, none returned to take up their habitation there, and it still remains as he left it, a heap of ruins, now overgrown by rank vegetation.

We were fortunate in finding the directions Captain Frankland expected to guide his future course, and I got letters from home. How greedily I devoured them! Every word I read over and over again, and I kissed them more than once, when I knew Jerry was not looking at me. I do not give a longer account of the place, because I was engaged most of the time I was there in writing home. I judged from the delight I felt in getting letters, that mine would afford a somewhat similar pleasure; so I found they did, and I advise those of my readers who have to go away from home to remember this, and never to lose an opportunity of writing. We were bound for San Francisco, the giant mushroom city of the wondrous gold-bearing regions of California. I had always fancied that the Pacific was, as its name betokens, a wide expanse of island-sprinkled water, seldom or never ruffled by a storm. At length I had practical proof of my mistake. We had made a good offing from the coast, to give a wide berth to that narrow strip of land which runs from north to south, and is known as Lower California. I saw the captain looking constantly at the barometer; Jerry and I looked also, for we guessed that something was the matter. The quicksilver sank lower and lower in the tube, showing that the superincumbent atmosphere had become lighter, or more rarified, and that a current of air would soon come in from some direction or other and fill it up.

“What’s going to happen?” I asked of Jerry, seeing that the glass, or rather the fluid in it, fell more and more.

“Why, we are going to have such a gale as we don’t often meet with, I suspect,” he answered. Just as he spoke, his father’s voice was heard on dock. We immediately hurried there as fast as we could fly. At the time there was but little wind, then it became perfectly calm, with only a long heavy swell from the southward. The calm was of short duration.

“All hands shorten sail!” sung out the captain. The crew sprung aloft; so did Jerry and I. We never shirked our duty, and Captain Frankland knew that if he let us do so, whatever the excuse, we should never become true seamen. It was hard work to hold on to the yard, much more to get in the stiff canvas. I have heard of people having their teeth blown down their throats by a gale; I thought mine would have gone, and then I should have gone too, for I literally had to hold on by them to steady myself on the yard. Jerry was not far from me. We tugged and hauled away, and at last got the canvas rolled up as we best could; but I must own that it was far from well done. The gale was still increasing in strength, and we were not sorry to find ourselves safe on deck again—so, I think, was the captain to see us. Perhaps, however, he had got so accustomed to the risks his son was constantly running, that he did not think about it. Scarcely had we come down from aloft, and were looking about to see what was going to happen, than we saw away to the south-east, far as the eye could reach, a tumbling mass of foaming waters rushing on at a furious rate towards us.

Meantime the storm stay-sails had been set, and the helm being put down, the ship was hove-to with her head to the eastward. As the seas came with the swell, they were regular, and though the ship plunged violently, now rising to the summit of a wave, now sinking down into the trough, there was no fear of any of them breaking on board provided our masts stood. Such was the state of things when night came on. The wind howled, and whistled, and shrieked; the sea roared and hissed; the timbers and the masts groaned; the bulkheads creaked; and everything and everybody which was not secured very tightly, tumbled and rolled about in a most uncontrollable manner. For my part, I confess that I more than once wished I were safe on shore again. As to turning in, not one of us thought of doing that. Still the glass was falling, and still the gale was increasing. With regard to eating, also, all we could do was to nibble a biscuit; for, as Jerry observed, had we attempted to put anything into our mouths with a fork, the chances were that we should have sent fork and all down our throats, or dug the prongs into our eyes or noses, or done some other mischief. Every now and then Jerry and I started up on deck to see how things were going on, not that we could be of any use there. Just as we had agreed to go below again, a blast, as if a fresh hand had beep added to the bellows, came down upon us; there was a terrific report, the ship heeled over on her side as if she were going down, and away flew the stay-sails out of the bolt-ropes, followed by nearly all the canvas, which, ill furled in our hurry, broke loose from the gaskets, and, fluttering away with loud flaps, was soon reduced to ribbons, knotted and twisted in every conceivable way. As the ship fell off into the trough of the sea when her sails rent, a foaming billow came roaring up, and striking her, made a clean breach over us. There were shouts and cries fore and aft. Jerry and I held on for our lives. Happily the stanchions we held to did not give way. Half terrified, and not knowing what was next to happen, we tried to pierce the gloom which surrounded us. Jerry’s chief anxiety was for his father; so was mine, and for Cousin Silas likewise, and, indeed, for our kind friend the doctor. I had time also, strange as it may seem, to think about old Surley, and to hope that he had not been washed overboard, for unwisely he had followed us on deck. Very soon we were satisfied that the captain was safe, for we heard him issuing orders in a clear voice which sounded high above the gale. Directly afterwards Cousin Silas passed us on his way forward, to get the fore-stay-sail on the ship, to bring her head round.

“If that does not do, what will happen?” I asked of Jerry.

“We shall have to cut away the mizzen-mast and the main-mast too,” he answered. “Pleasant, won’t it be?” I hoped that we should not be driven to this alternative. As soon as the captain had given the necessary orders for the safety of the ship, we heard him telling Ben Yool to go and look for us.

“They be safe enough, sir,” was the answer. “I see’d them after the squall.”

“Ay, ay, father, we are all right here,” sung out Jerry. How high and shrill his voice sounded amid the roar of the tempest! By this time the sail was hoisted, the helm was put up—the ship’s head rose and fell, and rose again. At length the canvas felt the force of the wind.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” was shouted fore and aft. Slowly round came her head—the helm was righted. The fore-staysail was quickly hauled down again, or the next squall would have taken it out of the bolt-ropes, and away we flew under bare poles—now plunging headlong into the deep valleys before us, our stern lifted high up above the seas—now climbing the opposite side of the watery hill, the wave following us as it came up, vast and indistinct in the gloom of night, looking as if it must overwhelm us.

“But what has become of old Surley?” I asked of Jerry, when we had time to draw our breath a little more freely. “Can the dear old fellow be washed overboard?”

“I hope not; perhaps he didn’t like the look of things on deck, and skulked down below again,” answered Jerry. “Let us go and look for him.”

This was no easy work, in the way the ship was pitching and tumbling about, and not without considerable risk; but on that point we did not very much trouble our heads. Old Surley was always ready to fight for us; and had we thought about the matter, we should have been ready to go through any amount of danger for his sake. Letting go our hold, therefore, away we crawled, grasping at anything we could reach, to prevent ourselves from being rolled away to leeward. At last we reached the forecastle, where the men had all huddled together, but old Surley was not there. This made us very anxious about him. No one had seen him. We began to fear that, as he had not hands to hold on by, he must have been washed overboard when the heavy sea struck the ship which had laid her on her beam ends.

“You’d better not be scuttling about the decks, young gentlemen,” said Ben Yool. “Another of those big seas may come, and then if you are caught by it you may be carried away further off than you’ll like.”

“Thank you, Ben,” we answered. “We’ll take care of ourselves; but we must first find old Surley, whatever happen.” Saying this, we began to work our way aft again, peering and putting our hands into every place where we thought he could be stowed away. As we were passing along close to the booms on the starboard side, under the long boat, I thought amidst the howling of the tempest that I heard a low whine. I told Jerry. We together hunted about the spot till our hands touched a hairy coat. It was that of old Surley. Of that we were certain, by hearing him again whine. He could not move. Poor fellow, he had been jammed in among the booms. We judged that there would be great difficulty in releasing him, but after feeling about in all directions round him, we determined to make the attempt. I took his head and Jerry took his tail, and, watching our opportunity as the spars separated by the movement of the ship, we lifted him out of the trap in which he had been caught. He licked my face and hands, and then turned round and did the same to Jerry; indeed, he took every means to evince his gratitude. We were very happy to find that none of his bones had been broken, and together we all three scrambled back in the best way we could to the cabin. Old Surley seemed to be very hungry after his imprisonment, so I made another excursion on deck to the cook’s larder, and got him a piece of meat, with which I returned to the cabin. We should have been glad of something of the sort ourselves, but as we could not attempt to cook anything, and the meat I had brought was raw, we gave the whole of it to our four-footed friend. We all sat down on the deck of the cabin, holding on by the legs of the table—that is to say, Jerry and I held on, and Surley lay between us. The doctor was in his berth. After, as he said, he had sufficiently enjoyed the scene on deck, he had wisely turned in, feeling that he could be of no use anywhere else. Never before had I spent so uncomfortable a night on board. We were very wet, and cold, and hungry, and not at all certain that the ship would not go down, and carry us and all hands with her.

“It’s not so bad, though, as the time we spent on the bottom of the boat among the Falkland Islands,” observed Jerry.

“But that only lasted a short time,” I remarked. “For what we know, it may blow as hard as it does now for a week to come. What shall we do then?”

“Grin and bear it. That’s the only thing to be done that I know of,” answered Jerry.

All that night we sat up as I have described, now and then dozing off for a short time, but then waking up again as the ship gave a more tremendous plunge than before. At last the captain came and lay down on the sofa, and seeing that we were all safe, went to sleep; but he was soon on deck again, and remained there till daylight. All that day the gale blew as hard, if not harder than ever, and we went rolling and pitching away before it. All the people were sent below except the hands at the wheel, and they secured themselves there, lest they should be washed away by the seas which threatened every moment to break aboard us. As to looking out, all we could see were the foaming mountains of water rising up in broken masses around us, and the sheets of spray which never-ceasingly flew over us. Night came on again, and matters had not mended. The glass was still lower than ever. Jerry and I had managed to shift our clothes, so that we were more comfortable than on the former night, and old Surley had had a lesson not to venture on deck again. His coat was thus dry, and we all lay down together to pass the night. Having scarcely closed our eyes the night before, we soon went to sleep. Never have I slept more soundly. Suddenly I woke up. The ship was plunging as heavily as before, and the wind was howling and the sea roaring as loudly as ever. Still only half awake, I found my way up the companion-ladder. I looked out. No one was to be seen on deck—the dark mountain seas and the confused mass of rigging could alone be perceived. I cast my eyes aloft? What was that I saw? High up in the air, at the main-topmast-head, there was perched a ball of fire. I was so astonished, and, I may say, alarmed, that I could not speak. What could the phenomenon portend? It stayed there for some time, then all of a sudden it glided down, and went out to the main-top-sail yard-arm—a bright, glowing, flaming ball. It will be setting the ship on fire! I thought that I would go and rouse up some one to tell what I had seen, in case there was any danger to be apprehended. Still I could not tear myself away from my post. I shouted out to Jerry, but he did not hear me. I was just returning below when I found Cousin Silas at my shoulder.

“So, Harry, you want to find out when the gale will have done blowing,” said he.

“Yes, I do indeed; but look there!” I exclaimed, pointing to the ball of fire.

“Ah, there’s old Jack o’ lantern!” he answered composedly. “Not a bad sign either. A gale seldom lasts long after he has come. Look at him, he is rather playful to-night.” He was indeed. Sometimes the light would ascend and then descend the masts, then run along the yards, and waiting a little at each yard-arm, would be back again and slip down one of the stays to the fore-mast, and mount up in a second to the fore-topmast head. Sometimes, when the ship rolled very much, the mast-head would leave it floating in the air, but as she rolled back again it would quickly re-attach itself. More than once it got divided into several parts, as it flew about the rigging, but was very speedily re-united again. Cousin Silas laughed when I told him that I thought it might do us some injury.

“Oh no; Jack is a very harmless fellow,” he answered. “More than once, when it has not been blowing as hard as it does now, before I was out of my apprenticeship, I and others have chased Jack about the rigging, and caught him too. When near, he seems to have a very dull, pale light. I and another fellow determined to have him. At last I clutched him. I felt that I had got something clammy, as it were, which stung my skin like a handful of thin jelly-fish. I brought him down on deck, and clapped him into a box. In the morning I could feel that there was something in the box, but all the light was gone, and the box hadn’t been opened long before the thing, whatever it was, was gone too.”

Had anybody but Cousin Silas given me this account, I should scarcely have believed him; and even in this case I had some little difficulty in not supposing that he must, in some way or other, have been deceived.

Jack, however, did not bring us the fine weather we wished for. Daylight returned, and we were little better off than before. We nibbled some biscuit, as Jerry said, to keep our spirits up, and then had a look at the glass. It had risen two degrees. Still the sea ran very high. Jerry and I went at last on deck, followed by Surley. The captain and officers were there, for they had resolved to try and bring the ship to; as she was running a long way out of her course. This, after a time, was done, when the wind lulled, under a close-reefed fore-topsail. We rode after this much more pleasantly, and then the sea began to go down, and once more we could move about the deck without danger of being washed overboard.

“All hands make sail!” was at length the cheering cry, just as the sun had set, as the poets say, in his ocean bed. We sprang aloft—Jerry and I racing who should be first up on the yard-arm. Surley looked as if he would like to follow. Jerry beat me. The ship was still rolling heavily in the swell after the gale. He was springing out towards the yard-arm, laughing gaily at his success, when the ship gave a roll, and away he was sent clear of the bulwarks and into the sea. To glide down by a back-stay and to jump overboard after him was the work of a moment. I scarcely knew what I was doing. I fancied that I just heard the cry of “A man overboard;” but I was not certain. I knew that I was for my size a good swimmer, and I wanted to save my friend. He could swim, but not much. He threw up his arms; I saw him, and struck out towards him. I had a companion, I found, hastening also to his rescue. It was old Surley. He swam faster than I did, seeming to know the importance of haste. We were not without means of support, for as Jerry fell the life-buoy had been let go. It was such as are carried by men-of-war, and could support several people. I sung out to Jerry. He heard my voice, but he only answered faintly. He had got his mouth full of water, and had been stunned and confused by his fall. He was beating the water wildly, forgetting apparently that he could swim.

“Help! help!” he sung out; “I’m sinking! I’m sinking!” I did my utmost to reach him, but was still some way off. Surley dashed towards him, and seized him by the collar, holding his head above water. I saw that the best thing I could do was to tow the life-buoy up to him. It was not far off. Surley seemed to divine my intention, and swam towards it. At last I got it up to Jerry. He had just strength enough left to catch hold of it. Old Surley put his paws in the beckets to support himself, and then we all three were hanging on to the life-buoy, while the ship, as it seemed to us, was running far away, already almost concealed by the thick clouds of spray with which we were surrounded.

Chapter Eleven.

Adventures in Mexico.

“I am so glad you are saved, Jerry,” said I. These were the first words I spoke after we had got hold of the life-buoy.

“But are we saved?” he exclaimed. “Will the ship be able to come back? and if she does, will they see us, do you think?”

“They’ll not desert us—of that we may be certain,” I replied; and I thought how heart-broken Captain Frankland would be when he found that his son had fallen overboard and was in all probability lost. Strange to say, I did not think at all of my own perilous position. I had gone to save Jerry, and it seemed a matter of course that I must save him. It must be remembered that our heads were very little above the level of the water, and that although the sea had gone down considerably, we were surrounded by masses of foam—now sinking into the trough, now rising to the top of a wave. Our view, therefore, was very limited. We were looking out eagerly for the ship through the thickening gloom. Happily, when the life-buoy was let go, the trigger was pulled. This set off a sort of blue light, which burned at the top, and which water could not extinguish. We felt sure, therefore, that as long as that light continued burning we should be seen by those on board. Our great dread was that the light would go out before the ship could get back to us. We strained our eyes in the direction of the ship. The thickening gloom and mist were rapidly encircling her, and shrouding her from our sight.

“O Harry, Harry, she’s going away, and they won’t know where to look for us!” cried Jerry. “Poor father, what will he do? and my carelessness has brought you into this trouble, and poor Surley too. I wish you hadn’t jumped overboard for me.”

“I’m very glad I did, for I don’t think that you would have been alive now if I had not,” I answered; “and don’t have any regrets about me—I only did my duty, and I am sure that you would have done the same for me. But I say, do you remember what Mr Brand talked about when we were holding on by the bottom of the boat among the Falklands?”

“Yes, I do; something about our being summoned before many moments to stand before the Judge of all the world,” answered Jerry. “I’ve been thinking of that just now.”

“So have I,” said I. “Well, it strikes me that if we thought about it oftener we should be better prepared for the time when it does come. Come it will, I know,—‘as a thief in the night,’ the Bible says. I’ll try and think more on the subject, so that when the moment does come I may be ready.”

Many people make resolutions as we did: how few keep them! It is extraordinary that we should have been able to talk so much in the position in which we were placed. As I was saying, we strained our eyes gazing after the ship.

“Jerry,” I exclaimed suddenly, “she has hove about—I am certain of it! See, see! she is coming nearer!”

Breathlessly we watched. Even though the gloom was thickening, we could discern that her bow was turned towards us. We shouted in our eagerness—not to show where we were: there was no use in that, nor could we have made ourselves heard; the light also from the life-buoy was still burning brightly. On came the ship towards us. There was no doubt about the matter.

“There’s down with the helm!” cried Jerry. “They are going to heave to—hurrah! hurrah!”

In another minute the ship lay hove-to a short distance to windward of us. She looked like some huge dark spirit rising out of the ocean. We knew that they must be lowering a boat, though we could not see it. Then we shouted, to show that we were all right and in good heart. A shout from the boat’s crew was given in return, and a light was held up to show us that help was coming. Over the waves it came dancing towards us. In a few minutes more the boat was up to us, with Mr Brand at the helm. Whenever any very important work was to be performed, I observed the captain liked to intrust it to Cousin Silas.

“Take old Surley off first!” exclaimed Jerry. Manuel Silva, who had, it appeared, insisted on coming, was about to help him in. “He has had hard work to hold on, poor fellow.” So Surley was taken into the boat, and then I, for Jerry would not get in till the last; and then the life-buoy was lifted in, and in a very short time we were all safe on deck, and the ship once more steering towards the American coast.

We were earned below—that is to say, Jerry and I. The men took care of Surley. We were put into our berths, and the doctor came to us, and we were rubbed, and had some hot brandy and water; and then I, at all events, felt all to rights. Jerry had been hurt by his fall, and it took him much longer to recover. The captain went and sat by him; and Jerry told me that he heard him offering up his thanks to our merciful God for having restored his son to him. He then came and talked to me, and told me how sorry he should have been had I been lost, and how grateful he felt to me for having been the means of saving his son’s life. I do not know exactly what I said. I remember I told him what I was sure of,—that Jerry would have done exactly the same for me. There was this difference, that I could swim very well, and that Jerry could swim very little, so that I deserved less thanks than he should have done had he jumped in for me, considering that he would have run far greater risk for my sake than I had done for his. The captain smiled when I said this, but made no remark. He had always been kind to me,—he was now kinder than ever; but this did not prevent him from taking every means to make me a sailor, and to keep me to my duty, while at the same time he afforded me every opportunity of seeing as much as possible of the world through which we were passing.

Silva, as I before have said, by his quiet manners, readiness to lend a hand when any work was going forward, and anxiety to be on good terms with all, had completely won the good-will of everybody on board. He was evidently a man of some attainments, and was more likely to have been an officer than a man before the mast. With Jerry and me he was apparently very frank. He told us how when a young lad he had been turned adrift into the world to seek his fortune, without parents or any one to care for him; and how he had battled on, picking up information where he could, reading what books he could lay hands on, and laying in a store of knowledge for future use.

“I have served on board vessels of every description. I’ve been on board slavers, and merchant vessels, and men-of-war of several nations. I’ve served with Lord Cochrane both in the Pacific and Atlantic; and for a long time I was in an opium clipper in the China Seas; but, as you know, lads, a rolling stone gathers no moss, and here I am, as poor as I was when I first began life. However, there are plenty of ways by which a man may make his fortune if he chooses, and I must find one of them some of these days.”

He spoke in a desperate, careless tone, as if he in reality cared very little what became of him, or what he did. We had begun to feel a strong liking for the man, and were now inclined to pity him sincerely.

I will not describe another gale which came on, and drove us away to the southward and westward for several days, the wind shifting about so much that we scarcely knew where we had got to. At length, when it had moderated, so that an observation could be taken, we found that we were on the coast of Mexico, not far from the harbour of Mazatlan, near the entrance of the Gulf of California. The ship had been so battered about during the gale, that the captain was glad of an opportunity of running into harbour to repair damages, before proceeding to San Francisco, where he could not expect to find workmen, and where, if he remained long, his own crew might be tempted to desert. As we stood in for the shore, a few barren rocks or small islands appeared in sight, and running through, we found ourselves before a pretty little town, part of it standing on the foot of a steep promontory, and partly on a sandy bank which encircles a wide lagoon. This was Mazatlan. It is inhabited by Mexican Spaniards. The first mate, Mr Renshaw, had not been on shore during the voyage, so the captain insisted on his going with the doctor and Jerry and me. We first went to an inn—a meson, as it was called. It consisted of a quadrangular building, with a court-yard in the centre, and a corridor running round it. All the rooms opened into this corridor, and had no communication with each other. The corridor was the general lounging-place; and at night many of the guests who preferred air to privacy, slung their hammocks in it. Round the walls, or on the pillars, they also hung up their saddles and other riding gear. As to furniture, there is something like a bedstead, a wooden elevation which keeps the sleeper from the floor; but chairs and tables are luxuries seldom met with, while washhand-stands are things unheard of—washing being but little in vogue among the travelling population. We were fortunate in falling in with two Englishmen—that is to say, one, Captain Driscoll, was an Irishman, who had been in the Mexican service; and the other, Dr Dwyer, was a merchant. They knew the country well, and were travelling towards Durango, the largest town in the neighbourhood. They had with them two young men, sons of rancheroes, as the Mexican cattle-farmers are called. They both lived some way up the country, and as they also were bound to Durango, and had speedily to return, it was arranged that we should all travel together. With the addition of our new friends’ two servants, we thus together mustered ten persons. We were all of us well-armed, and not without necessity: our friends told us that the country had lately been infested by large bands of Comanche Indians, who had been driven away from the borders of the United States, and had discovered that they were able to carry on their depredations among the Mexicans almost with impunity. “They are not likely to attack a well-armed party, and if they do, we can give a good account of them.” This account only the more excited our interest, and we quite hoped that the Indians would attack us. When we first went to the inn, we saw a large party on horseback just setting out, we understood, in the same direction. They were all armed to the teeth,—with pistols in their belts, some with swords by their sides, and others with lances or rifles. They made a gay appearance on their richly caparisoned steeds, with their broad-brimmed hats and feathers, bright-coloured sashes, trousers open at the knees, with silver buttons and loose jackets, with yellow boots and large silver spurs. They were laughing loudly and talking; and as they flourished their spears and rifles, they boasted how they would treat any Indians who might dare to attack them. The doctor said he thought that it was a pity we had not been ready to accompany them.

“Let them go alone,” answered our friend; “I know those boasting gentlemen too well to trust them. If attacked, they would leave all the fighting to us. We shall be better off by ourselves.” Our friends provided horses and all necessaries for the journey, and in high spirits we started, mounted on high Spanish saddles, from which it seemed impossible that we could ever tumble off. I will not attempt to describe the scenery in detail. It was hilly, and woody, and rocky, with valleys and waterfalls; now and then we came to a plain with a wide extent of open country, and then had to cross rocky ridges, and climb lofty heights among crags and pine-trees; but nothing came amiss to us or our horses. The young farmers had pressed us to stop a day at their father’s house, which was only a little out of the way. It was built in the fashion of the inn I have described, surrounded by the farm-buildings and pens for cattle. The father was a fine, hearty old man, dressed in the ancient Spanish costume; and their mother and sisters were kind, fresh-looking people, very unlike the parchment-skinned, withered crones we had seen in the town. They gave us for supper tortillas, which are thin cakes made of corn, and eggs, and fried beans, and some other things, to which we did justice. The next morning our friends asked us if we would like to see a hunt.

“Of what?” we asked.

“Of a bear,” was the answer. “One has been seen in the neighbourhood, and his destruction is resolved on.”

“Oh, by all means!” we exclaimed, wondering in what way the bear was to be hunted. “Let us go.”

After an early breakfast, we set out on horseback, accompanied by several men on foot carrying long poles. Each of the young rancheroes had a long coil of rope round his saddle-bow, to which one end was fastened—at the other was a running loop. This I found was a lasso—a weapon (for so it may be called) in their hands of very formidable character. The appearance the young rancheroes presented on horseback was very picturesque. Their saddle-cloths and saddles were richly worked, and the head-gear of their horses was adorned with gay tassels. Round their own heads, and necks, and waists, they wore bright-coloured handkerchiefs. Their jackets and trousers were made very loose, and adorned with a profusion of silver buttons; while on their heels they wore huge silver spurs, with rowels as large as the palm of a man’s hand. Two other rancheroes joined us. They had seen the hear, and found out his haunts. We reached a wild, rugged country, with a few trees in the valleys, and numerous large rocks jutting out in the sides of the hills.

“The rancheroes say that the bear’s cave is not far off from here,” observed one of our English friends. “We must be prepared for him. Keep by us and do as we do.” Scarcely had he spoken when a loud growl or snort was heard, and not a hundred yards from us a huge, grisly, brown monster rushed out from behind a rook, showing his teeth, and standing upon his hind-legs as if ready to fight. I had never seen a more ferocious-looking monster. While we were looking at him he went down on his fore-paws, and with a loud growl made a rush at us.

“Put spurs to your horses, and gallop down the valley, or he will be upon us!” exclaimed our friends. We were not slow to follow this advice. I looked round—the bear was following us. Fast as we went, unwieldy as the monster looked, he came as rapidly after us. I could not help thinking if one of our horses fell, what would become of the rider. It was not unlikely either that one of us, especially the first mate, who was not accustomed to ride, might tumble off. If so, the bear would certainly kill him. On we went as fast as our horses’ legs could carry us. The bear was, notwithstanding this, gaining on us. I kept alongside Jerry, so did the mate. Their horses could not go faster. I wondered what had become of the rancheroes; I did not see them. Another terrific growl was heard, and looking over my shoulder, I saw that the bear had gained still more on us. He was not eighty paces from us. Just then I saw Jerry pulling at his horse’s bridle. He hauled away lustily, but it was too late. Down went the poor animal over a big stone, and away flew Jerry over his head. I shrieked with terror. How could I help him? I turned round, hoping to divert the bear’s attention, but the monster took no notice of me, and made straight at Jerry. At that moment, when I thought that it was all up with him, I heard a loud switch, as if something were passing rapidly through the air, and two of the rancheroes darted out from behind a cliff, having thrown their lassoes over the bear’s head and shoulders. Away they galloped in an opposite direction to which he was going, till their ropes were at their fullest tension, and then their horses drew up, planting their feet firmly on the ground and dragging against the astonished animal. Instead of seizing the prey he expected, he found himself drawn up with a halter round his neck, and heating the air in a vain endeavour to escape. When he found that he could make no head against the two rancheroes, who were endeavouring to stop him, he turned round in a fit of fury and endeavoured to overtake them. Keeping their lassoes at full stretch, away they went before him; and if he stopped a moment to try to get rid of the nooses, they gave him a jerk which made him move on again. Jerry was, happily, not hurt by his fall, and having caught his horse, the mate, and I helped him quickly to mount and to overtake the rest of the party who were following the hunters. After galloping along the valley for a quarter of a mile or so, the two other rancheroes darted out from behind a rock, and whirling their lassoes round their heads, cast them with unerring aim over the shoulders of the bear, and then galloped away from him. The monster had now four lassoes round him. Mighty as was his strength, and fierce as were his struggles, he was in an instant brought to the ground. He bit, and struggled, and snarled, or rather growled in vain; tighter and tighter grew each noose till he was hauled over on his back. Some of the men on foot, who had been hidden in the neighbourhood, rushed forward, and threw their lassoes over his legs. He was now utterly helpless. Then the men came with their long poles, with which they formed a sort of litter, and off they carried poor Bruin in triumph. It was certainly much pleasanter examining him now he was made fast than when he was at liberty. We were told that his strength is so great that he can, without difficulty, overcome the huge bison whom he meets with in the plains. The doctor called him the Ursus ferox. His claws were long and strong, his canine teeth of great size, and his eyes deeply sunk in his head. We followed the huge prisoner in triumph till we came to a road, when he was put on a cart and rumbled off to the farm. Thence he was forwarded to Mazatlan, and very likely shipped off to some distant part of the world.

On our way back to the rancho, we encountered a herd of wild cattle, one of which the young rancheroes wished to capture. Off they set in pursuit of a fine bull they had singled out from the herd. One of them rode up on the right side of the animal about twenty feet off, the other kept a little behind at about the same distance on the left side. Away flew the noose of the right-hand man over the head of the beast; at the same moment the ranchero behind cast his by a peculiar knack over the left hind-foot, as the animal lifted it in running. The sudden jerk brought him to the ground, and the other ends of the lassoes being fastened to the saddles, the horses stood perfectly still, dragging away with all their might in opposite directions. Their masters quietly dismounted, and leaving their horses thus keeping the bull secure, they leisurely approached him. They then secured his feet in such a way that he could only just walk, and bent his head down to his legs, so that he could not butt, and making him get up, led him away a prisoner. Several were treated in the same way. We wonderfully enjoyed our day’s excursion.

The next morning by daybreak we set off to continue our journey. It was very pleasant travelling. Sometimes Jerry and I rode together, sometimes with the doctor or Mr Renshaw, and at others with our two English friends, from whom we gained a good deal of information. From all I heard, I should not at all like to live in Mexico. The descendants of the fierce conquerors have become a most degenerate race, without religion, without morality—each man ready to destroy his neighbour for the sake of getting into his place. That object seems to be the only end and aim of all their politics. As to patriotism, it does not exist. The nearest approach to the sentiment is made by those who wish for a settled government, that they may enjoy their property in peace and quiet. The consequences of the constant change of government are, that brigands abound, that the confines of the country are left open to the depredations of the Red Indians, and that the army of the state is left in a dreadfully disorganised condition—ill paid, ill fed, ill clothed, and utterly unable to cope with the evils which beset them. We stopped for a few hours at a ruined house to take our mid-day meal, and then continued our journey. Soon after this we came to some blackened walls which showed where a village once stood. We learned from the rancheroes that only a few weeks before there existed on the spot a pretty hamlet, with a contented and happy population of some fifty persons or so. One morning, just as they were setting forth to their work, the dreaded war whoop of the Indians was heard. Two or three hundred Red Indian warriors, armed with spears, rifles, and round shields, were seen galloping towards the devoted village. Some of the people fled. All tried to flee, for so completely unprepared were they that there was no time to make any defence. The women and children, as they were overtaken, were indiscriminately slaughtered. The plunder that was considered worth carrying off was collected, and then in wantonness the village was set on fire. A few of the fugitives had at length reached Durango with the tale of their misfortunes. Some troops had been sent out with orders to exterminate the savages, but they took very good care not to come near them, while the Indians indeed were probably making a foray some two or three hundred miles away. At night we reached a rancho, the owner of which was known to our friends. He received us hospitably, slung hammocks for us in one of the corridors of the house, and gave us the usual tortillas, and eggs, and beans for a feast, in addition to some very fine beef. The evening of the next day was approaching, when, as we were descending a hill, we saw in the plain below us a number of horsemen galloping about. We were too far off to make out what they were. The rancheroes gazed earnestly at them. Mr Renshaw had a good glass with him.

“Why, there are red fellows on horseback, with spears and shields, but without a rag on them,” he exclaimed. “They seem to be fighting with another set of fellows dressed as Spaniards, and, hang it, the latter are turning heels and flying.” The rancheroes seemed very much excited all the time, and rode a little way down the hill, that they might better see what was going on. They quickly turned round and beckoned to us to join them. We did so, and soon saw that if we would save the lives of the Mexicans, there was not a moment to be lost. Although there were thirty of them, there were fully four times as many Indians. It was not difficult to divine what had occurred. The Mexicans had been taken by surprise, and instead of pulling up and keeping close together, each man had galloped off in the hope of saving his own life, without thinking of his companions. The Indians had thus got in among them, and had already pierced several through with their long spears. Each Indian warrior, however, as soon as he had killed or disabled a man, stopped to take his scalp, and this gave time to some of the Mexicans once more to unite and to present a better front to the enemy. The resistance they were making, however, was very feeble, and as we galloped on we saw that they had once more begun to break. The Indians had been so intent on the attack that they had not perceived our approach, neither had the Mexicans.

“Now, my friends,” exclaimed our friend Captain Driscoll, who seemed as if by right to take the command, “keep together, shoulder to shoulder, and dash boldly in among those red villains. Cut them down, and pistol them as best you can, shouting at the top of your voices. I know them of old; they won’t stand that. When they hear English voices they’ll run; they know what they are to get. Wait till I give the word, though.”

It was very exciting. Down the steep hill we dashed at full speed, our horses seeming clearly to understand what we were about. Already several more Mexicans had, through their cowardice, lost their lives. We were within two hundred yards of the scene of strife. “Now’s the time!” shouted our leader. “Hurrah, hurrah! my lads! Give way, you red scoundrels!” we all shouted at the top of our voices. The Indians, hearing our cries, turned their heads, and seeing a large body of horsemen coming down the road, and not knowing how many there might be following, thought that it was high time for them to be off. Our appearance, also, gave the Mexicans courage, and they charged more manfully than they had done before.

“Wallop ahoo aboo, Erin gobragh!” sung out our leader, Captain Driscoll. “Fly, ye red scoundrels; fly, or we will cut you into mince-meat!” Whether the Indians understood what he said I do not know, but as he suited the action to the word, wielding a pretty heavy Toledo, they took his advice, and, disengaging themselves from the melée, urged their horses to a rapid flight. We, however, were too close to them to allow them to escape altogether with impunity, and three of them were knocked off the backs of their steeds, two of whom were mortally wounded. A third, I thought, was lead. He lay on the ground without moving, or apparently breathing, his tomahawk still held in his death-grasp. The cowardly Mexicans very soon put the other two poor wretches out of their pain, by running them through and through with their lances. Two or three of the heroes were in the act of charging the dead man, with the intention of running him through, when up he sprung to his feet, and away he went as quick almost, it seemed, as a flash of lightning after his comrades! Several of our party gave chase after him, but though he was on foot it appeared as if he would distance us. His leg, however, had been wounded, and he had miscalculated his strength. His pace slackened. Once or twice he stumbled; he felt that he could run no more. He was a brave fellow, and was determined to die like a man, with his face to his enemies. Flourishing his tomahawk above his head, he uttered his war cry, and rushed desperately towards us. A Mexican’s lance struck him on the shoulder, and brought him to the ground. The other Mexicans were about to despatch him, but Captain Driscoll sung out in Spanish, “Spare his life; spare his life; we do not kill fallen enemies;” and Jerry and I, impelled by the same feelings, threw ourselves before him, and by signs showed that we had resolved to protect him. The Indian seemed to comprehend what we were about, though perhaps he thought we wanted to preserve his life only to torture him, for he did not show that he was in any way obliged to us. The moment the lance was withdrawn, he sprung up with his weapon in his hand, ready to fight on; but one of the rancheroes threw his lasso over his shoulders, and, with a jerk which, had it been round his neck, would have dislocated it, brought him again to the ground.

“We will bring him along with us,” said Captain Driscoll; “the poor wretch has shown great courage, and deserves to live. Perhaps we may learn from him something about his tribe.”

The captive Indian was dragged along; and, finding that at present he had no chance of escape, he came on quietly. No less than eight of the Mexicans had lost their lives, so sudden had been the attack of the red men, and most of the bodies had been deprived of their scalps. As it was impossible to carry the corpses with us, and we had not time to bury them, they were left to afford a banquet to the birds of the air and the beasts of the forest—a common occurrence in this country. Some of those who had run away now came back, and by degrees the whole party was once more collected together. It was already late in the afternoon, and we were anxious to find some place where we could rest for the night. There was a village, we heard, at no great distance, and by riding pretty hard we might reach it by nightfall. After what had occurred, this we were all well disposed to do, for we could not tell at what moment the Comanches, when they found that our numbers were smaller than they had supposed, might come back and attack us. It was amusing to hear the vapouring and boasting of the Mexicans, as our friends, with their own comments, translated it to us. The greatest boasters were the greatest cowards. Not one but could offer an excellent reason for having run away. Several were going to procure help; others to get behind the Indians, to attack them in the rear; others were heroically making a diversion, to draw off their attention from their friends. It was nearly dark when we reached the village, but not a sign of living beings was there—no dog barked, no child’s cheerful voice was heard, not a cock crew. Alas! there were blackened roofs and walls, and charred door-posts. The Indians had been there; all the inhabitants must have been slain or had fled. We rode through the hamlet; not a human being was to be found. One house—the largest in the place—had escaped entire destruction. It had two stories; a ladder led to the upper one. It would afford us shelter during the night, which gave signs of being a tempestuous one. Behind the house were some sheds, where our horses might be tethered. The first thing to be done was to obtain food for them. It was more important that they should be fed than that we should; so a party was sent out to cut grass, and soon returned with a sufficiency. Most of the people had brought provisions, as we likewise had done, and thus in that respect we were very well off. Captain Driscoll, by tacit consent, was chosen to make the arrangements for our security during the night. In the lower room was a large hearth, on which a blazing fire was made, and by the light of it we ate our somewhat frugal supper. We then all climbed up into the loft, and the Mexicans, with their scrapes, and saddles, and saddle-cloths, soon made themselves comfortable beds, and we imitated their example. The Indian prisoner had been made to come up, and then they bound his arms and legs, and he sat in one corner with a man to watch him. I had been asleep some time, when I felt Jerry pulling at my arm. I looked up. The light of the moon was streaming in through a gap in the roof, for the storm which had threatened had passed off. Jerry put his finger to his lips to impose silence, and pointed to the Indian. He was sitting up; his hands were free, and he was busily employed in disengaging his legs from the lashings which secured them. What to do I scarcely knew. If the prisoner would go away without hurting any one, I thought it would be the best thing that could happen. Then it occurred to me that if he escaped he might give information to his friends of our whereabouts, so I thought it would be best to stop him. I was on the point of singing out, when up sprung the Indian, the long knife of his sleeping guard in his hand. He was about to plunge it into the man, when Jerry’s and my shouts arrested his arm, and leaping down the trap-hole at which the ladder was placed, before those who had been aroused could catch hold of him, away he flew through the village. Pursuit was instantly made, but before the foot of the ladder could be reached, he was out of sight. Those who had gone after the Indian returned looking very foolish; and the man who had charge of him was soundly rated, but that was all that could be done. I found that the same reason for apprehension was entertained by the party which had occurred to me. However, after a time, the Mexicans got tired of watching, and all lay down again in their places. I could not go to sleep. I did not like the thought of that Indian escaping, and I wondered that Captain Driscoll did not take more precautions to guard against a surprise. I found that Jerry was awake, and when I told him my ideas he agreed with me. We lay still for a little time, and then we got up and looked out. The night was perfectly still and fine. We fancied that if anybody were stirring we should not fail to hear. We went back into the loft, and then found that Captain Driscoll was awake. He asked us what we had been about. We told him our apprehensions. He laughed, and replied, that after the drubbing we had given the red rascals they would not venture to come near us.

“The Duke of Wellington tells us that we should never despise our enemies, whoever they may be,” I answered.

Captain Driscoll laughed. “The duke was not thinking of Red Indians,” he observed. “Don’t be alarmed, my boys, the thieves won’t come.” Scarcely had he uttered the words, when there was a neighing, and kicking, and stamping of horses’ feet in the court-yard below us. We looked out. The place was full of Red Indians!

“To arms! to arms!” shouted the captain. Everybody was instantly on their feet. I found that he had more arrangements than I had fancied. The Indians had got over the walls of the court-yard, but the gate was so blocked up that they could not open it to get our horses through. Their only outlet was through our house. The door leading to this was instantly occupied by some of the Mexicans, while others ran their rifles through all the crevices and holes in the walls, and began firing away at the Indians. They, disappointed in their attempt to carry off our horses, after ham-stringing several of them, leaped back over the walls, exposing themselves as they did so to the rifles of the Mexicans. Several were shot down, but the greater number made their escape. No one attempted to follow them, however, for there could be no doubt that a large party of them were in the neighbourhood, and that they would very likely renew their attack on us. They did not disappoint us. In less than a quarter of an hour the trampling of horses’ hoofs was heard, and through the gloom of night a large body of horsemen was seen galloping up through the street of the ruined village. As they got near, they gave vent to the most unearthly shrieks and cries, intending, undoubtedly, to terrify us. Captain Driscoll was not, however, totally unprepared for them. He had stationed the best marksmen of the party behind the walls of the enclosure and at the windows of the house. There was little time, however, to make the arrangements, but each man seemed to know pretty well what he had to do. Not a shot was fired, not a word was uttered. The Indians, expecting an easy victory, galloped along the road, flourishing their lances, or holding their rifles ready to fire as soon as any one appeared to fire at. They got close up to the walls of the house, and there halted, fancying apparently that we had already decamped. Some got off their horses, to examine the ground for our trail.

“Tira! tira!—fire, my lads, fire!” shouted our leader in Spanish and English. Every one of us obeyed the order, with such effect that fully a dozen savages were knocked over, and many more wounded. We lost not a moment in loading again. The savages, firing their rifles at us, rode desperately up to the walls, as if intending to jump off their horses and climb over them. Had they succeeded in so doing, they might have overwhelmed us with their numbers. They were, however, received with another volley, delivered with such good effect that their courage failed them, and, wheeling about, they galloped away down the road as fast as they could tear. Two Mexicans only were wounded, and not very seriously. As may be supposed, no one went to sleep again that night; and as soon as day broke we were all in our saddles, that we might reach Durango before dark. We now proceeded with something like military order, to avoid a surprise; for it was thought probable that the Indians might have formed an ambush on the road, with the intention of attacking us. In the afternoon, as we rode along, we caught sight of a body of horsemen winding their way down a hill on the opposite side of the valley. They might be Indians. Each man examined the lock of his musket or rifle, and felt his side for his sword. They approached, and we then saw that they were a troop of cavalry. They were very ragged, and their horses were very miserable, and certainly they did not appear as if they could contend with the well-mounted Indians we had encountered. These Comanche Indians, as the Mexicans call them, succeed in their forays by the rapidity of their movements. They will accomplish a hundred miles in the day, driving several horses before them. When one is tired, they mount another. If any are killed by over-riding, their places can always be supplied from the nearest, cattle estate. They strike terror among the widely-scattered inhabitants of the borders; but there is no doubt, if they were bravely and systematically opposed, they would be very quickly driven away, or compelled to have recourse to more peaceable occupations for their support Durango is a pretty little town, with white-washed, flat-roofed houses, standing on a plain surrounded by high rugged hills, a remarkable feature being the number and size of the American aloes which grow in the neighbourhood. We put up at a meson, not remarkable for its cleanliness or the luxury of its provisions, and were not sorry to find ourselves once more in our saddles on our way back to Mazatlan. We reached that place without any adventure; and the same evening, having wished our kind friends, Captain Driscoll and Mr Dwyer, good-bye, sailed for San Francisco, the wonderful port of the gold regions of California.

Chapter Twelve.

Californian experiences.

One fine morning we found the Triton—one of a crowd of vessels of all rigs and sizes—standing in with a fair breeze towards the far-famed harbour of San Francisco. High black rocks ran out of the sea before us, like monsters guarding the entrance to that domain of boundless wealth. Loud roars, too, saluted our ears, which, on a further examination of the rocks, were found to proceed from a large congregation of sea-lions assembled at their bases. As we glided by, not fifty fathoms from some of the rocks, they looked up at us with inquiring eyes, as if to know why we had come there; and, certainly, from their formidable heads, they appeared as if they were well able to defend their native territory. Jerry could not resist the temptation of firing his rifle among them. It had a wonderful effect on the whole body; big and little sea-lions, and cows, and seals, all began floundering away in the greatest dismay into the water—their awkward-looking movements being very amusing; at the same time, thousands of birds, which had been perched on the rocks, or floating in the water, rose into the air, with loud screams, circling round our heads; while porpoises, or some other huge monsters of the deep, kept gambolling around us, and now and then leaping out of the water in sportive humour.

All this exhibition of wild animal life was, it must be remembered, within a few miles of the rich and populous city of San Francisco. The transition was very great; yet but a short time back a rude fort and a few small huts were the only settled abodes of man. The actual harbour begins at a spot called the Golden Gate, where a high rock with a flat summit projects into the water. On it the American Government are constructing a fort, which no hostile vessel will be able to pass with impunity. Passing this point, we saw before us on the right a perfect forest of masts, with every flag under the sun flying aloft; and behind them appeared, on a low hill rising like an amphitheatre from the harbour, the far-famed city itself. It was a busy, exciting scene. Some of the vessels brought bands of English adventurers; others crowds of Chinese, with round felt hats and long tails; others Malays; and some even seemed to have blacks on board. At a short distance from the city were moored several large ships, their masts struck, their rigging unrove, deserted by their crews, and some by their officers likewise. The doctor, Jerry, and I, were the only persons who accompanied the captain on shore. The mates remained to guard against all risk of any of the crew deserting. It was only just daylight when we landed, but all the world was astir. Time is considered too precious here to lose a moment. The town itself presented an extraordinary collection of strong contrasts: there were wooden sheds, and tents, and mud hovels, mixed up with vast stores and large dwelling-houses; while carts, and waggons, and coaches of every variety of build were moving about in all directions, among people from every part of Europe—Germans, Italians, French, Greeks, and English—the latter, of course, predominating as to numbers; Yankees, with their keen, intelligent looks; Californians, in their serapes; Mexicans, with their laced breeches and cuffs; and Chilians, in broad-brimmed hats; Sandwich Islanders, and Negroes from every part of Africa; Chinese, with their long tails and varied coloured robes; and Malays and other people from the East. Indeed, Europe, Asia, Africa, and America were there fully represented,—all brought together for the one object—a search for gold—all thinking of their own business, and caring little or nothing for anybody else, so that their aims were not interfered with. Those who had been to the diggings were pretty clearly to be distinguished by the one dark brown earthy hue which pervaded their dress, and such parts of their countenances as their huge tangled beards and whiskers allowed to be visible.

We first went to the market, to obtain provisions for the ship. It was already crowded with purchasers. There was a magnificent display of fruit and vegetables, and fish of all sorts and strange shapes, and huge lobsters and turtle of a size to make an alderman’s mouth water; and then in the meat-market there were hung up before the butchers’ stalls huge elks with their superb antlers, and great big brown bears—just such monsters as the one we saw captured, for they are considered dainties here—and beautiful antelopes, and squirrels, and hares, and rabbits in vast heaps—not to speak of pigs, and sheep, and oxen. The beef, we heard, was, and found to be, excellent. I mention these things to show how the inhabitants of a vast city like San Francisco, though just sprung into existence, can, by proper arrangement, be fed. A large number of the shops are kept by Chinese, who sell all the fancy and ornamental work, and act as washerwomen. They are said to be great rogues, and are, under that pretext, often cruelly treated by greater rogues than themselves. It is a sad thing to see heathen people coming among nominal Christians, who, paying no regard to the religion they are supposed to profess, prevent them from wishing to inquire into the truth of a faith they might, with a good example before them, be tempted to adopt. One Chinese appeared to us so much like another, with their thick lips, little slits of eyes, ugly parchment faces, in which age makes no perceptible difference, that it seemed as if we were meeting the same person over and over again. The signs over their shops are written in Chinese, and translated into the oddest English and Spanish I ever saw. One of the features in the street population of this city which struck us were the shoe-blacks. Each is provided with a comfortable arm-chair and a newspaper. He slips his employer into the chair, hands him the paper to read, and then kneeling down, works away till he has polished the leather boots; for which his demand is a quarter of a dollar—the smallest coin in circulation, it seemed to us. The sum is paid without a word; off walks the man with the clean boots, and one with a dirty pair soon takes his place.

There is no want of restaurants and cafés, or of places where food in abundance could be procured, though the price was rather astonishing. Captain Frankland had some business to transact with a merchant—he left us at one of them to dine. When he rejoined us, he told us that he would take us to a scene in which he hoped we should never be tempted to mix. We went out, and soon reached a magnificent building, full of spacious halls, with an orchestra keeping up a succession of attractive airs. Making our way, not without difficulty, through the crowd, we saw before us several long, green-covered tables, surrounded by people, who appeared to be engaged in playing, on a grand scale, every conceivable game of chance. Never did I see countenances so palpably expressive of the worst passions of our evil nature. The keepers of the banks were evidently villains of the darkest dye. They sat with their revolvers on the table, guarding the heaps of gold before them, as they skilfully managed the cards and dice over which they presided. The captain assured us that they and those in league with them—the professional players—always contrived to collect the largest proportion of the gold in circulation—many of their foolish victims dissipating in one evening all the hard-earned gains of a year. There were ladies, too, among them, gambling as eagerly as the men—dishonouring their sex. The sight of those countenances and the whole air of the place was sickening. “Fifty ounces”—“A hundred”—“Two hundred ounces”—were the words we heard repeated on every side. Presently a man started up—a fine, handsome young fellow—from before whom a heap of gold had been swept, clutching his hair. “And I was to have started for home to-morrow. O Mary!” he exclaimed, unconsciously, as he passed us. There was the report of a pistol—a cry. The young man was picked up dead at the door. The players went on as before, scarcely turning their heads to hear the account. Who the unhappy youth was, no one knew. We had seen enough to answer the captain’s object in taking us to the place. We strolled on through the city till we reached the Chinese quarter. There, also, we were attracted by a strange noise intended for music, produced by two stringed-fiddles, violoncellos, drums, and gongs, into a building—a very shabby place; yet in the centre was a table with heaps of gold upon it, and surrounded by a number of odd little men in wide jackets, short trousers, long tails at their backs, huge embroidered slippers on their feet, all deeply engaged, as if some most serious matter were going forward—their queer eyes twinkling with mistrust as they followed the course of a game which was being played. In the middle of the table was a heap of counters covered by a bowl, under which the players put their hands, and drew out a number of them at a time, which they counted with a long stick, and then the heaps of money changed owners, but on what grounds we could in no way discover.

“You laugh at those odd little Chinese, and think them fail objects to joke about,” observed the captain; “but we must remember that they are men with souls to be saved, responsible beings, like the unhappy people in that gorgeous saloon we were in just now. The vice in which we have seen them indulging is the same, though, as their light is less, they may be less to blame. My hope is, that what you have seen to-night will make you wish never to see the same sights again.”

In the public room of the hotel, where we remained for the night, a number of people were collected from all parts of the world. Some had been at the diggings; some had made money; several had come back as poor as they went, and much the worse in health; others were about to go up to try their fortunes, with secret hopes of succeeding where others had failed. The conversation of many of them was very amusing. One man especially interested us by the account he gave of his first journey up the country. He was evidently, from the tone of his voice and manners, a gentleman by education, though in appearance as rough and weather-beaten as a navvy who has put on a black coat for Sunday. He addressed himself to us, as he probably thought that we had come out to turn gold-diggers, and he wished to warn us of the dangers to be encountered.

“I had a good appointment in England, but I wanted to become rich in a hurry, so I threw it up, and came out here,” he began. “You may doubt the wisdom of the proceeding; so do I now. I had a companion, and with him and the mate of the ship I arrived in, as also her carpenter and a Chinese boy, I arranged to go up the country. With the implements we had provided, and as much food as we could carry, we got on board a small schooner, bound up the river to Stockton. We had on board a strange assemblage of people. Many of them looked quite capable of cutting our throats. They were mostly armed, and bowie-knives and revolvers were constantly exhibited. When after two days’ voyage we landed, we were glad to get into a wretched hut, where we could obtain food, and rest, and shelter, to prepare ourselves for our tramp to the diggings. We remained only one day, for the charges were so high at the inn that we should have been ruined had we stayed longer. Of the forty people who had come up in the schooner, very few accompanied us. We found a party of about thirty starting, with five or six mules carrying provisions. We joined ourselves to them. Each of us had a rifle slung to his back, in addition to a week’s provisions and our mining utensils, while our pistols and knives were stuck in our belts. We went on for two days pretty easily. I shall never forget the appearance of some people we met, who had come overland from the western states of America,—their haggard eyes, long matted hair, shrunk forms, and tattered clothes, which hung on them like loose rags fluttering in the wind. They were the remnants of a large party, the greater number of whom with their horses and cattle had died on the way, from the hardships they had to encounter. The latter part of the road, they said, was strewed with the whitening bones of men and animals, broken-down waggons, and abandoned furniture. The next day’s journey gave us a specimen of what those poor fellows had endured. The sun came out with intense fury, and struck scorching down on our heads. Not a drop of water could be got. There was a pool, we were told, some way on. We reached the spot: it was dry. Our thirst grew intolerable. Those who had been accustomed to take spirits suffered more than the rest. We lay down that night at a place where there was no wood. We had no fire, therefore, to cook our provisions. We could not eat the meat we had brought with us raw. All night long the wolves howled horribly in our ears. At daybreak we arose and pushed on. There was a water-hole, we were told, a few miles ahead. We reached the spot: it was dry. Many who had hitherto held out gave way to despair. The muleteers had skins with water, but they guarded them, revolver in hand, to moisten their own and their mules’ lips. Their lives depended on those of their animals. A few of us had flasks, but we could only venture to take a drop of the precious fluid at a time. One man had a bottle of brandy. He boasted at first of his cleverness in having secured it. Now, he went about offering the whole of it for a drop of water. Several of the brandy drinkers sank down. They had agreed to keep together. They implored us to help them. A deaf ear was turned to their entreaties. Our own lives depended on our hastening on. Three or four others dropped by the way, one by one. No one waited for them. ‘On, on, on!’ was the cry; ‘Water, water, water!’ At length, towards evening, the mules pricked up their ears: trees appeared in the distance. We hurried on. A glittering stream gladdened our sight. We rushed into it, greedily lapping up the water. Our mules drank eagerly. We felt revived and strengthened. There was abundance of wood: we lighted a fire and dressed our provisions. Several birds, and two or three animals were shot to increase our feast.

“Ha, ha, ha, how we laughed. To-morrow, we said, we shall be able to push on to the mines, and begin to dig for gold. In an instant every one was talking of gold. ‘Gold, gold, gold,’ was heard on every side. Did any one think of the poor wretches we had left dying on the road—men—brethren by nature, by a common faith—men with souls? Not one of us thought of going back. At all events, not one of us offered to go back. An all-powerful loadstone was dragging us on—the lust of getting gold. Had we gone back to relieve our fellow-beings, we should have been unable to proceed the next day for the diggings. A whole day would have been lost. Oh, most foul and wretched was the mania which inspired us! Unnatural! no; it was that of fallen, debased human nature; it was too true to that nature. Those miserable men must have died horribly—devoured by wolves or scalped by Indians. The next day we pushed eagerly on; yet we had to sleep high up on the side of a snow-capped mountain; thence we were to descend to the scene of our labours. Bitterly cold it was; yet we dared not move, for frightful precipices yawned around. We reached the first diggings that evening. The miners had just knocked off work, and crowded round us to hear the news, and to see what we had brought. Rough as they looked, by far the greater number, I judged by the tone of their voices, belong to the educated classes. And shall I become like one of these men? I thought. I soon became like one of them, and rougher still. ‘I expected a friend about this time,’ said one, describing him. He was among those who had fallen and been deserted. He made but few other inquiries. He knew that such events were too common to complain. I saw him brush away a tear, as he turned from us. That man was too good for the company he was among. We encamped by ourselves, we knew not whom we must trust. After this our travelling party broke up. My companions from the ship and I were to work together. We fixed on a spot, and erected our rude hut; then we bought a rocker and shovel, pick-axe and spade, with two tin pans, and set to work. I dug out the earth, another carried it, and a third washed it in the rocker. Our success was tolerable; but it was many days before we got enough to pay for the articles we had purchased, and our provisions. In the meantime, what scenes of wretchedness, misery, dissipation, and violence, did I behold! In every direction men were dying of fever and dysentery. At night the gambling booths were filled with those who rapidly got rid of the earnings of many days. I was witness, too, of an encounter between two large parties of diggers. One party had encroached on the ground prepared by the other, and refused to quit it. Bowie-knives, and pick-axes, and hatchets, rifles and pistols, were instantly brought into play. A sanguinary encounter ensued. Numbers fell on both sides; at last one party turned and fled. I visited the scene of the strife soon after. A dozen or more human beings lay on the ground dead, or dying—arms cut off—pierced through and through with knives—skulls fractured with spades and pick-axes, and many shot to death. The dying had been left to die alone without aid or pity, while their companions returned to their gold digging. Often and often I sickened at the sights I beheld, but still I continued at the work. I was compelled to continue at it. I had given up everything for it. I was like a slave chained to it by the leg. Gladly would I have gone back to my steady occupation and quiet life, surrounded by those I respected and loved. I have only partly described the hardships we endured. We had famine, and cold, and rain. Often we were without fuel, our clothing was ragged and insufficient, and sickness in every form came among us. Besides desperate quarrels among the diggers, the Indians came down upon us—fierce, sanguinary warriors, eager for our scalps. Their vengeance had been excited by aggressions made on them by the whites. We could scarcely leave the camp without risking an attack from them. Many diggers became their victims. Such was our life for months. At length my companions and I, by unexpected good fortune, saved a sufficient amount of gold dust to enable us to return to San Francisco. Steady work at home would have enabled me to lay by nearly as much, while my health and spirits would not have been broken as they now are. We kept together to defend each other. Many diggers on their way to the city, after labouring for years, have been robbed and murdered. My companions spent most of their hard won wealth, and returned to the diggings, where, one after the other, they fell victims to disease, or the knives of assassins. I had had enough of the life, and my knowledge of business enabled me to procure a situation in a merchant’s office in this place, where, by employing the sum I had scraped together, and by stript attention to business, I have realised an amount four times as large, in a quarter of the time it took me to collect it at the diggings.”

“What you have said, sir, is very true,” observed another gentleman present. “Things, however, have somewhat mended of late. Still, a gentleman has to lead little better than a dog’s life in those regions. For my part, although I was what is considered very lucky, I soon sickened of it, and considered myself fortunate in being able to get away with my gold in my pocket and a whole skin on my back. Still this is a wonderful country, and will become a great country some day. I have travelled over a good deal of it. Not long ago I travelled up one of the most beautiful valleys in the world. At the bottom was a green grassy sward with a pure bright stream running rapidly through it, over a clear, pebbly bottom. The hills on either side were clothed with trees of various descriptions, rocks here and there jutting out between them of many fantastic forms, while my ears were assailed with the cheerful sound of falling water, and my eyes gladdened by the sight of sparkling cascades flowing into basins, whence arose masses of white foam. Further on arose, appearing at the end of the valley, range beyond range of mountains, the higher capped with snow. Though the sun was hot, the air was pure and cool as it came off the mountains, tempered by the numerous cascades. At length I reached a spot where the valley widened, and there, spread out before me, lay a blue shining lake fringed by lofty trees, with the hills rising gradually behind them, while the water seemed alive with fish, which leaped from its calm depths, and with the water-fowl which skimmed over its surface. You’ll all say that was a lovely spot.”

We all agreed that it must be, and that we should like to take up our abode there.

“So I thought,” he answered. “But as a man cannot well live on fish and water-fowl without corn, and potatoes, and vegetables, not to speak of beef and mutton, and none of these things were to be procured within a hundred miles of the place, I was glad to get out of it. There’s another wonderful spot away to the south, near Sousa, where I have been. There is a stream called the Stanislas river. Up it I went, and then journeyed along one of its tributaries, the high banks of which are covered with trees, till I reached a broad valley. I could scarcely believe my eyes. There arose before me a number of trees larger and taller than any I supposed existed on the face of the globe. It is called the Mammoth-tree Valley, and is 1500 feet above the level of the sea. There were no less than ninety of them scattered over a space of about forty acres, and rising high above the surrounding pine forest. They are a species of pine or cone-bearing trees. (Coniferae (Wellingtonia gigantea.)) In the larger ones the branches do not begin to spread out till the stem has reached a height of 200 feet, and some are upwards of 300 feet high. One was 32 feet in diameter—that is, 96 feet in circumference—while the smallest and weakest is not less than 16 feet in diameter. The tops of nearly all have been broken off by storms, or by the snow resting on them. The Indians have injured others by lighting fires at their bases, while the white men have cut down one and carried away the bark of another to exhibit in far-off lands. It took five men twenty-five days to cut down the ‘Big tree,’ for so it was called. They accomplished their work by boring holes in the stem, and then cutting towards them with the axe. The stump which remains has been smoothed on the top, and the owner of the property, who acted as my guide, assured me that sixteen couple could waltz on it. In one a spiral staircase has been cut, so that I was able to ascend to a considerable height by it. My acquaintance, the owner of the estate on which these monsters grow, has given names to all of them. One he calls Uncle Tom’s Cabin, because there is a hollow in the trunk capable of holding from twenty to thirty people. One hollow trunk has been broken off and lies on the ground, and a man on horseback can ride from one end of it to the other. There are two trees called Husband and Wife, and another he called the Family Group, consisting of father, mother, and rather a large progeny of twenty-five children, regular sons of Anak. The father fell some time ago, and striking another tree broke off the upper part. That portion measures 300 feet, and the part which still stands 150—so that the whole tree was 450 feet in height. Three hundred feet is the ordinary height of the giants of the forest. From various calculations it would seem that these trees must have existed for three thousand years at least—perhaps more; I can only say that I considered the spectacle well worthy of the long journey I took to behold it.”

We thanked the stranger for the account he had given us. We heard many other wonderful stories, the truth of some of which we had reason to doubt, so I have not repeated them here. Captain Frankland was very glad to get away from San Francisco without losing any of his own crew. Probably, had he allowed them to have any communication with the shore, this would not have been the case.

On our return on board, the first mate told the captain that a strange brig had come into the harbour and anchored near us—that soon afterward Manuel Silva was seen holding some communication with the people on board. In a little time a boat came off from her, and after some conversation with a man in the boat, he said that he must bid us good-bye. No persuasions the mate used could induce him to stop, and he stepped into the boat, and nothing more had been seen of him. We were very sorry to lose him, and it struck us at the time, I remember, that there was something mysterious in his way of departure.

We were at sea about twenty-two days without falling in with land. It was late one evening when we sighted Woahoo, the largest of the Sandwich Islands, of which Honolulu is the chief port and capital of the kingdom. It was dark by the time we brought up in the roadstead outside the harbour. As I, of course, had read how Captain Cook was killed by the Sandwich Islanders, and had often seen prints in which a number of naked black fellows are hurling their spears and darts at him, I had an idea that I knew all about them, and had pictured to myself exactly what I should see when next morning we went on shore with our boat’s crew well-armed to trade with them. The next morning at daybreak the anchor was hove up, and with a light breeze we stood in through a narrow passage in a coral reef, which extends from one point of land to another, and forms the harbour. What was my surprise to see before us, when we dropped our anchor, a neat, pretty-looking town, with a fort on the right side bristling with cannon, a fertile valley extending far into the country on the left, and lofty mountains rising in the distance. Over the fort flew the Hawaian flag. It is formed of the British union-jack, with alternate blue, red, and white stripes. The streets are broad, and run at right angles to each other. There were numerous hotels, some of them really very handsome buildings on an extensive scale, and managed after the American fashion, while in the streets were a number of large and well-furnished shops. There are several churches and chapels of very respectable architectural pretensions. The Custom House is a handsome stone building near the fort, and the regulations as to duties are strictly observed. The chief place of business is in the centre of the town; and the most fashionable locality, where the residences of the leading people among the natives are situated, is a green sward skirted by the beach and shaded by lofty cocoa-nut and plantain trees. The European villas are generally further back—many of them very prettily built, and surrounded by gardens full of the most delicious fruit and flowers. Many of the foreign consuls and merchants live in villas a few miles up the country. Good wharves have been built, and ships of 700 tons can refit alongside them. Altogether Honolulu is a very wonderful place.

Jerry and I and the doctor, as usual, went on shore to see what was to be seen, and this time we were accompanied by Mr Brand. The ship was to remain in the harbour for several days, and we were very anxious to make a journey to some distance into the interior, that we might see the natives as they were away from the centre of civilisation. We had introductions here to several gentlemen, who promised to forward our views. We were amused with the extraordinary appearance of the natives in the streets—barbarism and civilisation met together. The former dress of the men was the taro, a kilt joined between the legs, so as to form a wide and very short pair of breeches. Some to this now add a blue shirt, sometimes with the tails tucked in, sometimes flowing gracefully. Some wear cast-off coats, or jackets, or trousers, of Europeans; but few of the common people have more than one of these garments on at a time, and still fewer ever encumber themselves with shoes and stockings. The women had on generally long blue chemises, or gowns and bonnets of every variety of colour and shape, and put on in all sorts of ways—some placing them hind part before; indeed, they had apparently exercised their ingenuity to make them as unbecoming as possible. Formerly, we were told, their head-dress was a wreath of flowers, which suited their dark skins, and had a very pretty effect. The chiefs, however, and their wives, were dressed in European costume, and the king in public wears the Windsor uniform. It is supposed that the inhabitants of the Sandwich Islands derive their origin from the Malays, and that at a very remote period a Malay junk, or fleet of junks, was cast on those shores. Their skins have the same dark hue, and their features the same form, as the Malays of the present day. It is said that this group is becoming rapidly depopulated. The people themselves have taken up the idea that their race is to become extinct, and seem willing to yield to their fate without a struggle. The diseases introduced by Europeans have tended to cause this, but they themselves have many pernicious customs. Among others, no sooner does a native feel himself attacked with fever than he rushes into the sea, or into the nearest cold stream, as he fancies, to cool himself. The result is that—the pores being closed instead of kept open and perspiration encouraged—death comes in a few hours. Among our friends here was Mr Callard, a missionary, who had resided in the island for some years. He has gone into a hamlet, and found not a person remaining alive. On one occasion he met an old man sitting at the door of a hut; he asked where the rest of the people were.

“All dead,” was the answer.

“Then do you come with me, and I will provide for your wants.”

“No,” said the native gloomily; “I will not move. I am preparing to follow them.”

The islands produce the paper mulberry, from which their cloths and cordage are made; the acacia, used in the construction of their canoes; the banana, the sugar-cane, the yam, the bread-fruit; and, the most important of all, the taro root. Of late years, coffee, cotton, rice, tobacco, indigo, melons, the vine, oranges, peaches, figs, tamarinds, guavas, and many other plants and fruits have been introduced. The natives pay the greatest attention to the cultivation of the taro root. It is planted in square patches, either in swamps or in ground easily irrigated, with banks and sluices, so that the water can be let on at pleasure. It takes eleven months to come to perfection. When dried, it is pounded on a smooth stone by means of another held in the hand, while a little water is poured on it, when it is reduced to a paste called poi, which is then fit to eat. Much labour and patience is required to bring it to perfection; and by the exercise of these qualities, there can be no doubt that the natives have acquired those habits of industry which are scarcely known among other savages. The only animals found in the island were dogs and pigs, undoubtedly brought there by their ancestors. The roots of the taro are from six inches to a foot in length, and three or four inches in diameter. In substance it is rather more fibrous than the potato. It is often eaten whole, like a potato. The skin is scraped off with a shell, and the taro, split into two or three pieces, is then placed on leaves in an oven containing stones, heated as usual, the whole being then covered up with earth to steam for half an hour.

Honolulu has become a great place of call for ships, from all parts of the world, since San Francisco sprang into existence. Vessels coming round the Horn, to make a good offing, steer for it. Others from Australia, China, and the Eastern Archipelago, touch here; while whalers have for long been in the habit of putting in here to refit and recruit. The extreme healthiness of the islands induces many people from California to come here, and the hotels and lodging-houses are filled with invalids, often possessors of considerable wealth; but, at the same time, from their profligate and dissipated habits, they set but a bad example to the natives. The natives are called Kanakas. They are generally fine-looking men. The women are fairer, and with regular features; many of them ride on horseback with men’s saddles, dressed in gay riding habits, and with a wreath of flowers encircling their raven tresses, which gives them somewhat of a theatrical appearance. The islands are governed by a sovereign, King Kamehameha the Third, who has a large family, and an income of about 1500 pounds a-year. He has likewise an army, clothed in gay uniforms, but there are almost as many officers as men; indeed, as the kingdom is under the joint protection of England, America, and France, there can be but little employment for soldiers. The police are of far more use in apprehending drunken sailors, and keeping order in the town. They are dressed in a blue uniform, with a gold-lace cap, and armed with a staff with a brass knob. The monarchy is hereditary, and limited. The king’s ministry consists of a premier and other officers, similar to those of the English Government, and many of them are English or Americans, and very intelligent men. We found that in the town there were all sorts of places of public amusement, and, among others, a theatre, where English plays are acted, and where the king constantly attends. We went, and were not a little surprised to see the boxes filled with very gaily-dressed people, mostly whites. It was a very hot night. The play was “Hamlet.” Hamlet had been using a pocket-handkerchief very liberally all the evening, pressing it to his brow and cheeks, and at last he said, “Oh, that this too, too solid flesh wouldn’t melt, and resolve itself into a dew!” Jerry and I applauded him very loudly. He gave us a wink, as much as to say, “I see you understand me.” He was evidently a wag, and Hamlet was not suited to him, nor he to Hamlet. There was no reason, however, because the royal Dane had been murdered, that his son should murder the Queen’s English at the rate he did, or the character of Hamlet as Shakspeare drew it. Who would have thought of Shakspeare in the Sandwich Islands? Shakspeare never acted in so pretty a theatre.

Many of the natives, although able to afford habitations of a European style, still live on in those used by their ancestors. They are generally of an oblong shape, with a very high-pitched roof, thatched with grass and plantain leaves; and as the eaves slant down to within a short distance from the ground, they have a very picturesque appearance. They are cool in summer, and are impervious to rain. The ceilings, which are very elegant, are composed of polished bamboo, neatly interwoven, while the floors are carpeted with mats of coloured grass. The walls are decorated with a native cloth, called tapa, which serves the purpose of tapestry. The house is divided into separate chambers at night by mats hung up on lines. The beds are primitive; a mat serves for every purpose, and a wooden roller as a pillow. Many of the Kanakas are well educated, and read and write not only their own, but several European languages likewise. There is one newspaper in the Hawaian language, if not more, and several works have been published in it, while the translation of the Bible is to be seen in every native hut. Of course, all this information I picked up from different people during our stay at Honolulu.

“We have not had any fun for a long time; I wonder what will turn up next,” said Jerry to me, after we had been there a couple of days.

The next morning, Mr Callard, the missionary, who was an old friend of Captain Frankland’s, came on board, and invited Jerry and me and Mr McRitchie, and Mr Brand, if he could be spared, to accompany him to the large island of Hawaii, round which he was going to make a visitation tour. Having to wait here for information on some important matters, he gave us the leave we asked.

“You may take Ben Yool with you also,” said he. “The schooner is rather short-handed, and you will find him useful at all events.”

Jerry and I were highly pleased with this, for Ben was a great favourite. We were soon ready with our rifles and knapsacks, not forgetting to take old Surley with us; it was a long time since the poor fellow had had a run on shore.

“Take care that the natives don’t cook and eat him,” said Mr Renshaw, as we shoved off.

The little mission-schooner, the Dove, was in readiness to receive us, and in a few minutes, with a fair breeze, we were standing away to the southward, towards the large island of Hawaii, or Owhyhee, on the shores of which the immortal Cook lost his life.

Chapter Thirteen.

Excursion in Hawaii.

We had a pleasant run for two days, with a light wind, and hoped the next morning to land at Kailua, the capital of the island of Owhyhee; but at sunset a sudden squall struck the little vessel, and had not Ben Yool been at the helm, and instantly luffed up, while Jerry and I let fly the foresheet, we should in all probability have been over, and become food for the sharks. It came on very dark and blowy; and as it was too late to make a harbour, we gave the shore a wide berth, and ran on. The next forenoon, when we made the land, we found that we were to the southward of Kailua. As we stood in, Mr Callard told us that on the shore of Karakakooa Bay, which was before us, Captain Cook met his death, and that he would show us the very spot where that event happened. I felt as interested as if I were about to visit classic ground. Often and often as I had been reading through Cook’s Voyages with delight, I little thought that I should see the very spots he describes, much less that one which has become sacred in our memory. Before us appeared a line of volcanic cliffs, of considerable height, the land rising again above them, covered with the richest verdure; which makes the summits of the rocky and lofty mountains beyond appear still more sterile and uninviting. To the right, among groves of palms and cocoa-nut trees, appeared the steep, sloping roofs of a native village; while on the left, where the cliffs sink towards the water, and groves of various tropical trees appear scattered about, our friend pointed out to us the very spot where Cook was killed. The cliffs near are full of caves, which are used by the natives as places of sepulture; and in one of these, it is said, the bones of the great navigator were deposited by the priests, and valued by them as relics. Our friend told us that he had constantly made inquiries among the chiefs and natives as to the affair, and that he is certain the attack on the whites was not premeditated. Some of the people had stolen a boat for the sake of the nails in her, with which they wished to make fish-hooks. He landed with some boats to recover it. While speaking to some of the chiefs on the subject, a number of natives collected; and without his orders the marines, believing that he was about to be attacked, fired. A chief was killed. The natives advanced, and, while he was in the act of ordering his people to desist, he was pierced through the body by a spear. Grief and dismay took possession of the hearts of both parties when he fell. By the then superstitious natives he had been looked upon as their deified and long-lost sovereign, Rono. This Rono (so their legends asserted) had in a fit of anger killed his wife, when, repenting of the act, his senses deserted him, and he went about the islands wrestling with whomsoever he met. At last he took his departure in a vessel of a strange build, and no one knew where he had gone, but all expected him to return. When Captain Cook appeared, the priests believed that he was Rono, and, clothing him with the garments kept for their god, led him to their temples, and offered sacrifices to propitiate his favour, while the people prostrated themselves before him—he all the time little suspecting the reason of the honours paid him. After his death some of the people naturally doubted that he could be Rono, but others still affirmed that he was; and it is believed that the priests took some of his bones and preserved them in a wicker basket covered over with red feathers, which are highly prized by the natives. In this they were every year carried about from temple to temple, when the priests went to collect tribute of the people. After the abolition of idolatry in 1819, it is not known what became of them; perhaps they were concealed by some old priest who still clung secretly to the ancient faith.

Talking of nails, it is extraordinary what excellent fish-hooks the natives will manufacture out of them. They prefer them to the best made in England. They still set a high value on them; but they are not quite so simple-minded as some of the Friendly islanders we heard of, who, on obtaining some nails, planted them, in the hope of obtaining a large crop from the produce! Scarcely had we dropped our anchor when we were surrounded by the canoes of the natives, who wore but the primitive maro. They brought off bread-fruits, cocoa-nuts, bananas, and other products of the soil, in the hope of thus making themselves welcome. One of them, who spoke English tolerably, undertook to pilot our boat on shore. We were eager to land. As we pulled in, a number of men, women, and children, came down to welcome us. The men, like those in the canoes, wore the taro, but the women were dressed with the loose blue gowns I have described, and with wreaths of flowers round their heads. We ran in among the masses of lava which lined the shore, and were kindly helped by the people to land. We observed that they were all especially grave, for nowhere are more merry creatures found than the native women. As we walked along they followed us in silence. At length our guide stopped and pointed to the ground on which we stood.

“There, white men—there, friends—there it was your great sea-chieftain fell.” He repeated, we found, the same words in his own language. The natives listened to what he said, and then hung their heads ashamed, as if they had been guilty of the sad deed. We broke off several pieces of the lava from about the spot, to take to our friends at home, and sent them on board the schooner. We were to accompany the missionary overland to Kailua, where the schooner was to meet us. After the missionary had spoken to the people, we were anxious to proceed on our journey, and one of the principal natives, who lived a few miles to the north, insisted that we should remain at his hut for the night; and we, accordingly, gladly accompanied him. We found the feast preparing outside the door, in the usual oven. Knowing that Englishmen have an objection to eat dogs, he had killed a fatted pig. The oven was a simple affair. A hole was dug in the earth, in which a large fire was lighted upon some stones, till all the earth around was hot; piggy was then put in, and the hole was covered up with loose earth; clouds of steam then issued from the earth, and when no more was perceptible the meat was declared to be cooked properly. We all sat round on mats in the primitive fashion, the food being placed before us either in calabashes or on large leaves. Instead of bread we had the bread-fruit. It has somewhat the flavour of bread, and answers its purpose, but has neither the appearance nor consistence of our staff of life. It is about the size of the shaddock, and, when fresh gathered, the flavour of the citron; but it is always eaten baked, when it has the solidity of a roasted chestnut. Besides these luxuries, we had some fish nicely cooked, which we ate with the thick interior of the cocoa-nut, which may truly be called the cream, while the juice served to quench our thirst. We had a number of visitors, who all, both men and women, chatted away most merrily, especially the women, who kept up a continued peal of laughter. At night the hut was lighted up with chips of a resinous wood, called kukia, which were stuck all round on the posts which supported the roof; and when we expressed a wish to retire to rest, mats were hung up to partition off our sleeping chambers.

It is, I find, impossible to describe all the interesting habits and customs we observed of this primitive people. The next day about noon we found ourselves, on issuing from a grove of cocoa-nut trees, on the shore of a beautiful bay, with high black rocks running out on either side, and a yellow, sandy beach. From the way the sea broke, first with great violence, and then a second time with diminished force, there were evidently two lines of coral reefs, one without the other. A number of people were seated on the rocks watching with great interest what was going forward. Some men, women, and children were in the water, while others with their boards, about a foot wide and four feet long, in their hands, were preparing to follow them. Placing the boards on the water, they threw themselves on them, and then swam out, diving under the breakers of the inner bar, and appearing on the in-shore side of the outer one. The great art appeared to be, to remain on the steep slope of the outer sea-roller as it swept majestically on towards the land, and then, just before it broke, to dive under it, and to reappear mounting up the side of the following watery hill. Sometimes a lad would keep above water too long, and the surf would roll him over, and carry away his board; but he quickly recovered it, and soon regained his credit. Shouts of laughter bursting forth on all sides when any such mishap occurred, showed that there was little fear of damage. The women and children kept generally on the inner bar, but were quite as expert as the men. On mounting to the top of the rocks we saw two of the men swim out beyond the rest, on the further side of the breakers. The natives seemed to be watching them attentively. Soon one of them was seen to dive, then the other. In a little time they both appeared, flourishing their knives above their heads, and at the same moment two huge black bodies floated to the surface, and were borne in by the rollers towards the shore.

“What can they be?” I exclaimed to Jerry.

“Sharks,” he answered, watching them. “Well, I should like to know how to tackle to with one of these monsters. I own that I shouldn’t much like to have to fight one of them with a suit of armour on, and a spear or battle-axe in my hand. I suspect even Saint George who killed the dragon would have found it somewhat a tough job, and yet these naked fellows make no difficulty about the matter.”

“It is just what a man has been used to,” I answered. “I daresay one of them would be very unhappy with a suit of armour on and a battle-axe.”

No surprise seemed to be created by the achievement, and the bold swimmers took their places among the rest on the rollers as if nothing had happened. When swimming out in this way, every man has a knife secured to his board. As soon as he sees a shark, he swims away a short distance. The shark approaches—he pretends to be very awkward. Keeping his eye on the monster, who begins to fancy he has got a feast prepared, he watches his time, and suddenly diving, sticks his sharp weapon with all his might in the under part of the monster. Sometimes the shark attempted to fly, but generally the blow is fatal, and he is towed in triumph on shore.

After spending a day at Kailua, the capital of the island, where there is a fort and a governor, and where several merchants reside to supply whalers with provisions, we embarked once more on board the schooner, and ran round the south of the island to a small harbour in the neighbourhood of Whyhohino, a chief missionary-station. We were received very kindly by the missionaries, and they procured us horses to enable us to accomplish one of the chief objects which had brought us to the place—a visit to the summit of the great volcano of Kilauea. They also found us two guides who were to accompany us to the crater, while two other men were to remain with the horses below. Mr Callard himself had his duties to attend to, so that he could not accompany us. Ben Yool had been left with the schooner, so our party consisted of Mr McRitchie, Cousin Silas, Jerry, and I, not forgetting old Surley. He always kept close to us, suspecting, perhaps, if the natives caught him, they might cook and eat him. We were well supplied with provisions, and with bottles of water, which we could replenish on the way. We travelled at first along the coast, and then struck inland, directing our course towards the lofty summit of the mountain, whence, even at that distance, we could see pillars of smoke ascending to the sky. It was getting dark when our guides told us that close at hand was a cavern in which we might pass the night sheltered from the weather. Torches of resinous wood were soon procured, and they led the way down a steep path, till we found ourselves at the entrance of an immense cavern formed in the lava. It was some hundred feet square, and from fifteen to twenty high. When lighted up by the torches, it had a very wild and picturesque appearance. The horses were tethered in one part, while we all went out and collected grass and fern leaves for our beds, and a good supply of fuel for our fire. Having cooked our supper, we sat round the fire, while one of the natives, who spoke English very well, told us some of the wonderful tales about Pele, the goddess of the burning mountain, and her numerous diabolical followers. Though our guides were now Christians, and professed to disbelieve all these fables, it was evident that their minds were considerably affected by them; so difficult is it to get rid of early associations. The cavern had become rather smoky, and Mr Brand had gone out to enjoy the cool air, when he called us to him. We looked towards the mountain, which rose in majestic grandeur before us, the summit crowned by wreaths of flame, which rose and fell as if impelled by some secret power within. After admiring it for some time, we returned to our bandit-looking abode for the night.

The next morning, leaving our horses, we set out on foot towards the crater. A mass of smoke alone rested on the summit of the mountain. The road was very rough, vegetation in many places destroyed, and in general we found ourselves passing over masses of lava, with deep crevices in some places and huge masses in others, while here and there the crust was so thin that it gave way beneath our feet. The heat was very great; but we found a red berry growing on a low bush, which was very refreshing. At length, after some hours of toil, we found ourselves standing on the summit of a cliff, while below us appeared a vast plain full of conical hills, and in the centre of it a mass of liquid lava like a wide lake of fire. It was what we had come to see—the crater of Kilauea. Below the cliff, inside the basin, was a ledge of considerable width of solid lava. We looked about for a path by which we could reach the plain. At last we found a steep bank where the cliff had given way. By this we now descended with the help of sticks, with which we had been provided. The descent was difficult and dangerous in the extreme, as the lava gave way before us, and huge masses went rolling and tumbling away, some in front and some behind us, as we slid down the steep bank. The appearance of the ground was such that we, with reason, hesitated on trusting ourselves to it. Old Surley, too, smelled at it, and examined it narrowly, as if very doubtful about running over it. Still, our guides assured us that other Englishmen had been there; and where others had been we knew that we could go. At last we reached the bottom, and walked on, with our staffs in hand feeling the way. More than once I felt the ground cracking under my feet. It was not hot, but it struck me—suppose it is only a crust, and one of us were to slip through into the boiling caldron beneath! I own that I more than once wished myself back again on cool and solid ground. To go through the ice is disagreeable enough, but to slip down under this black cake would be horrible indeed. Not five minutes after this idea had crossed my mind, I heard a cry. It was Jerry’s voice. I looked round—his head and shoulders only were appearing above the ground, and his arms stretched out wide on either side, while with his fingers he tried to dig into the lava, to prevent himself from slipping further.

“Oh, help me! help me!” he shrieked out; “I cannot find any rest for my feet, and shall sink into some horrible pit.”

“Stand back—stand back,” shouted Mr Brand, as the rest of us were running forward; “you will all be going in together. Stay, let me see first what I can do. Hold on, Jerry; don’t move, my boy,” he added. Then taking another pole from one of the guides, he laid himself along the ground; he gradually advanced, till he had placed a pole under each of Jerry’s arms. “Now, swing your legs up, and I will draw you away,” he cried out. Jerry did as he was told, and was dragged on to firm ground. The ground had given way just as if it had been a piece of egg-shell. Probably it had been formed by a sheet of lava flowing rapidly over some fissure without filling it up. Jerry was most thankful for his preservation, but he had too much spirit to wish to go back, and insisted on proceeding on to the borders of the liquid fiery lake. Before us, amidst the burning expanse, rose two lofty cones, one of them insulated, the other joined by a causeway to the ledge of lava. Besides these, a number of smaller cones were seen in various directions. The ground was also full of pools of burning sulphur, or other liquid matter, while huge black shapeless masses of lava lay scattered about in every direction, thrown out, undoubtedly, from the mouth of one of the large cones before us. On we pushed our way, notwithstanding, and at last we stood on the very brink of the lake of fire! I could not altogether divest myself of the idea that it might bubble over and destroy us. It was strange that no heat appeared to proceed from it, and yet the points of our sticks were instantly burned to cinders when we put them into it. After we had got accustomed to the strange scene, we agreed that we should like to mount to the top of the cone by the causeway. Off we set. We reached it, and began the hazardous ascent. There was an outer crust, which often gave way under our feet—still we pushed on. Our guides urged us to desist, saying that no one had ever ventured thus far and returned alive. Still they followed us. Up the cone they climbed. It was a strangely wild scene:—the fiery lake below us, around us; the vast masses of lava piled upon the plain; the high black cliffs on every side; the wild, hopeless desolation of the country beyond; and the numerous cones, each the mouth of a miniature volcano, sending forth smoke in every direction. We had nearly reached the summit of the cone, when a thick puff of sulphureous smoke almost drove us back headlong. A loud roar at the same time, louder than a thousand claps of thunder, saluted our ears.

“Fly! fly!” cried our guides; “the mountain is going to vomit forth its fiery breath.” Not a moment did we delay. Down the side of the cone we sprung—none of us looked back. Thicker and thicker came forth the smoke. Rivulets of lava began to flow, streaming down the cone into the lake below; some came towards the causeway, leaping down its sides. On we went, every instant dreading a fall through the thin crust. Ashes came forth and fell around us, and then huge masses of rock came down with loud splashes into the fiery plain. Some went even before us, and were buried deep in the ground over which we had to tread. The roar of the mountain continued. Down we sprung; a blow from a stone would have killed us—a false step would have sent us into the fiery pool, to the instant and utter annihilation of our mortal frames. I felt as if I could not cry out. An unspeakable dread and horror had seized me. At length the plain of lava was regained. No one was hurt; yet the danger was not past. Still the lava streamed forth. It might overflow the banks of the lake, for aught we could tell. Ashes and masses of rock fell in showers around us. We fled like Lot and his family, nor stopped till we reached the cliff. Then it was searched in vain for a way to mount to the summit. We did now look back to see if the lava was following us, but the glowing lake lay as calm as before. The outburst seemed to have subsided. Now and then a jet of lava and fire came forth, and a puff of smoke, but both soon ceased. At last, walking round under the cliff, we found a practicable way to the top. We were saved, and grateful for our escape, while our curiosity was amply satisfied. We were suffering much from thirst, when what was our surprise to come upon a pool of clear water, with reeds growing round it, though in the very neighbourhood of hot basins of sulphur, and of cones spouting forth wreaths of smoke! We expected to find the water hot, instead of which, it was deliciously cool and refreshing. On ascending the cliff, we found that it was too late to descend the mountain that night, so our guides led us to a hut built to afford accommodation for travellers. It stood overlooking the cones and the lake of fire, and never shall I forget the extraordinary appearance of that scene, as we watched it during the greater part of the night, or the magnificent spectacle which gladdened our eyes when the glorious sun rose from out of his ocean bed, and lighted up the distant snow-capped peak of the lofty Mouna Roa, which is 14,000 feet above the level of the sea.

We collected several specimens of sulphur and lava, and also a quantity of what the natives call the hair of Pele. Every bush around was covered with it. It is produced from the lava when first thrown up, and borne along by the air till it is spun into fine filaments several inches in length. It was of a dark olive colour, brittle, and semi-transparent. In our descent of the mountain we entered long galleries, the walls and roof hung with stalactites of lava of various colours, the appearance being very beautiful. They are formed by the lava hardening above, while it continues to flow away underneath—thus leaving a hollow in the centre. We might have spent many days in wandering about that strange, wild region, but we had seen enough to talk about ever afterwards. We got back safe to the station; and when there, we found that Mr Callard had resolved to remain some time on the island. He begged us, consequently, to take back the schooner to Honolulu, with directions for her to return for him in a fortnight. It seemed quite strange to us to be at sea again after the wonderful scenes we had witnessed, and Jerry declared that he was well content to find himself afloat with a whole skin on his body. The wind came round to the north-east, and we had to stretch away to the westward to lay a course for Honolulu. We were about thirty miles off the land when the wind fell light, and gradually a thick fog arose, in which we found ourselves completely shrouded. We still stood on, keeping as good a look-out as we could through the mist, lest we should run foul of any other vessel—not that such an event was likely to happen just then in the Pacific. When night, however, came on, the fog grew still thicker, and the darkness became so great that we literally could not see our hands held out at arm’s-length before us. Mr Brand had kept the middle watch, and then Jerry and I, with Ben Yool, went on deck, with some of the native crew, to take the morning watch. We glided slowly on over the dark waters, the breeze falling gradually, till it was almost a calm. Jerry and I were walking the deck together, talking of the strange sights we had lately seen, when, happening for a moment to be silent, a cry, or it might have been a shriek, struck my ears, as if wafted from a distance across the water.

“Did you hear it, Jerry?” I asked.

“Yes; did you? What can it be?” he answered. “Ah! there’s another—it cannot be fancy.”

“No; I heard it distinctly,” I remarked. “There is some mischief going forward, I fear. What is to be done?” Again that faint, wailing cry of distress reached our ears.

“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?” said Jerry. “If there were such things, I should fancy that those cries were uttered by them, and nothing else.”

“Nonsense, Jerry,” said I, half vexed with him, for I saw that he was inclined to give way to superstition. “If those sounds are not the effect of fancy, they must proceed from some human beings in distress; but what can be the matter is more than I can say.” We found, on going forward, that Ben Yool had heard the cries, and was still listening, wondering what caused them. They had also reached the ears of the native seamen. They declared that they must be caused by the spirits of the storm roaming over the water, and that we should have a heavy gale before long. Again a shriek reached us, louder and more thrilling than before.

“Oh, this is dreadful!” I exclaimed. “There must be some foul mischief going on somewhere not far off. We must call up Mr Brand, and see what steps he will think fit to take.” I went and roused him up, and told him of the strange sounds we had heard. Both he and the doctor were soon on deck. At first he laughed at our description of the sounds we had heard; but after he had listened a little time, another long, deep-drawn wail came wafted across the ocean.

“That is the cry of some one in mortal fear or agony,” he remarked. “There is another!” It was a sharp, loud cry, or rather shriek.

“The calmness of the sea and the peculiar state of the atmosphere would enable a sound to travel from a long distance,” observed McRitchie. “It may come from a spot a mile, or even two miles off.”

“We must try and find out the direction, and go to the help of the poor people, whoever they are,” exclaimed Mr Brand.

“How is that to be done?” asked the doctor. “Our cockleshell of a boat will only hold three or four people, and the chances are that some ruffianly work is going on, and we shall only share the fate of the victims.”

“It must be done, though,” answered Cousin Silas. “I cannot stay quietly here when perhaps our appearance may prevent further mischief. I will go in the boat, and I daresay I shall have volunteers to accompany me.”

“In that case I will go with you, Brand,” said the doctor, who was as plucky as anybody. “I still say, however, that we should be wiser remaining where we are till daylight.”

“No, no, doctor,” returned Cousin Silas; “you are not a fighting-man. Your life is too valuable to be risked. You stay on board and look after the lads.”

“But we want to go with you, Mr Brand!” exclaimed Jerry and I together; “you won’t leave us behind?”

“I daresay, boys!” answered Cousin Silas. “What account should I have to give to the captain if either of you got knocked on the head and I escaped? You remain on board the schooner. It will be daylight soon; and if I do not return before then, you’ll be able to see where to pick me up.”

“If you resolves to go, why, d’ye see, sir, I goes with you,” said Ben Yool, stepping up. “One of these brown chaps says he’ll go, and that’s all you want. To my mind, if we can frighten the villains from going on with their murderous work, we may do some good; but as to forcing them to hold their hands, we couldn’t do it if we were even to lay the little Dove alongside them.”

Mr Brand thanked Ben for his promptness in offering to support him, and accepted his services; and arming themselves, they both, without further delay, accompanied by a tall, strong Sandwich islander, lowered the schooner’s dinghy into the water.

“What I’d advise, sir, is this,” said Ben: “Let us get as close up to where the cries come from as we can without being seen, and then let us hail the vessel, or raft, or whatever it may be, in gruff voices, and say that if they don’t knock off their murdering work, and let the people they are harming go free, we will blow them all up into the sky. If they don’t heed us, we’ll shriek and cry, and make all sorts of noises, as if a thousand demons were about to board them; and, as people who are about any bad work are certain to have bad consciences, they’ll fancy that the noises are ten times louder and worse than they are. If that does not succeed, we must try some other dodge; we shall hit off something or other, I daresay.”

While Ben was thus delivering himself, Mr Brand was loading his pistols. All things being ready, they stepped into the boat and shoved off. They were immediately lost to sight in the thick darkness which surrounded us. Their oars had been muffled; but we could hear the gentle lap of the oars in the water for long afterwards, showing to what a distance sound could travel, and that the scene of the outrage we had been listening to might be further off than we supposed. As Mr Brand had taken the bearings of the Dove, and proposed pulling directly to the south-west, whence the sounds came, and directly in the eye of the wind, such as there was, which had shifted to that quarter, we knew that he would have no great difficulty in getting aboard us again. Still we could not help feeling very anxious about him. The plan, however, proposed by Ben Yool struck us as likely to prove as effectual as any that could be conceived;—much more so than had the little Dove herself appeared; for, as she did not measure more than twenty tons, she was not calculated by her size to command respect, especially as she had no guns on board, and we had only our rifles. Scarcely had the boat left the side of the schooner when the shrieks were repeated. They seemed louder, or at all events more distinct. We could no longer have any doubt that they were uttered by human beings in distress. Old Surley thought so too. He kept running about the deck in a state of great agitation, and then stretched out his neck, and howled in reply to the cry which reached his ears. We kept slowly gliding on under all sail, keeping as close to the wind as we could, so as to beat up in the direction of the sound. It had been arranged that we were to go about every quarter of an hour, so that Mr Brand would know our whereabouts and on what tack he was likely to find us on his return. Our ears were kept open to catch any fresh sound, and our eyes were looking about us in all directions, in case a break in the mist should reveal any object to us; but an hour passed away, and no other cry was heard. There was a little more wind, and it had shifted a point or so to the westward, and perhaps that prevented sounds reaching us, we thought. Another hour crept by, but still Mr Brand did not return. We began to be anxious about him. We constantly went to the binnacle lamp to look at our watches. It wanted but a short time to daylight. The doctor, I saw by his manner, was seriously alarmed about the party, though he said nothing to us. We fancied that we heard a hail, and then a shout and a cry; but we could not quite agree about it. We kept pacing the deck anxiously, tacking as we had been directed by Mr Brand; and thus the night wore on, and dawn once more broke over the world of waters.

Chapter Fourteen.

Captured by pirates.

Daylight increased; and as the sun, like a vast ball of fire, rose slowly above the horizon, the mist lifted as if it had been a curtain from off the surface of the water, rolling away in huge wreaths of vapour before the breeze. The wind had once more hauled round to the southward, and then away to the westward, when, beneath an arch of clouds, we saw two vessels alongside each other. One was a schooner, a fine, rakish-looking craft; the other a large brig. The latter had her royals and top-gallant-sails flying loose, her topsails were on the caps, her courses were hauled up, her yards were braced here and there; indeed, she presented a picture of most complete confusion. Her appearance would too plainly have told us that something wrong had taken place, even had we not heard the cries in the night. In vain we looked round on every side for the dinghy; she was nowhere to be seen. We examined the vessels through a spy-glass we had with us. She was not visible alongside either of them. Again and again we swept the horizon, but not a speck could we discover that might be her. “What is to be done?” exclaimed Jerry in a tone of deep grief. I too felt very sorry for fear harm had happened to Cousin Silas; nor did I forget Ben and the Sandwich islander. “Hallo! hallo! Look there! what is happening now?” Jerry added. We looked. The schooner had parted a little distance from the brig, and the latter vessel, after rolling once or twice to starboard and port, seemed to dip her bows into the sea. We gazed earnestly with a sickening feeling. Her bowsprit did not rise again. Down, down she went, slowly and calmly, as if making a voluntary plunge to the depths of the ocean. The water closed over her decks, her lower masts disappeared, her topmasts followed, and the loose sails for a moment floated above the spot where she had been, and then sank also, drawn down by the halliards beneath the waters.

We felt almost stupified with horror. Combining the shrieks we had heard and the occurrence we had just witnessed, we could have no doubt that the schooner we saw before us was a pirate, and that her crew had, after murdering those on board the brig, sunk her, to destroy, as they might hope, all traces of their guilt. They had had in us, however, witnesses of the atrocity they had committed, when they thought no human being could be cognisant of the fact. What, however, had become of Mr Brand, and Ben, and the native? Had they been on board, we should probably have acted wisely in endeavouring to get away from the pirates, as they would undoubtedly, if they could catch us, and thought that we suspected what had occurred, treat us much in the same way that they had treated the crew of the brig. Still, how could we think for a moment of running away and deserting our friends—such a man, too, as Cousin Silas, who, we felt sure, would never have deserted us while the slightest hope remained of our being alive?

For some time after the brig had sunk, the schooner appeared to take no notice whatever of us, while we continued to draw nearer and nearer to her. We had an Englishman, Mr Stone, who acted as master of the Dove, and two other natives. Stone was a simple-minded, honest man. His principle was, if he received an order from a superior, to obey it. Therefore, as Mr Brand had directed him to continue beating up to windward till he returned on board, it never occurred to him to propose running away from our suspiciously dangerous neighbour. The natives held their tongues, but did not look happy. Mr McRitchie was the most agitated. He kept walking our little deck with hurried steps. We were drawing nearer and nearer to the big schooner. Suddenly he stopped and looked at us, the tears starting into his eyes. “My dear lads,” said he, “it is very, very sad to think of, but there can be no doubt, I greatly fear, that our friend and his followers have been murdered by yonder piratical villains. If they are still alive, (and what chance is there of it?) they will certainly not be allowed to return to us. We are, therefore, only sacrificing our own lives by allowing ourselves to fall into the power of the villains. While there is time, let us escape. Captain Stone, don’t you agree with me?”

“Well, sir, I cannot but say I do,” answered the captain. “If you order me, as I consider that the craft is under your charge, we’ll keep away at once, and make all sail to the northward. I feel that we ought to have done it as soon as we made out what that craft there was.”

The doctor hesitated still—a violent struggle was going on in his mind. He passed his hand across his brow. “Yes, it must be done. Keep her away, and make all sail,” he exclaimed.

Scarcely was the helm put up, and a large square-sail of light canvas the little schooner carried hoisted, when the stranger seemed to observe our presence. We had not run on for ten minutes when her head came slowly round towards us, her square-topsails were hoisted up, her foresail was rigged out, a square-sail was set, and after us she came like a greyhound in chase of a hare.

“What chance have we, do you think, of getting away from her, Mr Stone?” said Jerry, pointing to the big schooner, which was coming up hand over hand after us.

Stone, who was at the helm, looked over his shoulder at the stranger. “Why, none whatever, Mr Frankland,” he answered, after a minute’s deliberation.

“Then I do not see much use in running away,” observed Jerry. “If we are to be killed, let us be killed at once, and have it over.”

“No, sir; as Mr Callard says, it’s our duty to strive as long as we can. Our lives are in the hand of God. He may find means to enable us to escape, though we do not in our blindness see them. Perhaps it may fall a dead calm, and we may make use of our sweeps; or a squall may spring up and carry away the stranger’s masts; or another vessel may heave in sight, and she may think it wise to slip out of the way.”

“I see that you are right, Mr Stone,” answered Jerry. “But I wonder, if they do catch us, what they will do to us all?”

“Cut the throats of every mother’s son of us,” he answered, quite calmly. “I’ve often thought of death, and I am prepared to die, for I trust in One who is mighty to save my soul alive. Have you the same hope, young gentleman? I trust you have. It’s my duty as a fellow man to urge you to lay hold of it. There’s nothing else will save us, depend on that. From what I heard your officer, Mr Brand, say, I know on what he trusted, and I hope he has not failed to speak to you about the same matter.”

“Ay, he spoke to us in a way we ought never to have forgotten, once when we were drifting out to sea on the bottom of a boat, and we had little chance of being saved; and then he swam off, at the still greater risk of his own life, to save ours,” answered Jerry.

“I knew that he was just the man to do that sort of thing. He was a Christian man, too, I am certain of it. Well, it’s a great comfort to feel that of a man who you believe has just been taken out of the world,” observed the master. “I hope your man, Yool, was a trusting believer. I know our man was, poor fellow.”

Mr McRitchie had been listening, and seemed much affected at what had been said. The master spoke so confidently of Mr Brand’s death, and of the others, that we began ourselves to realise the melancholy fact. What, however, was likely to be our own fate? we had several times asked ourselves. What could we expect but to be instantly murdered? We anxiously scanned the horizon on every side. There was not a sign of a sail of any description. The wind remained steady. There was no prospect of a storm or a calm. The stranger was coming up after us with fearful speed. We were within range of her guns, but she did not fire—so we concluded that she had none on board. It was useless for us to attempt to do anything by fighting. Jerry and I talked about it, but we gave it up as a hopeless case. The stranger could quickly have settled the matter by running us down.

Mr Stone showed us that he did not boast in vain. He was calm and unmoved in spite of the dreadful danger which threatened us. Still holding the tiller in his hand, and keeping his eye on the sails, he knelt down and offered up an earnest prayer for our safety. We followed his example, as did the natives; and when we arose from our knees, I, for my part, felt that I was much better prepared than before to meet with resignation whatever might befall us; so, I have no doubt, did my companions.

The stranger had now got within musket-range, but still she did not fire. Those on board, of course, expected that in a few minutes more they would be up with us, and perhaps did not think us worth their powder.

“What chance have we now, Mr Stone?” asked the doctor, eyeing our big pursuer with a look of horror.

“None, sir, that I see,” was the answer; “but then, as I said, there may be means prepared which I don’t see, so we’ll hold on, if you please.”

After a minute or two the patience of the pirates appeared to have been exhausted. There was a report, and a musket-ball came whistling through our sails. Jerry and I bobbed our heads, for it felt so terribly near our ears. Jerry looked up indignantly. “I have a great mind to have a crack at them in return,” he exclaimed; and before any one saw what he was about, he had seized his rifle from the cabin, and sent a shot back at them in return.

“Oh, sir, there was no use doing that; you will only the more anger those wicked men,” said Captain Stone, quite calmly.

“No, no; let’s die game,” answered Jerry. “We may kill some of our enemies before they kill us.”

“We may kill some of our friends as likely,” replied the captain. “If we could prevent them injuring us, we might kill them; but as we cannot, we must patiently wait the result.”

The doctor seemed to agree with the captain, so Jerry refrained from again loading his rifle. The effect, however, of his single shot was most disastrous, for the pirates, supposing that we were about to show fight, brought several muskets forward, and opened a hot fire on us. As the bullets came rattling about our ears, I thought not one of us would escape. The two poor Sandwich islanders were brought to the deck, one directly after the other, desperately wounded. The matter was becoming very serious. I thought that we ought to lower our sails; so did the doctor, but Captain Stone begged us to keep all standing. “We can’t tell still, sir, but what we may escape. Hold on, hold on,” he cried out. “There is One who watches over us. If it is his will that we are to be destroyed, his will be done.” Scarcely had he uttered these words of true piety than he suddenly lifted up his arm, letting go the tiller, and fell to the deck. Jerry ran to the helm. I tried to lift him up, while the doctor knelt down by his side. “Hold on, hold on, I counsel you,” he whispered, raising his head. “They have done for me. Doctor, you cannot help me, I feel. It’s all right; we were doing our duty. We know in whom we trust. He is mighty to save our souls alive.” With these words he fell back, giving one look at our pursuer, and urging us by a sign to hold on our course. The doctor took his hand. After holding it for a minute, he shook his head. “He’s gone,” he remarked; “as brave a man as I ever met, and as true a Christian.”

Jerry meantime stood undauntedly at the helm. No sooner, however, had the captain fallen than the pirates, seeing what had occurred, ceased firing. They had now got so near, that, had they chosen, they might have picked every one of us off without difficulty. At last they came up almost abreast of us.

“Heave to, you young jackanapes, or we will sink you,” sung out a man from forward. The doctor was attending to one of the wounded natives, so they did not observe him, perhaps. Although the command was issued in a very uncomplimentary style, Jerry and I agreed that it would be useless to disobey it; so going about, while he stood at the helm, I ran forward and let fly the jib-sheet, while the foresail remained to windward.

“Send your boat aboard us,” shouted the same voice.

“We haven’t got one,” answered Jerry. “You know that well enough, I should think,” he added in a lower voice.

“Oh, we’ll send one, then,” replied the speaker.

During this time the big schooner was hove-to quite close to us. Presently some of the crew went aft, and a long gig was lowered from the schooner’s quarter, and a set of as ugly-looking ruffians as I ever cast eyes on got into her, and pulled towards us. From the specimen we had witnessed of their conduct, we could only expect to be cut down and thrown overboard as soon as they stepped on deck. The least unattractive was a man, apparently an officer, who sat in the stern-sheets. As he got near I could not help examining his countenance. He was a mulatto, with handsome, regular features. I felt certain that I had seen him before, and not long ago. He had on his head a large broad-brimmed straw hat, a gaily-coloured handkerchief, and a waistcoat of red silk, while his jacket was of the finest material. He wore a sash round his waist, and a dagger and a brace of silver-mounted pistols stuck into it. When he came alongside, he sprang lightly on to the deck of the schooner, and looked about him.

“Now, my lads, be prepared; show no fear,” said the doctor. “Remember that the worst they can do is to kill us, and they’ll gain nothing by that; so perhaps they will let us live.”

As we made not the slightest attempt at resistance, which would have been madness, even the pirates had no excuse for injuring us. All we did was to stand quietly at the after-part of the deck waiting what was next going to happen.

One of the other pirates soon proceeded without ceremony into the cabin, and the rest went forward down the fore-hatch.

The officer looked at me, and I looked at him. Old Surley, who at first had been very much inclined to fly at the strangers, growling fiercely, went up to him and quietly licked his hand. In spite of his clean-shaven face, his gay clothes, and well filled-out cheeks, I immediately recognised him as Manuel Silva, as he called himself—the man whom we had with so much risk saved from the wreck of the Spanish brig. “Yes, I remember you,” he whispered in his broken English; “but don’t let others know that. I’m not a man to forget kindness, that’s all.”

“Do you know anything of Mr Brand and the other men?” I asked eagerly. He made no reply; and immediately afterwards, assuming an air of authority, he ordered the doctor, Jerry, and me, to get into the boat.

The doctor entreated that he might be left to attend the two wounded Sandwich islanders. The men, when they came on deck, laughed at his request. “We have got wounded too, and shall want you to attend on them,” they answered; “if you are a doctor, you are welcome.” Still the doctor pleaded so hard for the poor men that at last they consented to take one of them; the other, indeed, was already beyond all hopes of recovery. We turned a last look at the body of poor Captain Stone.

“What is to be done with him?” asked Jerry.

“Never mind him, youngster,” answered one of the men; “we’ll soon dispose of him.”

Silva, leaving three men on board, ordered us to get into his boat to return with him to the big schooner. As we were shoving off, old Surley, who had been smelling about after the other men, gave a loud bark, as much as to say, “Don’t leave me behind,” and leaped in after us. Truly glad were we to have him, poor fellow. He might prove to us a friend in need.

We stepped on deck; the crew, we thought, eyed us with very sinister looks, but no one spoke to us till a man we took to be the captain stepped up to the gangway. “Who are you, and where do you come from, who go about prying into other people’s affairs?” he exclaimed in a gruff voice. He stamped with his feet as lift spoke, as if lashing himself up into a rage. He was a pale, long-faced man, with a large beard, and a very evil expression in his eye.

“We have no wish to pry into anybody’s affairs,” answered the doctor quietly. “We missed a boat with some of the people belonging to this schooner, and we thought they might be aboard your vessel.”

“I know nothing of the people you talk of; but as you have seen more than you ought, I suspect you’ll remain with us. We happen to want just such a schooner as yours, so say no more about it. You may think yourselves fortunate in not losing your lives. There’s no disguise about us, you see.”

Had we before felt any doubts on the subject, these remarks would have revealed to us too clearly the character of the people among whom we had fallen. I was thankful, indeed, that we were not immediately murdered. Why the desperadoes allowed us to live was a mystery. The doctor, they thought, would be useful to them; and perhaps, as Jerry remarked, they did not think us worth killing. The doctor, he, and I, stood together near the gangway, with Surley at our feet, waiting what was next to happen. Meantime the poor wounded Sandwich islander had been handed up, and placed on the deck forward.

The vessel on board which we found ourselves was a large, handsome craft, of fully a hundred and eighty tons; and, from her great beam, her taunt, raking masts, the broad white ribbon outside, and the peculiar paint and fittings on her deck, she was evidently American. There were a good many white men among her crew; but there were also many blacks and mulattoes, of every shade of brown and hue of olive or copper. Never had I seen people of so many nations and tribes brought together, while every one of them to my eyes appeared most villainous cut-throats.

We saw the boat go back to the Dove and deposit a couple of more hands aboard her, and then both vessels hauled their wind and stood away to the south-west. Just then some of the crew hailed the doctor:—“Here; your patient seems to be about to slip his cable. You’d better come and see what’s the matter.” We accompanied the doctor, and knelt down by the side of the wounded man, who was evidently dying. He took the doctor’s hand. “You kind to us, but you no help me now,” he whispered, with his failing breath. “If you once more see Mr Callard—my love to him—I die happy. I trust in Him he taught me to cling to. Once I was poor savage. He made me rich.” These were the poor Kanaka’s last words. A few years ago, and how differently would one of his countrymen have died! The doctor closed the eyes and arranged the limbs of the dead man, and threw a handkerchief which he took from his neck over his face. “There,” he said, “he’ll not give you any more trouble.” The men said not a word, but walked about as composedly as if nothing had happened, while we went back to our place near the gangway. Shortly afterwards, a man, who seemed to be an officer, went forward. “Heave that corpse overboard,” he exclaimed; “why do you let it remain there cumbering the deck?” The men looked at each other, and then, lifting up the body of the poor Kanaka, threw it, without form or ceremony, into the water. We looked astern. There it floated, with the arms spread out, and the face turned towards us, for the handkerchief had fallen off the head. Its lips seemed to move. I thought it was uttering a well-merited curse on the hateful craft we were on board. It seemed to be about to spring out of the water. I could not help crying out. I shrieked, I believe. Many of the pirates looked with horror. “Is he following us?” I cried. No. Down sunk the body from sight, as if dragged by some force from below. “Ah, a shark has got him!” said Silva, who had been looking on with the rest. Many of the ruffians shuddered, for they knew full well that such might any day be their own fate.

While this scene was enacting, a similar one was taking place on board the Dove. Her captors, having time to look about them, had taken up the bodies of poor Captain Stone and the other Kanaka, and, without shroud or a shot to their feet, had hove them overboard. They also were immediately attacked by the sharks. Jerry and I shuddered, as well we might. The doctor looked on with more composure. “It matters little whether sharks or animalculae first devour a body,” he observed. “One or other will inevitably swallow it before long, only the sharks make greater speed with the process. Happily there is an essence which neither one nor the other can destroy, which survives triumphant over death; so, lads, when you mourn the loss of a friend, think of him as living in that essence, not in the mortal frame you see torn to pieces or mouldering in decay.” A new light seemed to burst on me as the doctor said this. The idea aided me to get over the horror I had felt at seeing the fate of the missionary captain, and enabled me better to bear the first remark which the pirate leader deigned to make us: “Well, youngsters, if you don’t behave yourselves, you’ll come to that very quickly, let me tell you.”

“We have no wish to do otherwise than behave ourselves, sir,” answered Jerry in his politest way. “Perhaps you will tell us what you wish to have done?”

“To hold your tongue and be hanged,” answered the ruffian, turning aside; for Jerry’s coolness puzzled and enraged him.

The doctor was now summoned down below to look after some sick men, the mate, who called him, said; but, as Jerry whispered, he suspected they were sick from having swallowed more bullets than they liked. We two, in the meantime, sat ourselves down on a gun, with Surley at our feet. He put his nose between us, and looked anxiously up into our faces, as if to learn what it all meant. We were there allowed to remain unmolested, while the pirates went past us attending to the duty of the ship. On seeing the guns, we wondered that the schooner had not fired at us; but we concluded that they had coveted the Dove for their own objects, and had not wished to injure her. It was evidently from no compassion to us that they had not knocked her to pieces. No one interrupting us, Jerry and I began quietly to talk to each other.

“What can have become of Mr Brand, and Ben Yool, and the Kanaka?” said I. “Is it possible that they are aboard here all this time, do you think?”

“I am afraid not,” answered Jerry, shaking his head sorrowfully. “I think it’s much more likely that a shot was hove into the dinghy if they went alongside, and that they were sent to the bottom. My only hope is, that they missed their way and never came near this craft. If so, they may have been picked up by some vessel, or may find their way back to Owhyhee.”

“That last idea never occurred to me before. Oh, I hope it may be so! I wonder what the doctor thinks?” said I.

The doctor was absent for a long time. When he came back to us, he said that he could not give an opinion on the subject. He was very silent, and we thought that he looked more sad and thoughtful even than at first.

The day wore on. A black cook brought us some soup and a bowl of farinha, which, as we were very hungry, we were glad enough to eat; and at night, Silva told us that we three might occupy the small deck cabin which was vacant. We were glad enough to creep in there, and to forget our sorrows in sleep. For some time we slept as soundly as people who have undergone a great deal of mental excitement generally sleep, though the realities of the past mixed strangely with the visions of the night. The most prominent was the picture of the sinking ship which we had seen go down; but in addition I beheld the agonised countenances of the murdered crew—some imploring mercy, others battling for life, and others yielding hopelessly to their fate. Among them, to my greater horror, I thought I saw Mr Brand and Ben Yool. They were bravely struggling in the hands of the ruffians, as I am sure they would have done. Now one was up, now the other. The pirates tried to force them overboard, but they always again clambered up the side of the vessel. Their boat was sunk beneath them; still they fought on, clutching hold of ropes and the chain-plates—never for a moment losing heart. “That is the way to fight the battle of life against all enemies, spiritual and carnal,” said a voice. It was Cousin Silas who spoke. Then the pirates made another desperate attack on him and Ben, and they were forced back into the deep ocean.

I awoke with a loud cry. “What’s the matter? where are we?” asked Jerry, stretching out his arms. “O Harry, what dreadful dreams I have had! What is going to happen? Now I know. Oh dear! Oh dear! My poor father, how miserable he will be when he fancies I am lost!” When we told each other our dreams, we found that they had been very much of the same nature.

Our talking awoke the doctor. He was, I daresay, not less unhappy than we were, but he told us not to give way to unmanly fears, and scolded us for talking about our dreams. “It is a foolish and bad practice silly people are apt to indulge in. It makes them nervous, promotes superstition, and, worse than all, frequently causes them to doubt God’s superintending care and watchfulness. Your dreams have just been made up of what has occurred, and of what your imagination has conjured up. Just set to work and think and talk of how we may escape from our present position, and perhaps you may think and talk to good effect.” As soon as we got up, we took our place as we had done the previous day, as much out of the way of the rest of the people as possible.

We took the doctor’s advice, and did little else for some time than talk of how we might escape. The most feasible plan which occurred to us was to watch for an opportunity of deserting the ship whenever she might touch at any place for water. We agreed that it would be well to try and lull the suspicions of our captors, by pretending to be perfectly contented with our lot, and by making ourselves as much at home as possible.

“We’ll not seem to care about going on shore ourselves,” observed Jerry; “but after a time we’ll talk about old Surley not being accustomed to remain on board so long, and we’ll ask leave to take him a run on the beach; then he’ll run on, and we will run after him, till we get out of sight of the vessel, and then won’t we put our best legs foremost—that’s all. Surley will like the fun, and we will whistle him on; and if any of the pirates meet us, we can say we are running after him; and so we shall be, you know. We can hide away in some tree, or in a cavern, or somewhere or other till the ship sails, and then we must trust to what may turn up to get away from the place, wherever it may be.”

“The chances are that it may be a desert island, and one rarely or never visited by ships. If so, perhaps we may have to live on it for years without being able to escape from it,” I observed.

“Well, no matter if that is the case,” he answered; “anything is better than living among these cut-throats.”

“I agree with you,” said I; “but what is to become of the doctor? We must not leave him behind.”

“Certainly not,” said Jerry; “we will tell him what we propose, and I daresay he will find means to follow us. If he cannot, perhaps he will propose some plan which will be better than ours.”

We talked till we talked ourselves very hungry, and were not sorry when the black cook brought us a bowl of farinha for our breakfast. We should not have objected to a slice of cold beef or a piece of fish, but we agreed that it would be wiser to take what was offered to us, and appear thankful. The doctor was asked in to breakfast with the captain. He certainly would rather not have gone, but as nothing could be gained by refusing, and something might by accepting the invitation, he went. Tom Congo, the cook, did not forget old Surley, but, when the officers were below at breakfast, brought him a mess, which he gobbled up with no little satisfaction.

Silva appeared to take no notice of us; yet we could not but believe that it was owing to his intercession our lives had been spared, and that we were not ill-treated. It will be remembered that, after the story we heard of the escape of the convicts from Juan Fernandez, serious suspicions had been entertained of his character. We had now, from finding him associated with pirates, every reason to believe that our suspicions were correct. Still, pirate as he was, all the right feelings of our nature had not been blunted in him. While on board the Triton he had always behaved well, and he now showed us that he was grateful for the kindness he had received. Such was the opinion Jerry and I formed of him.

For three or four days things went on much in the same way as at first. We had our food brought us regularly by our friend the black cook, and were allowed to walk the deck as long as we liked, and to creep into our cabin at night. Nobody interfered with us. The people who acted as officers passed us by without notice, and the seamen did not take the trouble to exchange a word with us. At last Jerry and I agreed that it was time to try and make ourselves more at home, or we should not be able to carry into execution the plan we had proposed. Surley, too, seemed to think it very dull work sitting all day long with his nose resting on our knees. How to set about ingratiating ourselves with the fellows, was the difficulty. We generally talked over our plans when the doctor was away, as he was for a considerable time every day attending to the sick. We determined first to try and win over old Tom Congo, the black cook, as he seemed disposed to be friendly with us.

“I say, cook,” exclaimed Jerry, “you give us very good food to eat, but couldn’t you add a bit of meat now and then? Surley gets some, and we, who have been accustomed all our lives to it, would like to have it now.”

“Oh, oh, you hab some of Surley’s den,” answered Tom Congo, with a grin.

“You are too kind to wish to make us eat scraps and bits,” said Jerry; “we should just like a piece of beef or pork.”

Congo looked pleased; and though he would not promise to bring us any meat, we saw that he would. Now, we did not care so much about the meat, but we thought that, by asking him a favour which he could easily grant, we might gain his interest. It was a compliment to him, and made him feel as if he were our superior, for the time being at all events. The next day, at dinner time, he brought us a very nice piece of boiled beef and some potatoes. We consulted what we could give him in return. Our knives were too valuable to part with, but Jerry had a silver pencil-case, which he offered to him. Old Tom asked what it was for, and when told to write with, he grinned from ear to ear, observing that, as he could not write even his own name, it would be of no manner of use to him; but that he thanked us all the same.

The feeling that there were two people on board who were disposed to be friendly with us raised our spirits. We got up and began to chase Surley about the deck, making him run after a ball of spun-yarn till we got tired of the game. Then we walked up and down the deck till we got right aft, where we could catch a glance at the compass. We were steering about south-west and by south.

“Where are we going to, my friend?” said Jerry, addressing the man at the helm.

“Ask the captain; he’s likely to tell you, youngster.”

“Oh, no matter,” answered Jerry, carelessly, “I only asked for curiosity. If it’s to China, or round Cape Horn, or to California, it’s all the same to me.”

“You’re an independent little chap, at all events,” answered the man; “if you were one of us, you’d do well, I doubt not.”

“Oh, I’ve no objection to do well,” said Jerry; “just show me the way, and I’m your man.”

“I like your spirit, and I’ll say a word in your favour with the crew. I daresay you know something about navigation, which is more than most of the officers do; so, if you join us, it won’t be long before you are made an officer.”

“Thank you for your good opinion of me,” said Jerry; “but I’m not ambitious. I just want to do what I like, and if nobody interferes with me, I’m content.”

“You’re a merry little chap, at all events,” observed the pirate. “I like to see a fellow with some spirit in him, and I’ll keep you out of harm if I can.”

“Thank you,” said Jerry, making a dash after Surley’s tail; “I thought you looked as if you were a kind chap, and that made me speak to you.”

Thus by degrees we made ourselves at home among the crew. Before the evening we were chasing each other about the rigging. The men forward had a monkey, and we got hold of him, and made him ride upon Surley’s back. Neither animal liked it at first, but by coaxing them we managed to reconcile them to each other. Jacko would every now and then take it into his head to give old Surley a sly pinch on the ear or tail, and then the dog would turn round and endeavour to bite the monkey’s leg; but the latter was always too quick for him, and would either jump off, or leap up on his back as if he were going to dance there, or would catch hold of a rope overhead and swing himself up out of his way. It really was great fun, and often we almost forgot where we were and our sad fate. It made the pirates also think us light-hearted, merry fellows, and they gave themselves no further concern about watching us. Now, of course, it sounds very romantic and interesting to be on board a pirate vessel, among desperate cut-throats, to be going one does not know where; but the reality is very painful and trying, and, in spite of all we did in the day to keep up our spirits, Jerry and I often lay awake half the night, almost crying, and wondering what would become of us. It was not till we remembered what we had heard at home, and what Captain Frankland and Mr Brand had told us often—that in all difficulties and troubles we should put our trust in God—that we found any comfort. How much we now wished for a Bible, that we might read it to each other! We now saw more clearly than we had ever before done its inestimable value. There were several on board the Dove, but we were not likely to be able to get them.

The poor doctor was more to be pitied than we were. He grew thinner and thinner every day. Evidently he felt his captivity very much. His prospect of escaping was much smaller than ours, because he was of far greater use to the pirates than we were. We might have been of some service to them as navigators, but without our books and instruments we could do very little for them even in that respect.

Several more days went by in this way. The pirates now began to grow fidgety, and they were constantly going to the mast-head, and spent the day in looking out on every side round the horizon, in search of land or a vessel, we could not tell which. At last, one forenoon, one of the look-outs shouted from aloft, “A sail! a sail!”

“Where away?” asked the captain, who till that moment seemed to have been half asleep on deck. He sprang to his feet, and he, with every one on board, in an instant was full of life and animation.

“On the lee bow,” answered the man. “She is a large ship, standing to the southward.” The wind was from the westward.

Several of the officers and men hurried aloft to have a look at the stranger. When they came down they seemed highly satisfied.

“She’s a merchantman from California,” observed one. “She’ll have plenty of gold dust on board.”

“She’s the craft to suit us, then,” observed a second.

“She’s a heavy vessel, and the fellows aboard will fight for their gold,” remarked a third.

“Who cares? a little fighting will make the prize of more value,” cried another. “We’ll show them what they’ll get by resistance.”

The word was now passed along to clear the decks for action, and, with the men at their guns, we bore down on the stranger.

Chapter Fifteen.

Voyage in the pirate vessel.

The stranger saw our approach, and from the eager way in which we carried on sail, those on board must have had some suspicion of the character of the schooner. She was a fine large ship, and was evidently a fast craft, but still the schooner managed to overhaul her. As we had hitherto stood on under easy sail, the Dove was able to keep up with us, but now we left her far astern. Before we parted company, however, the captain signalised her where to meet him. I forgot to say that for some time we did not know the name of the pirate chief, but at last we heard him called Captain Bruno. Though this name had a foreign sound, he was, as I have before said, either an Englishman or an American. The schooner was called the Hawk, and she was not ill named.

As we drew near the ship we ran up English colours, while in return, up went at her peak the stars and stripes of the United States. On we stood. The ship, so Jerry and I concluded, did not suspect the character of the schooner, for she made no attempt to escape us, but appeared as if those on board expected a friendly greeting. I observed Captain Bruno very frequently turn his telescope towards the stranger, and examine her narrowly. The officers, too, began to talk to each other, and look suspiciously at her. I asked Mr McRitchie, who was near us, whether he thought the pirates would attack the ship and murder the crew, as we believed they had done that of the brig.

“I dread something terrible, but I have very little apprehension for the fate of the people on board the ship,” he answered, in a low tone. “In my opinion, the pirates will find that they have caught a tartar. Mark me—yonder craft is no merchantman, but a ship of war, either American or English, or perhaps Chilian. I should not be surprised to find that she is on the watch for our friends here. Scarcely do I know what to wish. If they fight at all, they will fight desperately, and we shall run as great a chance of being killed as they will—though, if they are captured, we may regain our liberty. If, on the other hand, they escape, our captivity will be prolonged.”

“But if yonder ship prove to be what you suppose, and the schooner is captured, perhaps we may be hung as pirates,” said Jerry. “How can we prove that we are honest people?”

“There will be but little difficulty about that,” answered Mr McRitchie. “The pirates themselves will acknowledge that we have been brought on board against our will, and the account we can give of ourselves is too circumstantial not to gain credit. At all events, we must hope for the best. But see, Captain Bruno at last suspects that something is wrong.”

We had by this time got almost within the ordinary range of a ship’s guns. Suddenly the captain sprang to the helm. “Haul aft the main and foresheets!” he sung out in a voice of thunder. “Brace up the yards! Down with the helm! Keep her as close as she’ll go!” The crew flew to obey these orders. They knew full well that their lives depended on their promptness. Already the schooner had approached too near the stranger. That she was a man-of-war, she no longer left us in doubt. Before the orders issued by Captain Bruno were executed, a line of ports were thrown open, and eight long guns were run out, threatening to send us to the bottom if we showed a disposition to quarrel, and aft at her peak flew the stars and stripes of the United States.

The pirates saw that they were caught through their own folly and greediness, but the captain showed himself to be a man of undaunted courage, and full of resources. “Hold on!” he sung out, before a sheet was hauled in. “We may lose our sticks if we attempt to run. I’ll try if I cannot deceive these clever fellows, and put them on a wrong scent.” The pirates seemed mightily pleased at the thought of playing their enemy a trick, and highly applauded the proposal of their captain. The schooner, therefore, stood steadily on, till she ran close down to the corvette. Then she hove-to, well to windward of the ship, however. A boat was lowered, and Captain Bruno, with four of the most quiet-looking of the crew, got into her, and pulled away for the ship. When we hove-to, the corvette did the same, an eighth of a mile to leeward of us. We watched the proceedings of the pirate with no little anxiety.

“If that fellow succeed in deceiving the captain of that ship, I shall acknowledge that impudence will sometimes carry the day,” observed Mr McRitchie.

“Couldn’t we contrive to make a signal to let the people of the man-of-war know that we are kept here in durance vile?” observed Jerry.

While he was speaking, I looked round, and saw two of the most ruffianly of the crew standing close to us, with pistols cocked in their hands, held quietly down by their sides. I hoped that our captors had not overheard what Jerry had said. I touched him as if by chance on the shoulder, and after his eye had glanced at the pistols he said nothing more about making signals to the corvette. Our position was every instant growing more and more critical. If the pirate captain was seized on board the man-of-war, it was impossible to say how his followers might wreak their vengeance on our heads. We watched him with no little interest, till he ascended with perfect coolness the side of the ship. Our anxiety still further increased, after he reached the deck and disappeared below. Minute after minute slowly passed by, still he did not return. The pirates with their pistols got up closer to us, and one, a most hideous black fellow, kept looking at us and then at his weapon, and grinning from ear to ear, as if he was mightily eager to put it to our heads and pull the trigger. We tried to look as unconcerned as possible, but I must own that I could not help every now and then turning round, to ascertain in what direction the muzzle of the pistol was pointed. The black and his companion looked so malicious, that I feared, whatever occurred, we should be the sufferers. If Captain Bruno escaped, we should still remain in captivity; or should he be suspected and detained, probably the pirates would revenge themselves on us. I was afraid of speaking, and almost of moving, lest, even should I lift an arm, it might be construed into the act of making a signal, and I might get a bullet sent through my head. The American corvette, with her spread of white canvas, looked very elegant and graceful as she lay hove-to, a short distance from us. I wished very much that I was out of the pirate, and safe on board her, even though the former might get free away without the punishment she deserved. But all such hopes, it appeared, were likely to prove vain. After the lapse of another ten minutes Captain Bruno himself appeared on deck. As he stood at the gangway, he shook hands cordially with some of the officers. He seemed to be exchanging some good joke with them, for he and they laughed heartily when he went down the side, and stepped into the boat. As he pulled back to the schooner, he waved his hand, and took off his hat with the most becoming courtesy. “Well,” thought I to myself, “certainly impudence will sometimes carry the day.”

He was soon again on board. “Make sail,” he said with a calm smile; “the corvette and we are going in search of a rascally pirate, which has committed all sorts of atrocities. I wonder whether we shall find her.” The joke seemed to tickle the fancies of all on deck, for a quiet chuckle was heard on every side. “Keep the rest of the people below,” he said to Silva; “it might surprise the crew of the man-of-war to see so many ugly fellows on board a quiet trader.” The order was strictly obeyed. A few only of the crew appeared on deck, and they were soon seen employed in the usual occupations of a merchantman. The wind was light, so the schooner began leisurely to set sail after sail, till every stitch of canvas she could carry was spread. The corvette did the same, and both vessels were soon going along under a cloud of canvas. The schooner, we saw, had the advantage. Gradually we were increasing our distance from the man-of-war. Captain Bruno chuckled audibly. Still, at times, he cast an anxious look astern.

Jerry and I were allowed to walk about the deck, and to observe what was going on. We remarked the captain watching the corvette. “Depend on it,” said Jerry, “he has been leaving some forged paper with the Americans, or playing them some trick which he is afraid will be found out.” I thought at first this must be Jerry’s fancy. We had no opportunity of asking Mr McRitchie’s opinion without being overheard. Away we glided over the smooth ocean. More and more we increased our distance from the corvette. The further ahead we got, the more Captain Bruno seemed pleased; and as I watched his countenance, I became convinced that Jerry’s surmises were correct. As we walked the deck and watched the captain, we agreed that if he dared he would like to wet the sails to make them hold more wind. An hour or so passed away, when suddenly the corvette yawed a little, a puff of white smoke appeared, with a sharp report, and a shot came flying over the water close to us. “Ah! have you found me out, my friends?” exclaimed Captain Bruno, leaping down from the taffrail. “All hands on deck! Swing up the long guns! We must try to wing this fellow before he contrives to clip our feathers.” In an instant everybody was alert: tackles were rove, and, in a short time, two long and very heavy guns, with their carriages, were hoisted up from the hold. The guns were quickly mounted and run out, and a brisk fire kept up at the corvette. She also continued to fire, but as to do so with effect she had to yaw each time, the schooner, which could fire her stern guns as fast as she could load them, had a considerable advantage. It was a game at long bowls, for the two vessels were already so far apart that it required very good gunnery to send a shot with anything like a correct aim. Silva seemed to be one of the best marksmen on board. Several times, when he fired, the shot went through the sails of the ship of war. The great object of the pirates was to cripple her, as was that of the Americans to bring down some of the schooner’s spars. Had the latter found out the trick sooner which had been played them by the pirate, the probabilities are that some of our rigging would have been cut through, and we should have been overtaken; now there appeared every chance that we should effect our escape. Still, several of the shot which came from the corvette struck us, or went through our sails; but the damage was instantly repaired. The crew had got up from below a store of spare ropes, and sails, and spars, so that even should we receive any severe injury, it could, we saw, be speedily put to rights. As I before said, our prospects of getting our throats cut, or our brains blown or knocked out, were pretty well balanced against those of our being made free, should the corvette come up with us; so we scarcely knew what to wish for. Every time a shot came near the vessel, the pirates cast such angry glances at us, as if we had had something to do with the matter, that we half expected some of them would let fly their pistols and put an end to our lives.

Hour after hour thus passed away. A stern chase is a long chase, as everybody knows, and so the Americans must have thought it. The wind continued much as at first for some time. This was all in favour of the schooner, which sailed in a light wind proportionably better than the corvette. Towards evening, however, clouds began to gather in the eastern horizon. The bank rose higher and higher in the sky. Now one mass darted forward—now another—and light bodies flew rapidly across the blue expanse overhead. First the surface of the ocean was crisped over with a sparkling ripple, and then wavelets appeared, and soon they increased to waves with frothy crests; and the schooner sprung forward, the canvas swelling, the braces tautening, and the masts and spars cracking with the additional strain put on them. For some time, though she still continued to fire, scarcely a shot from the man-of-war had come up to us, as we had still further increased our distance from her. She, however, now felt the advantage of the stronger breeze, and our pace became more equal. Still the breeze increased. The captain stood aft, his eye apparently watching earnestly every spar and rope aloft, to see how they stood the increasing strain. Away we now flew, the water hissing under our bows, and the spray leaping up on either side, and streaming over us in thick showers. The white canvas bulged, and tugged, and tugged, till I thought it would carry the masts away, and fly out of the bolt-ropes. Captain Bruno, however, gave no orders to take it in. He looked astern; the corvette was going along as fast as we were—perhaps faster. This was not an occasion for shortening sail. The crew seemed to have the same opinion. They were fighting with halters round their necks, every one full well knew; and though this consciousness may make men desperate when brought to bay, it will assuredly make them run away like arrant cowards if they have a possibility of escape.

The sea by this time had got up considerably, and the schooner began to pitch into it as she ran before the wind. The corvette at first came on rather more steadily, but she likewise soon began to feel the effects of the troubled water; and away we both went, plunging our bows into the sea as we dashed rapidly onward. I could not help feeling that the movements of both vessels showed that serious work was going on. The corvette, with her wide fields of canvas spread aloft, every sail bulging out to its utmost extent, looked as if intent on the pursuit; while the eager, hurried way in which the schooner struggled on amid the foaming waves, made it appear as if she were indued with consciousness, and was aware that her existence depended on her escaping her pursuer.

It was now blowing a perfect gale. Every instant, as I kept looking aloft, I expected to hear some dreadful crash, and to see the topmasts come tumbling down over our heads; but though the top-gallant-masts bent and writhed like fishing-rods with a heavy fish at the end of the line, they were too well set up by the rigging to yield, even with the enormous pressure put on them.

Captain Bruno called Silva to him again. They held a consultation for some minutes. They looked at the corvette, and then at their own sails. The result was, that some of the people were summoned aft, and once more the long guns were run out, and, watching their opportunity, as the stern of the vessel lifted, they opened fire on their pursuer. “If we could but knock away their fore-topmast with all that spread of canvas on it, we should very soon run her out of sight,” observed Silva, stooping down to take aim. He fired. The canvas stood as before; but, as far as we could judge, the shot had reached the man-of-war, and hands were seen going aloft to repair some damage which it had caused.

The pirates cheered when they saw that the shot had taken effect, “Hurrah! hurrah! Fire away again, Silva; fire away!” they shouted. Thus encouraged, he continued firing as fast as the guns could be loaded. Shot after shot was discharged. Still the pursuer came on as proudly and gallantly as before. Now and then a shot was fired from her bow chasers; but the difficulty of taking anything like an aim in such a sea was very great, and they generally flew excessively wide of their mark. Silva, indeed, after the first shot, had but little to boast of as a marksman. His anger seemed to rise. He looked with a fierce glance at our pursuer. Both the guns were loaded. He stooped down to one and fired; then, scarcely looking up to watch the result, he went to the other. The schooner was sinking into a sea; as she rose to the summit of the next, a shot left the muzzle of the gun. Away it winged its flight above the foaming ocean. Now the pirates cheered more lustily than ever. Good cause had they. As if by magic, the wide cloud of canvas which had lately towered above the deck of the corvette seemed dissolved in air. The race is not always to the swift, nor does Fortune always favour the best cause. The pirate’s shot had cut the corvette’s fore-topmast completely in two, and we could see it with its tangled mass of spars, and sails, and rigging hanging over the bows, and still further stopping the ship’s way.

“Now we may shorten sail,” sang out Captain Bruno. “Aloft, my lads; quick about it.” The men needed not to be told of the importance of haste. They flew aloft, and soon handed the top-gallant-sails, and took two reefs in the topsails. Relieved of the vast weight which had been pressing on her, and almost driving her over, the schooner now flew much more easily over the seas, and with scarcely diminished speed.

We kept watching the corvette. She, of course, could carry sail on her main-mast, but it took some time to clear away the wreck of the fore-topmast, and to set up the fore-stay, which had been carried away. This it was necessary to do before sail could be set on the main-topmast. All this work occupied some time, and enabled the schooner to get far ahead. Night, too, was coming on. The weather promised to be very thick. The pirate’s chance of escape was very considerable. Our hearts sank within us as we saw the prospect of our prolonged captivity. Proportionably the pirates were elated as they felt sure of escaping. On we flew; the sails of the corvette grew darker and darker, till a thin small pyramid alone was seen rising against the sky in the far horizon. Mr McRitchie, who had joined us on deck, heaved a deep sigh. To him captivity was even more galling than to us. Darkness came on, and the corvette was lost to sight.

It was a terrific night. The wind increased, and the sea got up more than ever—the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed; and as the schooner went plunging away through the foaming ocean, often I thought that she was about to sink down and never to rise again. The dark, stern features of the pirates were lighted up now and again, as they stood at their posts, by the lightning as it played around us; but, strange to say, they appear to have far more dreaded the anger of their fellow-men than they did the fury of the elements. Now and then, perhaps, conscience whispered in the ears of some one not totally deaf to its influence, that his last hour was approaching and that he must soon stand in the presence of an offended God, whose laws he had long systematically outraged; but, generally speaking, the consciences of that reckless crew had long since been put to sleep, never to awake till summoned, when hope should have fled, at the sound of the last trump. On every side those countenances—bold, fierce, God-defying—broke forth on me out of the darkness as the bright lightning gleamed across them. Each individual face of the dreadful picture is indelibly impressed on my memory. At length the doctor went to his berth, and Jerry and I followed him to the cabin and crept into ours—wet, hungry, and sorrowful. We slept—we had been so excited all day that we could not help that from very weariness; but my dreams, I know, were strangely troubled.

At last I awoke, and found that it was daylight. I sprang up, calling Jerry, and we went on deck to learn what had become of the corvette. She was nowhere to be seen. The wind had gone down very much, but it was still blowing fresh, and a heavy sea was running. The sky, however, was blue and clear, and the waters sparkled brightly as the beams of the rising sun glanced over them. The schooner had escaped all damage in the gale. Our spirits rose somewhat with the pure fresh air of morning, and very well pleased were we to devour a good breakfast, when our friend the black cook placed it before us on deck, in a couple of large basins, with heavy silver spoons to feed ourselves.

All day we were looking out in expectation of seeing the corvette again. Hour after hour passed, but she did not appear.

“She will not find us again, Jerry,” said I. “I wonder what the pirates will do with us?”

“Turn us into pirates somehow or other, I am afraid,” answered Jerry. “If we don’t pretend to be satisfied with our lot, perhaps they will get tired of us and will cut our throats, or throw us overboard, just to be rid of us.”

“That cannot, perhaps, he helped,” I replied. “But Jerry, I say, do not for a moment ever think of turning pirate, even if it were to save your life. Do right, whatever comes of it, is what Cousin Silas has often said to us—remember.”

“I was not quite serious,” answered Jerry. “But still, it we did, we should have a better chance of getting away.”

“That is the very thing that we should not do,” I replied. “Never do what is wrong that good may come of it. The pirates are not likely to ask us to join them; but if they do, all we have to say is that we would rather not. We need not go into the heroics about it, and show a vast amount of virtuous indignation, but just quietly and civilly refuse, and stick to it. Don’t fancy that we shall get away faster by doing what is wrong. As I said, let us do what is right, and trust all the rest to Providence.”

“I see of course you are right, Harry. I’ll try and heartily agree with you; but just now I was considering how we might deceive the pirates by pretending to join them, and I thought that I had got a first-rate plan in my head. But, Harry, from what you have been saying, I now understand that I was wrong.”

We took two or three turns on deck.

“I say, Harry,” exclaimed Jerry, suddenly, “I wonder what has become of the Dove?” So interested had we been with what concerned ourselves especially, that we had not till that moment thought about her.

“If she did not go to the bottom during the gale yesterday, perhaps the corvette got hold of her,” said I. “If the corvette did catch her, the people in charge of her are very likely to get their heads into a noose, for they will be puzzled to explain in a satisfactory way how she came into their possession.”

Captain Bruno seemed to care very little for the loss of the people in the little schooner. He swore and grumbled somewhat under the idea that she might have fallen into the power of the corvette, and seemed rather to wish that she might have gone to the bottom. However, as she was a capital sea-boat, it was possible she might have weathered the gale, in which case Jerry and I concluded that she would find her way to some rendezvous or other with the pirate. We hoped she might, for vague ideas ran through our minds that she might by some means or other enable us to make our escape from our captors. We could not tell how, but we thought that perhaps we might some night get on board her in some harbour, when the large schooner was refitting, and run off with her. Very slender hopes serve to buoy up people in circumstances like ours.

Three or four days passed away, and the pirates became pretty confident that the man-of-war was not likely again to fall in with them. As Jerry and I passed the compass, we carelessly cast a glance at it, and found that we were still steering a course to the southward. The pirates were now constantly on the alert. It was evident that they were on the watch for some vessel or some island. We considered that they were looking for a vessel, from the various directions in which they were looking out—north, south, east, and west; and sometimes we lay hove-to for hours together.

“I say, Harry, would it not be a joke if they were to fall in with the corvette again?” observed Jerry, when no one was near. “The Americans would not let us escape quite so easily as before.”

“The pirates will be too wary for that,” I answered. “But look! there is something in sight from the mast-head. There is ‘up helm.’ Away we go in chase of her, whatever she may be.”

There was a strong breeze from the north-west. Our course was about south-east. Mr McRitchie joined us in our walk on deck. He looked more grave and sad even than before. He had heard, we concluded, that the pirates were about to commit some fresh act of atrocity. They expected some fighting, at all events, we soon discovered; for the magazine was opened, powder and shot were got up, and all hands were busily employed in overhauling their arms, giving them an additional cleaning, and loading their pistols.

We did not venture aloft, but we looked out eagerly ahead to discover the vessel of which it was clear the pirates were in chase. First royals, then top-gallant-sails, and topsails slowly rose above the horizon. At last her courses appeared, and we could see the whole of her hull. She was a large barque, and there could be little doubt that the pirates were right in supposing her to be a merchantman. We had just done breakfast when she was first seen; it was almost sunset by the time her hull was completely seen.

Our appearance did not seem to have created any alarm on board, for she stood on steadily in her course to the southward. We followed like a blood-hound chasing its prey. The pirates were in high glee; they recognised the vessel as one which had been unloading in San Francisco when they had been there, and they seemed to have no doubt, from the number of people who appeared to be on board, seen through their glasses, that her passengers were gold-diggers, returning to their distant homes with their hard-earned gains—some obtained, undoubtedly, by honest, laborious industry—others, perhaps, by the many lawless means to which people will resort when excited by the lust of getting money.

As darkness settled down on the ocean, we could just see the vessel ahead. We kept on in her wake. As we much outsailed her, we quickly stole up after her, till we could make out the dark figures of her crew, as they stood on her deck, wondering, probably, what we could be. Not a shot was fired—no words were exchanged between the two vessels. “Perhaps the large vessel is prepared for the strife,” I thought to myself. “If so, the pirates may again find that they have caught a tartar; still, it is strange that no one on board takes notice of us.” We were still following in the wake of the stranger, but rapidly overhauling her. Jerry and I remained on deck to see what would happen. We had got close up on her quarter. Our helm was put to port, and this placed us on a line which enabled us to run up alongside. Not till our bows were almost up to the stranger’s quarter did any one hail us.

“What are you? what do you want?” asked some one, in a tone of surprise.

“We’ll show you,” replied Captain Bruno.

“Oh! is that your game?” exclaimed a person on board the stranger. “We thought so;—fire!”

The order was obeyed, and several shot came crashing into the bows of the schooner. The pirates were not slow in returning the compliment. Their fury was speedily worked up to the highest pitch. They laboured away at the guns, shouting and uttering terrific oaths, more like demons than men. We quickly ranged up alongside, keeping a little further off than we probably should otherwise have done, in the hope of crippling our opponent before attempting to board. The stranger had evidently many more people on board than the pirates had expected. They fought their guns well, and bravely too; but the further off we got the less effect had they, showing that they were handled by men without practice; while the pirates, on the other hand, seldom missed their aim. Thus fiercely engaged—the roar of the guns and the shrieks and cries of the combatants breaking the silence of night, while the flashes lighted up the darkness and revealed the hideous scene—we ran on in the same course as at first. The effect of the pirates’ practice with their guns soon began to tell on the stranger; spar after spar was shot away, and her lofty canvas came dropping down in torn shreds on deck. The pirates shouted with satisfaction and triumph as each fresh shot told on their opponent. We consequently had to shorten sail to keep abreast of her. Still, her shot sometimes searched out a pirate as he laboured at his gun, and several lay writhing in agony on the deck, while the voices of others were silenced for ever. At last down came the fore-mast of the barque, followed by her main-topmast. She was completely in the power of the pirates, for the schooner could sail round and round her, while her crew were unable to fight their guns, overwhelmed as they were with the wreck of the masts. The pirates cheered ferociously, and, keeping away, crossed the bows of the barque and fired a broadside right into them. Shrieks and cries arose from the deck of the stranger, but still no signal was made that she had given in. On the contrary, as soon as she could get the guns on the port-side to bear, she began firing away again on us. We tacked, and once more stood towards her, so as to rake her as we passed under her stern. For a minute there was an entire cessation of firing; none of her guns could be brought to bear on us, and the pirates were reserving their fire to pour it into her with more deadly effect. Dim and indistinct, we could just make out her hull and shattered rigging amid the gloom; and the pirates, believing that she would quickly be in their power, were calculating on the rich booty which would soon be theirs, when bright flames darted up from the midst of her—a roar like the loudest thunder deafened our ears—up, up flew spars, and rigging, and human forms, and pieces of burning plank—illuminating the dark ocean far and wide around; while the fire, which burned brightly, lighted up the countenances of the pirates as they stood watching the catastrophe they had caused. Some gleamed with anger, others with disappointed avarice; some few looked horrified, and a few were pale with terror, lest the same fate were about to be theirs. No attempt was made to save any of those who, escaping from the burning wreck, might be struggling in the waves. Jerry and I fancied that we could hear some shrieks and cries for help, but they were soon silenced, as the waters closed over the heads of those who were struggling, but struggling in vain. Uttering a fierce oath, Captain Bruno stamped on the deck, to give vent to his disappointment, and then ordering the helm once more to be put up, stood away on his course to the southward. Such are pirates, such they have always been, in spite of the veil of romance which has been thrown over their misdeeds.

For some days the schooner stood on, happily meeting with no other vessel to plunder and destroy. We all the time were kept in anxious doubt as to what was to be our fate. We had another cause of anxiety, in observing that the crew were inclined to quarrel with each other. The cause of this we could not understand, but the fact was very evident. A party seemed to be formed against the captain, and it appeared to us that Silva was at the head of it. Of course this was only conjecture. He was certainly not on such good terms with the captain as he had been at first. He was not a man of a quarrelsome or ambitious disposition, and probably some of the rest of the crew put him forward as their chief, knowing that he would be the principal sufferer if their plans failed, and believing that they could easily get rid of him if at any time they found it convenient so to do. Now and then disputes arose to a high pitch. Knives would be drawn and pistols flashed. More than once matters were brought to extremities; wounds were given and received, and blood was spilt. It had the effect of cooling their tempers for a moment, but at the slightest provocation they again broke out.

One day two men were talking together, apparently on very good terms. One of them we saw pull a dice-box out of his pocket, with several gold and silver coins; the other likewise produced his money. They began to play—at first laughing in a friendly way at the various turns of their fortunes. Then the laughter ceased, and they grew more earnest and intent on the game. One looked very triumphant, as the gold lately owned by his antagonist began to swell his heap. At last the other had no money left. He produced a watch, a clasp-knife and several jewels, a golden crucifix (which he kissed before parting with), and a silver-mounted pistol. His teeth were firm set; his eyes began to roll. He played on. Again he lost; but he had nothing wherewith to pay. He turned his pockets inside out. The winner seemed still to be insisting on payment. A deadly pallor came over the countenance of the loser. He sprang to his feet; a sailor was passing, with a long knife stuck in his red sash; he snatched it from the man, and uttering an exclamation equivalent to “Have at you, then! take all I have to give!” plunged it up to the hilt in the body of the winner, who fell to the deck without a groan. The action brought all those on deck around him. “He insulted me,” he exclaimed; “he won all I had, and then asked for more.” The bystanders seemed to acquiesce in the justness and rightfulness of the action. They did not attempt to touch the murderer, but they lifted up the body of the man he had wounded. He was already quite dead. None of the officers attempted to interfere. The murderer searched in the pockets of his victim for the money and jewels, and counting out the coin, took possession of what had been his own. Again with blasphemous mockery he kissed the cross, evidently believing that he was doing a righteous action, and then sat down on a gun with folded arms, as if he had been an unconcerned spectator of the scene which was enacting. The rest of the dead man’s property the pirates distributed among themselves, and then lifting the body to the side of the vessel, without an expression of regret threw it into the sea.

The tragedy was over, but the countenance of the murdered man haunted us, while his murderer continued walking with an unconcerned look about the deck, as if his hands were perfectly innocent of blood.

“Jerry,” said I, “the sooner we are out of this, though even on a desert island, the better.”

“Oh yes, Harry; it is not safe to live with such wretches,” was the answer.

It would be better if men remembered at all times that it is not good to dwell with sinners.

Chapter Sixteen.

Our perilous voyage.

As we emerged from our cabin one morning, we found that the schooner was standing toward what appeared to be a fleet of vessels at anchor.

“Why, we shall soon be among a whole squadron of buccaneers!” exclaimed Jerry, in a tone of despair. “We shall be separated, Harry—turned into cabin boys, and never have a chance of escape. O dear! O dear! My poor father!—what will he do?”

“Why, Jerry, I am not quite so certain that those are vessels,” I remarked; “just observe them attentively. Hillo! they have disappeared! Stay, we shall soon rise to the top of the swell again. There they are! They are as steady as church steeples. Those are not the masts of vessels. They are cocoa-nut and palm-trees, depend on that. They are growing on one of those coral islands which abound in these latitudes. Watch again. On we go.” (Here I caught sight of the glittering, white, sandy beach.) “How the surf breaks on the reef outside it! How bright and clear it appears, rising out of the deep ocean! How green the ground looks under those tall trees, and how intensely blue the lagoon in the centre! It is a lovely-looking spot—quite a fairy land. I hope that we shall be put on shore there, though I would rather have a few hills and valleys to diversify the scene, if we are to remain there long.”

While we were talking we were rapidly approaching the coral island. The doctor joined us, and was watching it also. The schooner stood on, and we thought she was going to pass it. The doctor, though not less anxious to leave the vessel than we were, did not appear to agree with our wish to be set on shore there. “It is dreadfully hot there, without shelter from sun or wind. There is also but little variety of food; and green as the ground looks from hence, we should find nothing to be compared to a green lawn when once we set foot on it,” he remarked. Still Jerry and I were ready enough to run the risk, hoping that, at all events, we might soon find the means of getting away. When, however, we had abandoned all hopes of landing there, the schooner was once more hauled up close to the wind. We found that she had stood on to clear a reef. She stood in under the lee of the land, and hove-to close to where an opening appeared in the reef.

Our hearts beat quick, for now we felt certain that something or other was going to happen, though nobody had said anything to us. It seemed strange that we could have lived so long surrounded by our fellow-creatures, and yet so entirely alone. A boat was lowered. A cask of bread, and another of salted meat, and some hatchets, and a few old sails, and, indeed, more things than I can here enumerate, were put into her. The doctor was summoned into the captain’s cabin. He remained a short time, and when he re-appeared he looked happier than he had done for many days. Jerry and I were then ordered into the boat; the doctor, to our great satisfaction, followed. Old Surley, as may be supposed, would not consent willingly to be left behind, and, watching his opportunity, he sprang in after us, and, as if he thought he might be carried back again if perceived, immediately hid himself under the seats between our legs. We were delighted to have the old fellow, and trembled lest the pirates, among some of whom he was a favourite, might insist on keeping him. It was with great satisfaction, therefore, that we found the boat shoved off from the schooner’s side.

Four of the pirates formed the crew of the boat, and taking the oars, they pulled towards the shore. We did not leave the pirate ship with any regret, though few people would desire to be landed on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific. Tom Congo, the black cook, was the only person who wished us good-bye. He was evidently sorry to lose us. We had no means of showing our gratitude to him, except by a few hurried words. We saw his good-natured black visage grinning at us over the bulwarks, as we left the vessel’s side. Suddenly he started back. There was some violent disturbance on deck. Shouts, and cries, and pistol-shots were heard. The outbreak we had anticipated was taking place. There was a mutiny. Some of the crew had risen against the captain; there could be no doubt about that. Some of the men in the boat wanted to go back to join in the fray, but an old man among them shook his head and said, “No! Let the fools fight it out. When we go back we shall know which side to join.” The rest saw the worldly wisdom of the advice, and calming down their eagerness, they pulled on to the shore.

We quickly passed through the reef, and the boat grounded on the beach, which we found was composed of broken corals and shells, and rose some ten feet out of the water. Had it not been for the disturbance on board, the boat would probably have returned as soon as the stores intended for our use had been landed; but, as an excuse for remaining, the crew offered to carry them up to any place we might select under the trees where to pitch a tent. We selected one to leeward of a heap of coral, where, several trees also growing close together, some shelter might be obtained. Near it was a pure spring of water bubbling up through the hard rock, and flowing into a basin some five feet in diameter, but of its depth we could not judge. The water was so clear that, as we looked into it, it appeared but a shallow pool. Jerry, being very thirsty, stooped down to drink from it, and, baring his arm, intended to rest his hand at the bottom to support himself while he stooped over. Down he went on his knees, but he got more water than he had bargained for. Suddenly over head and heels he went, and was floundering about in the pool, which must have been nearly three feet deep. Sad as was our condition, the doctor and I could not help laughing heartily at his surprised countenance as he popped his head up again after his summerset, and we assisted to haul him out. Even the saturnine pirates joined in the laugh. As the sun was very hot, his clothes quickly again dried, and he was in no way the worse for his ducking.

Surley had not mended matters by jumping into the pool and swimming about in its cool waters. As soon as he was out, off he set scampering about the island, scaring the wild-fowl, whisking his tail, and barking with delight at finding himself free after his long imprisonment on board ship. I felt very much inclined to follow his example, and to run about after him shouting at the top of my voice. I restrained myself, however, as the state of affairs was too serious to allow me to indulge in any such exuberance of spirits.

We thanked the pirates, with as good a grace as we could command, for helping us to carry up the stores. “Oh, no need of thanks, mates,” was the answer. “You won’t find it very pleasant here, perhaps; but there’s many an honest fellow worse off than you are, and there are not many who come aboard us who get away as well as you have done.”

We had too much reason to believe this assertion true to hazard a reply. Perhaps Jerry’s tumble into the water had put them in good-humour; but whatever was the cause, they seemed inclined to help us, and volunteered to assist in cutting down some trees to build our hut, which the canvas would make tolerably comfortable. While so employed, however, they kept looking up constantly towards the schooner.

“I say, Tom, don’t you think that there is a chance of her making sail, and leaving us here?” observed one of them to the old pirate Tom Roguish.

“No fear of that, mate,” answered old Tom, shaking his head. “They know our value too well to do that. I’ve watched what has been going on for some time, and it’s my belief Silva’s party will find that they have made a mistake. The captain has been too wide awake to be taken by surprise, depend on that.”

“Hillo! what are they about now?” exclaimed another of the men. The schooner, which had stood still closer in towards the shore, had lowered another boat, at the same time firing a gun as a signal to recall the one which had brought us. We all ran down as fast as we could to the spot nearest to her, and we could see that several persons were being lowered into the boat.

“Well, good-bye, mates; a pleasant residence to you,” exclaimed old Tom, insisting on shaking hands with us; and then he and his companions stepped into the boat and shoved off from the shore. We were not sorry, however, to see their no very pleasant visages grow less and less distinct, till they were lost in the distance. They stopped rowing as they passed the other boat, and exchanging a few words, again pulled on. We anxiously watched the approach of the other boat, to ascertain what it contained. One of the chief mates was steering. Silva, also, to our surprise, was in the boat. His head was bent down, and, from his attitude, it appeared as if his hands were lashed behind him. But there were two other people. We looked, and looked again. “Why,” exclaimed Jerry, in a joyful tone, “it’s Mr Brand, and no other than Ben Yool! How fortunate! Now we shall go all right.” I at the same time, with no less surprise and satisfaction, recognised my kind cousin and old Ben. Mr McRitchie did not appear to be as surprised as we were. He all the time, we found, had known that they were on board, but had been directed not to mention it to us. He told us that, as far as he could make out, Silva had been the means of saving the lives of Cousin Silas and Ben, as he had saved ours, but that the pirates had kept them below, that they might not discover whereabout they were landed; and, for the same reason, had prevented them communicating with us. Silva had another reason also for consenting to this arrangement, for he was afraid that their appearance might excite the anger of the pirates, and that they might perhaps throw us all overboard together. Indeed, it was owing to a happy combination of circumstances that our lives had been spared by that gang of bloodthirsty and cruel desperadoes. Even now, we were not quite certain that they might not take it into their heads to shoot us all, and we longed to see them making sail and clear away. The provisions, however, they had left with us, showed that the intentions of some of them had been kinder than the conduct of the crew in general would have led us to expect.

The second boat now reached the beach. Silva was assisted out, apparently suffering much pain, and then Cousin Silas and Ben followed with their limbs at liberty. We ran forward to welcome them, which we did most warmly, while they seemed very well pleased to meet us. Poor Silva was left, wounded as he was, standing on the beach. Some more casks and several other things were landed from the boat, and then the crew, without addressing a word to any of us, shoved off as fast as they could, and pulled back to the schooner.

As soon as the pirates were gone, we went up to Silva and asked him what had occurred. His rage and indignation, added to the pain he was suffering, almost prevented him from speaking. “Partly because I did not like to see so much blood shed, and partly because the captain was jealous of me, he had, I discovered, resolved to get rid of me,” he replied, stamping on the ground. “I, however, was always on my guard. Many of the people liked me and trusted me, and I got information of all he intended to do. He, however, it seems, had his spies, who got into the confidence of some of my people, and the captain saw that we were very likely to become the strongest party. Some of his allies took the occasion of your being put on shore to accuse me of having favoured you for my own ends. Words quickly led to blows. My friends rallied round me, but some of those I could best trust were sent away in the boat with you. The captain’s party made a rush forward, and, wounded and bleeding, I was seized. They would have killed me at once, but my friends declared that if I was hurt they would blow up the vessel and all hands together. I doubt if they would have kept their word. However, the captain agreed to spare my life, and to put me on shore with you, if they would not create any further disturbance. This they very quickly agreed to, the cowards, and so, here am I, lately as free and independent as any of them, left to share the fate of those whose lives they considered it a great favour to have spared.”

“Well, Silva, we will try and make you as comfortable as we can,” said Cousin Silas, taking his arm. “We have a doctor to tend you, which you would not have had on board; and as we feel fully that through your influence our lives have been preserved, we will do our best to show our gratitude.” Cousin Silas said this as we were showing the path up to the spot where we had commenced our hut.

In one corner we quickly made a bed of leaves and dry grass. Over this we spread a piece of canvas, and thus constructed a very good bed, on which we placed Silva. Dr McRitchie having examined his wounds, washed them and bound them up; but he observed that he considered his case somewhat serious. As soon as this was done, we set to work to cut down some more trees, so as to increase the dimensions of our habitation. We were employed for two entire days in building our hut, for we agreed that, as we might have to remain a considerable time on the island, and as probably heavy gales might at times prevail, it would be wise to construct a habitation which could not easily be blown down. To do this, to every upright post we put another at a considerable angle, and then secured our canvas tightly down to it. We also beat heavy lumps of coral tight down round the thick ends of the posts, so that it was scarcely possible for the wind to drag them out of their holes. We had been considerately supplied by Silva with a saw, and hammer, and nails, and other carpenter’s tools; and he now most unexpectedly benefited by his kindness to us, as we were able to put a comfortable shelter over his head much more rapidly than we could otherwise have done. I need scarcely say that Cousin Silas took the lead in everything. Indeed, I suspect, without him we should have managed but badly. Whenever our spirits flagged, he restored them by his resignation and cheerfulness; and he reminded us that although we might think our fate a hard one, we should be most thankful that we had escaped with our lives from the hands of such bloodthirsty miscreants as Bruno and his associates.

So busy were we at first, that it was some time before we had an opportunity of inquiring how it was that the pirates had not murdered him and Ben, when they pulled alongside the schooner. “I believe that they were so astonished at seeing two strangers on their deck, not knowing where we had come from, that it did not occur to them to heave us overboard again. This gave time to Silva, who at once recognised us, to form a scheme for saving our lives. Going up to us, he welcomed us as old comrades, hinting that we had some mysterious powers which enabled us to go about over the ocean wherever we liked, seated on our cloaks, or in cocoa-nut shells for aught I know. The pirates on hearing this, received us in a very friendly way, and all of them swore that no harm should happen to us. However, when we were required to take the oaths of the fraternity, and steadily refused, some of them began to suspect that Silva had been deceiving them. Our punt alongside showed that at all events we had not come on board on our cloaks. However, as they had sworn no harm should come to us, they kept their word, with the intention of landing us, as they have done, on this or some other uninhabited island. After Silva had lost his authority, I suspect that our treatment would have been very different to what we found it at first.”

“Well, Mr Brand, we are so very glad that you and Ben have escaped. What should we have done without you?” exclaimed Jerry.

I could do no more than take his hand and wring it warmly.

“Now, tell us, what do you think we ought to do next?” added Jerry.

“Make ourselves as happy as we can, and collect everything which will serve us as food, in case we have to make a long sojourn here, which it is, I think, very probable we shall have to do,” replied Mr Brand. “A ship may come off here in a few days or weeks, but we must remember that perhaps months or years may pass before one is seen. I cannot say whereabouts we are, but I suspect that the pirates would not have left us in the usual track of vessels coming north round Cape Horn, or going east or west. The next thing we have to do is to strip the branches off the tallest palm on the island, and make it serve as a flag-staff. We’ll then make as large a flag as we can of our handkerchiefs and shirts, and any stuff which will be light enough to fly well.”

We very soon carried out this project, and all of us working away to join our handkerchiefs, we had by the next afternoon a big flag flying from what we called our mast-head.

“Why, we shall turn into regular Robinson Crusoes, if we stay here as long as you were saying we might have to do, Mr Brand,” observed Jerry, as we were working away at our flag-staff. “I cannot say, however, that I like the look of this island as much as I did that of Juan Fernandez. If we had our choice, we would rather be there, I should think.”

“Very likely; but as you see, Jerry, we have not our choice, we must make up our minds to be content where we are,” answered Mr Brand cheerfully. “Probably, if we were at Juan Fernandez, supposing it still uninhabited, we should be wishing to be on the mainland. Let us strive, therefore, wherever we are, or whatever happens to us, to be content. Depend on it, we were not placed here by our merciful and all-loving Maker without an object, though we may never discover it. I do not for a moment mean to say that we are to sit down idly and not to endeavour to improve our condition. We are sent into this world to struggle—that we may in a variety of ways be tried—that all our trials may tend to our improvement. What I wish to impress on you, my lads, is, that we should be contented in every condition in which we are placed; we should be thankful for every step we gain, while our chief aim in life is our religious and moral improvement. But remember, above all things, that we must always look beyond this world. This is not our abiding-place—this is not even our resting-place—there is no rest here. If we only strive for something in this world—however noble, however great the position—we shall altogether fall short, very short of the aim, the object of life.”

Mr Brand warmed with his subject, and much more he said of a similar nature, which I will not now repeat. Jerry and I listened very attentively, and old Ben Yool tried also to take in what he was saying. I think he succeeded, and, certainly, on all occasions after that he bore without a grumble all the hardships to which we were exposed. Poor Silva lay on his bed all this time, suffering much from his wounds, while Mr McRitchie, when he could leave his side, went off with his gun to explore the island, and to search for specimens of its natural history. There was, however, a good deal to be done before we could accompany him. First, we had to finish our house, and then to store within it all the provisions and articles which the pirates had left with us. The doctor had kept his gun, and we had ours, which had been brought from the Dove, given to us as we left the schooner. These fire-arms would have been of no use to us, had not Silva given us a keg of powder and a bag of shot. These treasures we resolved to husband with great care, as we knew that we might be placed in positions in which our very existence would depend on our having the means of killing game, or of defending ourselves against enemies.

“Before we do anything else, we should take an inventory of all we have,” answered Mr Brand. “We must calculate how long our provisions will hold out, in the first place, and not imitate the example of many savages, who eat up all they have got, and then starve.”

This advice was followed. We found that we had provisions for four or five months; but we hoped to make them last a much longer time, if necessary, by eating the birds which swarmed on the island. There were cocoa-nuts and some other fruits, and we hoped also to catch an abundance of fish, which are generally to be found about the reefs surrounding coral islands in the Pacific. Our labours being concluded, we all sat down together on the beach below our habitation, to talk over our prospects. Happy, indeed, was it for us all, that we had a man like Cousin Silas among us, to give us his advice, and to set an example of patience and hope, and faith in God’s merciful providence, and a cheerfulness which nothing could overcloud. Really, after talking with him for some time, I often felt that our lot was rather to be envied than dreaded, and that we were only doomed to undergo a somewhat prolonged picnic. This example and conversation had ultimately a great influence with the doctor, who had been inclined to repine and to become morose, looking with gloomy apprehension as to the future.

A week passed by, and we found ourselves perfectly settled in our new home. Silva was gaining strength and his wounds were healing, and we were all in excellent health. The doctor also had almost recovered his spirits. We began now to take a more extended survey of our island. We calculated that it was from ten to fifteen miles from one end to the other, or rather right across; and as it was nearly circular, with a large lagoon in the centre, we had to walk from thirty to forty miles to go round it. It was about a mile across in most places. The beach was formed of broken coral and shells, while the upper portion of the land consisted of the débris of coral, the dung of birds, and vegetable earth. Out of this composition grew tall cocoa-nut trees, and palms, and pandanus trees, besides a variety of shrubs.

The birds had been partially driven away from the spot where we landed and had been working, but we found them in prodigious numbers a little way on. Cousin Silas insisted on our tying up old Surley, to prevent the unnecessary destruction which he dealt among them. Before committing any great slaughter among them, Cousin Silas advised us to kill only a few of each description, to ascertain which were the most palatable for present consumption, and which were likely to preserve best for future store. Sitting on nests roughly constructed of sticks among the shrubs, were a number of frigate birds (the Tachypetes Aquila). He is a magnificent fellow, allied in some respect to the cormorant, but with shorter legs, and having a forked tail. His plumage is a rich empurpled black, and the beak, both mandibles of which are curved at the tips, is red. His wings are of immense length, and his power of flight is wonderful. He can fish perfectly well for himself, but he is a most irreclaimable pirate, and likes to watch till other birds have seized their prey, and then he drops down upon them and carries it away. Sailors also call them men-of-war birds, but I think they ought to be called pirates. We looked into their nests, and found only one egg in each.

While sitting down taking our luncheon, we observed a snake crawling along out of the grass, and wriggling his way towards the sea. For what he went there I do not know. He had better have kept away. Just as he got below high-water mark, out darted from the crevice of a rock a huge crab, and seized him by the nape of the neck. The snake wriggled, and twisted, and tried to free himself in vain. Mr Crab held tight hold of him, and seemed resolved to eat him up. Poor Snakie tried to get his tail round a bit of rock, to keep himself out of the water; but Crabie pulled and hauled, and, in spite of all resistance, got him down to the very edge of the water, knowing that when once under it his struggles would very soon cease. Crabs have, however, to learn the lesson that there is many a slip between the catch and the feast. A frigate bird had from afar espied the combat, and, flying like a flash of lightning, downward he darted and seized the snake by the back. The voracious crab held on, not liking to lose his prey, till he found himself borne upwards from the ground, and in unpleasant propinquity to the frigate bird’s sharp beak. He must have felt that if he did not let go at once, he would be dashed to pieces; still, as a miser clutches his bags of gold, did Mr Crab the snake. Fortunately for him, the frigate bird had flown seaward, so that when he did let go, he fell into the water, and, probably, however his temper might have suffered, he was not much the worse for the ducking. Had he fallen on the rock, he would inevitably have had his shell broken, and would himself have become the prey of the pirate.

There were also sooty terns and gannets. It was interesting to watch the careful way in which the latter guarded their eggs, placed in holes on the ground. Wishing to make their offspring hardy, they do not build nests for them, I suppose; or, perhaps, the warmth of the rock assists the process of incubation.

There were probably a greater number of tropic birds than of any others. They would not got out of our way as we walked along, allowing us to shove them over rather than move. We literally also took their eggs from under them, without their attempting to make any defence. This apathy, as we called it, we thought arose from stupidity, but the doctor examined one of them, and showed us how weak its legs were, while its feet were adapted only for swimming. Its wings, however, were very long and powerful. Therefore, had it been up in the air, or skimming along over the summit of the waves, it would probably have acted in a very different way. “Never judge of people till you know the sphere of life in which they have been accustomed to move,” remarked the doctor. “A really sensible, clever man, may appear very stupid and dull, just as these poor birds do, simply because he is out of his element.”

The tropic bird is a species of gull, about the size of a partridge. It has a red bill and legs. The feathers are white, tipped with black, and the back is variegated with curved lines of black. The tail consists of two long, straight, narrow feathers, almost of equal breadth during their whole length. Their flight is most graceful—they glide along with scarcely any perceptible motion of the wing. They return every night to roost on land. They live entirely on fish. The natives of the South Sea Islands ornament their persons with their feathers. We saw a number of snakes, but none of them attempted to bite us; and the doctor said from their appearance that he did not believe them to be of a venomous character. Whenever we went near the water among the rocks, we saw large fish darting about, of every colour and shape; huge, long eels gliding in and out between the rocks, and fierce, voracious sharks pursuing their prey.

There were a great variety of molluscs; indeed, the whole shore was composed of shells. We naturally thought that the shells were empty; but as we watched them, thousands of them began to move, each tenanted by a soldier-crab, and a whole army of them slowly advanced out of the sea and marched across the land, devouring all the insects they encountered in their progress. Now and then two of them would stop and have a fight over a beetle or a spider, when perhaps a third would step up and carry off the cause of dispute. We found the spiders’ webs stretching in every direction between the bushes. The spiders themselves were great, ugly, black fellows, very disagreeable to look at, and still more unpleasant when we found them crawling over our faces.

I wish that I could describe the variety of shrubs we found on the island. Many were evergreens. One, which the doctor called the suriana, emitted a peculiarly strong, though not unpleasant odour. We used to be very glad, when the rays of the sun came down fiercely on our heads, to take shelter under these trees, and to rest during our long journeys from one end of our dominion to the other.

We in a short time were acquainted with nearly every portion of the island. Our habitation was about ten miles from the entrance to the lagoon, so that in one direction we were able to travel twenty miles, when we arrived at the termination of that part of the circle; and by going the other way, ten miles brought us to the end of the other. The passage into the lagoon was probably the eighth of a mile broad.

One day Jerry and I set off, he taking the shorter distance and I the long way, that we might have the pleasure of looking at each other across the passage. I do not know that we had any better reason. Accompanied by old Surley, I set off by daybreak, as over such rough ground it was difficult to make good more than two miles an hour. It was therefore the evening when I got there. I looked eagerly across the channel. There stood Jerry, shouting and beckoning to me. I shouted to him, and made all sorts of signals expressive of my delight at seeing him.

After we had played these sorts of antics for some time, I began to consider that it would be rather tiresome to have to walk all the way back by myself, and that either I must go across to Jerry, or get him to come over to me. I was the best swimmer, so I resolved to go over to him. I made signs that I would do so, and he signified that he was very glad to hear it. Old Surley seemed as pleased as I was at seeing Jerry, and leaped and bounded about, barking every now and then, after his own fashion, to show his satisfaction. Two or three times he ran down to the water, as if he intended to plunge in and to swim across; and each time he came back whining and looking up in my face, as if he had thought it would be wiser not to venture in. I had good reason afterwards to admire the instinct which prompted him to refrain from doing what he evidently wished to do.

I had my gun with me, as well as some provisions, which, of course, I did not wish to wet; and so I had to consider how I could get them over dry. A raft was the only means, but I reflected that it might prove somewhat difficult to tow. Still, I did not like to be beat, so I made signs to Jerry what I was going to do. With a hatchet which I carried in my belt, and with which I had provided myself to make an arbour for the night, I soon cut down wood enough to form a raft which would carry all my things, including my clothes; and I had a line in my pocket strong enough to tow it along.

All was ready; I launched my raft, and was loading it with my property, when my eye caught sight of a shoal of fish darting up through the passage, followed by a black, triangular fin, which I quickly recognised as that of a huge shark. I saw the horrid monster overtake and gobble up some of the fugitives, and then quietly come back, as it appeared, to swim sentry at the entrance of the lagoon. Perhaps he knew that the fish would make an attempt to get out again the same way. Be that as it may, I felt no inclination to encounter the gentleman.

When Jerry at length discovered the cause of my hesitation, he made signs entreating me to go back rather than to endeavour to cross, as I proposed. Still, I did not like to be driven back, even by a shark. I made signs that I would make a raft for myself. There were plenty of materials, the work would not take long, and it would be a triumph to have overcome a difficulty. I thought the idea a very bright one; so I at once set to work to build a raft large enough to carry me across the channel. Jerry tried to make me understand something or other; but I was so absorbed with my own idea and the work on which I was engaged, that I could not make out the meaning he wished to convey. While I was working, old Surley looked on very attentively, as if he wanted to help me, and fully understood what I was about.

I had built the raft close down to the water; but even so, I had considerable difficulty in getting it afloat. I succeeded, however, in so doing at last, by means of a long piece of wood, which served me as a handspike. Just as I was going to step on it, I fortunately saw the branch of a tree floating by out to sea, at a rate which showed me that I might very possibly be carried away by the current before I could get across. I therefore converted my neckcloth and pocket-handkerchief into a tow-rope, and towed the raft inside the lagoon. I had made myself two strong paddles—one to serve in case the other should break. At last I reached a point where I thought I might embark with safety. Surley, who had before hesitated, now came and placed himself by me. I had put on my shirt again, but the rest of my things were on the small raft. I gave my raft a desperate shove, and away I went, paddling as hard as I could up the lagoon.

I thought that I had gone far enough, and was in a hurry to get across, so I began to direct my course athwart the current. At first I made great progress, and laughed and shouted at the idea of thus easily accomplishing my undertaking. When, however, I turned my head over my shoulder, I found to my dismay that I had not got so far from the shore whence I started as I had fancied, while I was still a long way from that on which Jerry stood, eager to welcome me. I plied my paddle with all my might; but I appeared to make very little progress, and the current was evidently carrying me rapidly down the passage. I looked seaward: I had ample cause for anxiety, if not for dismay. A long line of huge breakers was rolling in on an outer reef, while the passage between them was so narrow that I scarcely hoped that the raft could be carried through it; and if it was, where was I to go? Out to sea, to be starved to death! If, on the other hand, I was thrown among the breakers, I felt certain that I should soon become the prey of the hungry shark I had just seen swimming after the shoal of fish. These reflections gave strength to my arm, and made me paddle away even faster than before.

Jerry full well understood my clanger, and I saw him wringing his hands in his anxiety; yet he saw that he could do nothing to help me. I felt that I had been very foolish; and the poignancy of my regret was heightened when I remembered that I had placed myself in my present predicament without any necessity or an adequate object. I had little time, I own, to indulge in such reflections, for all my thoughts and feelings were soon engrossed with the danger which immediately threatened me. Jerry ran along the shore as I was carried by, in vain stretching out his arms as if he would help me. Old Surley sat still, only now and then uttering a low whine, as if well aware of our peril, but feeling that he was unable to render me aid. Now and then he looked into the water, as if he would like to swim ashore, which he might possibly have done; but then, perhaps, he remembered the shark he had seen, or he was unwilling to desert me. I truly believe that it was the latter cause made him remain so quiet by my side. I am certain, from the expression of his countenance and the turn of his head, that he was fully aware of our danger.

I paddled and paddled away with all my might, all the time facing the shore, and getting nearer to it, but at the same time gliding down seaward. I was about a hundred yards from the shore. I looked towards the angry breakers, and was not more than twice that distance from the mouth of the channel. In a small boat there would have been no danger, but I found my raft a very heavy thing to move. I put still greater force into my strokes. My paddle snapped in two. Jerry uttered a cry of despair, for he thought I must now inevitably be lost. I seized the spare paddle, and flourishing it above my head, began to ply it as I had done the first. I made some progress, but not sufficient, I feared, to attain my object. I was approaching the last point. Jerry ran out to the end of it, and rushed into the water up to his arm-pits, hoping to stop the raft. I shouted to him to go back; for at that moment I saw close to me the fin of a monster shark. The savage fish darted on towards him, and he was barely in time to escape his ravenous jaws by springing into shallow water. Had he caught hold of the raft, I saw that he would be lifted off his legs, and carried away with me. Still I hoped to get within his reach where he stood. But vain was the wish: I drifted past the point. What hope had I now of being preserved? I felt inclined to throw away my paddle, and to give myself up to despair. But I aroused myself. I bethought me how Cousin Silas would have behaved under similar circumstances. I prayed for strength and courage to Him who is alone able to give them to those in deep distress. He heard me, or I should not be alive to tell my tale. Again I seized my paddle, and plied it with all my might. Still I drifted towards the roaring breakers. I vividly pictured the horrid fate which awaited me. I scarcely dared look seaward. I kept my eye on the shore, paddling without intermission. Suddenly I felt the raft arrested in its progress towards the breakers. It was partly whirled round, and I found it gliding parallel with the shore. This encouraged me; hope once more revived. I directed the raft towards the shore. I saw Jerry waving his hands with joy; he was answered by a cheerful bark from Surley. I got nearer and nearer. Oh, how thankful I felt when I found the blade of my paddle grasped by Jerry, and was towed by him safely to the shore! Old Surley sprang off on to dry ground, and began leaping up and licking Jerry’s cheeks and hands, to show his gratitude. Jerry and I hauled up the raft, with its little tender, and landed my things; and then, overcome with fatigue and the revulsion of feeling which I experienced, I fainted. I very soon, however, recovered, and kneeling down, joined by Jerry, I returned my heartfelt thanks to Him whose arm I knew most certainly had saved me. Afterwards I dressed; and sitting down, we made a supper from some of the provisions we had brought with us.

We had lost so much time that it was impossible to get back to our companions that night; so we set to work to prepare a hut and bed for ourselves before we were overtaken by the darkness, which comes on so rapidly in those latitudes. We were not long in constructing a bower and in raising a platform, under and on which we might sleep secure from the attacks of the snakes and other crawling things which abounded; but night came down on us before our work was quite completed. However, free from all fear of savages or wild beasts, we lay down, and were soon asleep.

Chapter Seventeen.

Our residence on the Island.

Our journey back appeared very long, for I was weak and tired, and from the exertion I had undergone, every muscle in my body ached. We met Cousin Silas coming to look for us; for he had become anxious at not seeing Jerry return at all events, and feared something might have happened to us. Ben Yool had set off in the other direction to search for me. Therefore, instead of gaining a great deal of credit, as we expected, by the feat we had accomplished, we found that we had caused our friends no little trouble and anxiety. It was a lesson to me ever afterwards not to attempt to perform any useless undertaking simply because it might be difficult or dangerous. Many people have lost their lives by such folly.

Silva had by this time completely recovered his health, but his spirits were very uncertain. Sometimes he would sit for hours brooding over his past life, and the treatment he had received from his companions; then he would start up and walk about the beach, waving his arms, and calling down imprecations on their heads. At other times he was very quiet and sociable, and would talk rationally on any subject under discussion.

The lagoon swarmed with fish; but though very beautiful in appearance, our difficulty was to catch them. We could manage to make some coarse lines out of some rope-yarns which had been thrown into the boat with the canvas; we could cut rods from the younger trees which grew around; and there were plenty of projecting masses of rock on which we might sit and angle; but a very important portion of our gear was wanting—we had no fishing-hooks.

“Has any one a file?” asked Silva. We all examined our knives. I had one in my knife-handle, but it was broken, and I had neglected to get the blacksmith to put a new one in its place. We hunted eagerly in our box of tools. Nothing like a file could we discover.

“What is this?” exclaimed Jerry, pulling out a bag of nails from the bottom of a cask. “Here is something larger than a nail inside.” It proved to be part of a file.

“There is enough here to file through an iron bar, if properly used,” said Silva, examining it. “Hand me the nails; I will see what I can do.” Seating himself under the shade of a cocoa-nut tree near the hut, he began working away most assiduously. With a pair of pincers he twisted the nail into the shape of a hook, and very soon filed, out a barb, and some notches in the shank with which to secure the line. In the course of two or three hours he had produced a dozen capital hooks. “Now we may go fishing,” said he. “We may catch as many fish as we can want, but we should be the better of a canoe.”

“Or a raft, eh, Harry? Should you like to try another cruise on one?” asked Jerry.

I shuddered at the thought of the danger from which I had been preserved. However, as we all felt that our health would benefit by some fish diet, we soon had our gear fitted, and all hands, including the doctor, might be seen perched, like so many cormorants, at the end of all the projecting points in the neighbourhood. Jerry and I were near each other; the rest of the party were pulling in fish pretty quickly; and we had caught several very beautiful-looking fellows—a species of rock-fish—when Jerry sang out that he had got a bite of some big fish, and called to me to help him. Leaving my own rod, I ran round towards him.

“Quick, quick, Harry!” he sung out, holding on by his rod with all his might. “I shall be in! I shall be in!”

Still he would not let go his stick. I sprang forward, and was just in time to seize him by the leg, when over he went splash into the sea. At the same instant I caught sight of the malign countenance of a huge shark, which had undoubtedly caught the fish he had at first hooked. I exerted all my strength to haul him in; for the monster, instead of being intimidated by the splash, made a dash forward for the purpose of grabbing him. I almost shrieked with horror as I beheld the savage fish; but Jerry had just time, as I drew him up by the legs, to put his hand on a point of coral, and to throw back his head, though the shark’s snout almost touched his nose as he did so.

“Not a pleasant fellow to get a kiss from,” exclaimed Jerry, as he scrambled up the rock and shook off the water from his clothes. Then he added, in a more serious tone, “Oh, Harry, what an ungrateful wretch I am to be joking at such a moment, before I have expressed my gratitude to God who has preserved me, or thanked you for coming to my assistance.”

While on the island we had had more time than usual for reflection, and had profited also by the example and exhortations of Cousin Silas, so that we were both happily becoming much more serious and thoughtful than heretofore. Indeed, I have learned that what we consider misfortunes, if seen in their proper light, may become the cause of the greatest blessings.

Ben Yool had seen the accident from a distance, and now came hurrying up to us. He was inclined to scold Jerry for the fright he had given him. I believe truly that the old man loved us as much as if we had been his own sons, and would have been miserable had any accident happened to either of us.

On examining the fish we had caught, we found that, although very beautiful in appearance, few of them were likely to prove palatable to the taste. Some, Silva thought, were altogether poisonous; and those we cooked had very little flavour.

“If we had but a canoe we might go off into deeper water, and then we might catch a greater variety, and many fish very fit for food,” he remarked, eyeing as he spoke several trees which, he said, would make good canoes. One or more canoes we accordingly resolved to have; so at once we set to work to cut down a couple of trees. That operation our axes quickly accomplished. It did not take us long to fashion the outside. To scoop out the inside was more difficult. Our axes did the rougher portion, and then we heated stones and bits of iron, and burned out the remainder, scraping off the black part with our knives. In about a week we had a couple of small canoes completed, with seats across, and with three paddles in each. Silva took charge of one, Cousin Silas of the other. The doctor and I went with him, while Ben and Jerry accompanied Silva.

With no little satisfaction we launched our fleet into the lagoon. Both canoes swam very well, and off we paddled with great delight across the lagoon. How bright and clear were its waters! It was almost impossible to estimate their depth, we could so completely see down to the bottom. After pulling some time, we rested on our oars. As we looked over the side, how beautiful was the sight which met our view! It was like a fairy land. Coral rocks of the most fantastic shapes sprung up around. Caverns, and arches, and columns, and pinnacles appeared. Gorgeous and varied were the hues. There were white, and blue, and yellow corallines. Among them grew marine vegetables of every description. Here the delicate sea-green stem of the fucas twisted round a rock; and near it the ocean fan expanded its broad leaves. Every point was occupied by some feathery tuft of lovely tints, while from each cleft projected the feelers of some sea-anemone or zoophyte. Among the heights of the submarine landscape moved thousands of living beings, to which the doctor gave some learned names which I do not pretend to remember. Some he called chetodons. They were flat and of an oval form, of a rich silvery hue, and had blue stripes downwards. They swam in a perpendicular position, with one long, slender fin from the back curving upwards, and another from the opposite side curving downwards. Several came and looked at us, as if to inquire why we had visited their domains. Others of still more curious forms and tints were darting in and out among the rocks; and there were huge lobsters, and crabs, and crayfish, of various sorts, poking their long antenna? out of gloomy caverns; and sea-urchins, and star-fish, and the bêche-de-mer, lay scattered about; while huge clams opened wide their broad valves to catch their unwary prey.

While we were all looking over the side, what had hitherto appeared to be a huge piece of rock began to move, and the piercing, savage eyes, and cruel jaws of a vast shark approached the canoe. I felt a shudder run through my frame as I saw the monster darting out of his ambush. “Give way!” cried Cousin Silas; “he means mischief.” The doctor and I plied our paddles. The brute made a dash at mine, and almost bit it in two. Away we went as fast as we could towards the shore, pursued by him. We shouted as loud as we could and splashed our oars about, to frighten him away; but he seemed in no way disposed to be alarmed. Silva, hearing our shouts, now came paddling toward us. Jack Shark, however, seemed resolved to play us a trick if he could. Swimming off to a short distance, he darted back, clearly with the intention of upsetting the canoe. Cousin Silas turned her away from him just in time, and giving the gentleman a smart blow over the snout, made him think better of his intention. Silva coming up at the same moment, so distracted his attention that we reached the shore without his succeeding in doing us any material damage.

Sharks are generally quickly frightened by splashing and a noise, and I had never seen any so bold and ferocious as those we met with about this island. In a little time we got accustomed to them, and often have I seen them gliding in and out among our lines, far down in the depths of the lagoon, though they did not prevent us from catching as many fish as we required. Sometimes, however, as we were hauling up a fish, a shark would catch hold of it and deprive us of our prize. We never went out without catching a large quantity, so we had always a good supply of fresh fish—the rest we preserved. We had two ways of doing this. Some we cut open and dried in the sun; others we salted. We made some salt-pans by blocking up the outlets in the rocks when the water ran off at high tide, and by scraping others in the sand. We thus had a supply of salt for all our wants. Mr McRitchie also found in his chest some papers containing a variety of vegetable seed. We accordingly scraped a spot clear for a vegetable garden, and it was surprising how quickly many of them sprang up and became fit for food. Thus I may say that we were furnished with many of the necessaries of life.

We were somewhat scantily supplied with kitchen utensils; our saucepan, or boiling-pot, especially, had seen much service. Silva showed us how we might boil our fish without it. He collected a quantity of very fine grass, and set to work to plait a large basket. So neatly did he put it together, that, after he had soaked it in water, he filled it up to the brim and not a drop ran out. Then he put the fish in; and lighting a fire, heated a number of large stones. These, as soon as they were hot, he kept putting into the basket. As soon as he supposed that all their caloric had left them, he hooked them out with a forked stick. In this way, by keeping the water boiling by a constant supply of hot stones, he thoroughly cooked the fish. I should think anything which does not require much boiling might be cooked in the same way.

Thanks to the example set us by Mr Brand, we were never idle. Of course a good deal of our time was occupied in procuring provisions, as is generally the case with those living in a savage state. We had not made any excursion to a distance for some time, when one day Jerry, Ben, and I, set out to take a long walk. After proceeding for about two hours, we saw before us a bay, with a wide sandy beach. Ben put his hand on our shoulders and pointed eagerly at the bay. The shore was covered with a number of black spots.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Turtle,” he answered; “won’t we have a fine feast of, them!”

We approached the bay carefully, following Ben’s footsteps. There must have been a hundred fine, large, green turtle, basking in the sun before us—enough to make the mouth of an alderman water. Ben crept up to the nearest, a fine fat fellow, and catching him by the flapper turned him over on his back, where he lay helplessly kicking, but unable to stir. Jerry and I, watching how he did it, turned over several more, though our united strength only enabled us to do it. We had got over a dozen or more when we came to a big fellow who was too heavy for us. We had got him almost over, when down he came again on his belly, and, very naturally, not appreciating the honour of being turned into turtle-soup, began scuttling away as hard as he could towards the sea. As may have been discovered, neither Jerry nor I were fellows who ever liked to give in; so we held on to the turtle with all our might, every now and then lifting up one side in the hope of getting him over, when, in spite of his strength, we should have made him ours. We shouted to Ben to come and help us; but he was busily employed in turning the other turtles, which, disturbed by our noise, were moving away towards the sea. Our friend had got actually into the sea, and we still clung on though we were up to our middles in water. We thought that by sticking to him we might now more easily get him over. We did succeed in lifting him up a little way, but he dealt us such severe blows with his flapper that over we both went, getting our mouths full of sand and water, and, of course, wet to the skin. Ben now saw that it was time to come to our aid, lest the turtle should actually swim away with us. He rushed into the water; but just then our friend struck out with both his paddles, and darting away, we fell back head over heels, nor were sorry when Ben helped us to regain terra firma, with our arms and legs not a little bruised with the blows we had received.

We had no time to think of our hurts. “Come along,” shouted Ben, “we must turn a few more before they all go away.” We had succeeded, we found, in capturing nearly thirty. Leaving the poor brutes on their backs—and very uncomfortable they must have found themselves—we hurried back to get the canoes, that we might convey some of them without delay to our home. We found that each canoe could only carry three at a time, so that we had to make five or six trips to get them up to the house. We inclosed a place in the shade, where we put them, and kept them well supplied with wet sea-weed, so that we had hopes they would be preserved in good condition for a long time.

Each time we visited the bay, we found it crowded with turtle. We discovered that they assembled there to deposit their eggs. This they do in holes which they dig out with their flappers in the sand. They cover them up again with the same instruments, and leave them to be hatched by the sun. We had not thought about this, when one day, as we were pulling across the bay in our canoe, we remarked the great number of sharks, and dog-fish, and sting-rays swimming about. Presently, as we got close in with the shore, we saw a number of young turtle crawling out of the sand and making their way to the sea, expecting, of course, to enjoy a pleasant swim; instead of which, a very large number of the poor little innocents must have been gobbled up by the voracious monsters. It would seem as if none could escape, but I suppose that some manage to run the gauntlet and to get clear off into deep water.

We had now a supply of turtle sufficient to last us till the return of their brethren the next year, should we be kept on the island so long. We thought that very probably we might have to remain even longer than a year. Even four or five years might pass without a ship coming near us.

We had made steps up to the top of our flag-staff, and one of us never failed to climb up there every morning, noon, and evening, to take a look round to see if any sail was in sight. Sometimes we talked of building a canoe in which we might cross to some other island, or perhaps even reach the mainland of South America. This was Silva’s proposal. He had seen, he asserted, birds flying in that direction. Some did not even stop on our island; and this circumstance convinced him, he said, that land could not be far-off. Mr Brand did not approve of this proposal. He said that, without a compass, and without knowing the direction in which land was to be found, the experiment was too hazardous, in so frail a bark as we had it in our power to construct. Still Silva constantly harped on this subject, and seemed quite angry when nobody seemed inclined to make the attempt.

Weeks and months rolled on. Silva used to listen to what Mr Brand said to him, and he always behaved very well. Indeed, we had ceased to remember that he had been a pirate, and had joined in the most atrocious murders; still, I do not know that he was a changed man—I am afraid not; that is to say, I am afraid had a piratical vessel come off the island, he would not have refused to join her. One very hot day Jerry and I had accompanied him in an excursion along the shore, when suddenly he said that he should like to bathe. We walked on a little further, leaving him to undress, and then we agreed that the water looked very tempting, and that we would bathe also. We were by this time at some little distance from him. We were partly undressed when we saw that the tide was rising, so we carried our things higher up the beach.

“If it were not for those horrid sharks, I should like to have a good long swim,” exclaimed Jerry.

“But those sharks are quite sufficient reason why we should not attempt anything of the sort,” I remarked. “Here, I think, we are pretty safe; but we must keep our eyes about us, depend on that.” We were inside a reef where sharks were unable to come.

While we were speaking, we observed Silva walk slowly into the water, and we thought he was going to stoop down and swim off. First, he put a foot forward, then he placed the other near it, and seemed to be trying to lift them up; and then he put an arm down, and then another. We, not thinking of danger, ran into the water and swam about for some time, enjoying ourselves excessively. When we came out we looked for Silva; he was nowhere to be seen. What had become of him? We dressed as fast as we could, and ran along the beach to the spot where he had been. There were his clothes, but there was no other trace of him. We shouted, but we shouted in vain. Much alarmed, we ran back to the settlement, as we called our hut, to get Cousin Silas or Ben to accompany us in our search for him. Mr Brand had gone in an opposite direction, but, after waiting some time, Ben Yool came in. After he had heard our account he launched the canoe, and all three of us set off along the coast to the spot where Silva had last been seen. As we got near it we saw the doctor, and hailing him, told him what had occurred. Silva’s clothes showed us exactly where to look for him, though, believing that a shark had carried him off, we had little hopes of finding his body. As we were pulling in quite close to the shore, Ben exclaimed, “Why, there he is, poor fellow, moored head and stern! What can have got hold of him?” We called the doctor to come and see; and Jerry jumping on shore, gave up his place to him in the canoe. When the doctor, got over the spot, after a short examination he exclaimed, “Why, it is a monster cephalopod—a squid, a horrid polypus has got hold of him. Poor fellow, what a dreadful death to die! There can be no doubt how it happened. He must have stepped on the squid, which caught hold of him with its long and powerful tentaculas, and gradually infolding him in its dreadful embrace, dragged him under the water. What strength the creature must have! for Silva was a very strong man, and would not easily have given in.” Thus the doctor went on lecturing on the polypus over the dead body of our late companion—his love of natural history making him for the moment almost forget the horrors of the scene. How to rescue the body from the grasp of the monster was our next consideration. Returning on shore, we cut some long sticks, intending to attack him with them. Again we launched the canoe, but when we reached the spot the squid and the body of the pirate had disappeared.

This dreadful catastrophe had a great effect on me. Mr Brand also was very much grieved when we got back and told him of what had occurred. When one out of a small number, cut off as we were from the rest of our fellow-creatures, is taken away, the loss must always be much felt. It was many days before we recovered our spirits. When I thought of the sharks, and the dog-fish, and these still more horrid polypi, I could not help feeling as if we were on an enchanted island, surrounded by terrific monsters to prevent our escape.

As time wore on, even Mr Brand began to talk of the possibility of building a canoe in which we might endeavour to get away. One great difficulty seemed to be that of carrying a sufficient quantity of water and fuel with which to cook our food. Of provisions we had an ample supply. Jerry proposed filling all the cocoa-nuts we could collect with water. The idea did not seem a bad one; but the first thing to be done was to get our canoe built.

We all the time kept a constant look-out from our flag-staff head. One forenoon I was up there as usual, when I thought I saw a speck on the water. It grew larger and larger. I watched it eagerly, till I saw that it was a canoe with a large sail. It was approaching the island at a point a mile or so from the house. I hailed to say what I had seen, and advised my friends to get our arms ready, that we might be able to defend ourselves should the strangers come as enemies. Mr Brand told me to come down. He then went up, and, after watching the craft for some time, pronounced her to be a large double canoe, and probably full of people. On his coming down, a council of war was held. As we could not tell what sort of savages those on board the canoe might be, we agreed that it would be wise to be prepared, if necessary, to meet them as enemies. Accordingly, we put ourselves under Mr Brand’s orders. He took the musket, and Jerry and I were armed with our fowling-pieces—Ben and the doctor providing themselves with hatchets and knives and long pointed sticks. Thus prepared, we hastily advanced towards the spot for which the canoe was making. That we might not be seen, we kept ourselves under cover of the trees and shrubs, or ran along a path on the lagoon side of the island.

We reached a good place for concealment behind some rocks and thick bushes before the canoe came to land, so that we had plenty of time to examine her. She was, as Mr Brand had before discovered, a large double canoe—that is to say, there were two canoes secured side to side, and sharp at both ends. I afterwards had an opportunity of measuring her. Each canoe was upwards of thirty feet long, and of fully three feet beam; and as they were about two feet apart, with a platform between them, the whole structure was about nine feet across. Each was also between three and four feet deep, so that she had considerable hold in the water, and was able to carry a large supply of provisions. Each end was fitted for a rudder, so that she could sail either way without tacking. The canoes were completely decked over, thus affording a cabin to their crews, and the means of preserving their cargo from damage. This also enabled the craft to go through very heavy seas without foundering. This canoe, however, was only half the size of the large double canoes of the Fejee and Tonga islanders, which are often a hundred feet long, and proportionably deep and wide.

Meantime we were watching with deep interest the approach of the strangers, expecting any moment we might be called on to engage in deadly conflict with them, should they discover us and be inclined for war. Cousin Silas had, however, charged us on no account to commence hostilities till it was evident that they would not allow us to retain peaceable possession of our island. As they drew near they lowered their large mat sail, and took to their paddles. We held our breath with anxiety, for we could count nearly forty people on board the canoe. Besides the men, there were both women and children. The men were tall, fine-looking fellows; some had on turbans and cloaks, and all had wide kilts of native cloth, and the women were decently habited in petticoats. We observed among them spears, and bows and arrows, and two or three muskets, which they held up conspicuously above their heads. As they approached the shore they looked about, apparently to discover any signs of inhabitants. Perhaps their quick sight had shown them our hut and flag-staff. On they came. They passed the passage through the reef, and running the canoe on to the smooth sand, both men and women leaped out, and began to haul her up on the beach. Now was the time to appear before them, and to attack them if they gave signs of hostility; but just as we were going to rush out to take them by surprise, they had hauled up their canoe sufficiently high to prevent the possibility of her drifting away, and then one and all, climbing up the beach, fell down on their knees, lifting up their hands and bursting forth into a hymn of praise. There could be no doubt about it; the words were strange to our ears, but the tune was one well-known to us all. Then one—the eldest of the party—uttered a prayer in a deep and solemn voice, all the rest joining afterwards in a response. About that, also, there could be no doubt.

Savages though they might seem, they were evidently Christians, and though we might not be able to understand each other’s language, they would receive us in the bond of brotherhood. We all, I doubt not, felt ashamed of our previous suspicions; though, to be sure, the precautions we had taken were very right and just. At a sign from Cousin Silas, we advanced slowly from our ambush, and, kneeling down at a little distance from them, joined them in the tune of the last hymn they sang. They looked surprised, but no one moved till the hymn was over; and then they got up, and, advancing fearlessly towards us, we shook hands cordially all round.

On a nearer inspection, we saw by their emaciated looks and the battered condition of their canoe that they must have undergone much hardship. Perhaps they thought us rather a rough set for Englishmen, for our clothes were somewhat tattered, and Mr Brand’s and the doctor’s, and Ben’s beards, whiskers, and moustaches were of considerable length, and not a little tangled.

After some experiments, we found that one of the men could speak a little English, but we failed to get out of him an account of their history. We were, however, able to explain to them that, if they would accompany us, we would supply them with food, water, and shelter, of which they evidently stood much in need. We first assisted them in hauling their canoe still further up the beach, so that she could not drift off again at the top of high-water; and then we all commenced our journey to our house. Many of the poor creatures were very weak and ill; and it was interesting to see Ben carrying a baby in each arm, and helping along the mothers at the same time. We all did the same, but his way was more remarkable. He would talk to the poor women, and encourage him by his tone, if not by his words; and then he would kiss the children, and dance them, and sing, and whistle, and chirp to them, greatly to the delight of the little creatures, and, I have no doubt, to that of their mothers also.

When we reached our settlement, we made up beds for the most sickly-looking, and the doctor, examining them, administered some restoratives. While he was doing so, we got fires lighted, and putting all our pots, and pans, and cooking-baskets into requisition, we soon had fish frying and boiling, and turtle stewing, and bread-fruit and various roots baking; indeed, the eyes of the poor creatures glistened—as well they might—with the anticipated feast. The doctor, seeing their eagerness, warned us to take care that they did not eat too much at a time; and, to prevent their doing so, assisted in serving out a small share only to each. To the invalids and children he only gave at first a few spoonfuls of turtle-soup; but that had a great effect in reviving them. The people seemed to comprehend clearly the reason why we gave them only a small quantity. Hungry as they were, before any one would touch the food, one of the elders stood up and, spreading out his hands, uttered a grace over it, in which the rest joined, evidently with pious sincerity. I could not help thinking to myself, How differently do these poor Christian savages, as they may be called, act to what would be the case with many civilised Christians under similar circumstances! The prayers of these poor people are undoubtedly acceptable to the all-loving God, who bestows his bounteous gifts with so lavish a hand on us his unworthy creatures; but what can we say of the hurried, scarcely muttered ejaculations to which the master of many a house in civilised England gives vent, as if afraid, in the presence of his polished guests—miserable worms like himself—of uttering a word of thanksgiving to the great Dispenser of all the blessings bestowed on him? Should a bishop, or some high dignitary of the church, be present, then perhaps, in an ostentatious tone, he is requested to ask a blessing on the banquet; and grace for once is uttered in an audible voice. Far be it from me to say that this is always the case, but who can deny that it is too often so? My young friends, I have learned many things in my voyage round the world, and this matter among others from those missionary, taught savages. Grace being said, they quietly partook of the provisions set before them, and though the eyes of some of the younger ones wandered towards the pots and the fire, no one even asked for more than we gave them.

When they had eaten, we made signs for them to lie down and rest. This they did with the most perfect confidence, as if not the shade of any suspicion of treachery crossed their minds. Some were suffering from sores and ulcers, brought on by constant exposure and wet, and to these the doctor at once attended with evident solicitude; which, it was clear, completely won their hearts. We watched over them carefully while they slept, driving away the flies and insects which seemed disposed to settle on them; indeed, in every way, to the best of our power, we treated them as men should men, and not as so-called Christians too often treat their fellow-creatures. What we might have done had not Cousin Silas set us the example, I cannot say; I only know that we were, happily, much influenced by his conduct and exhortations. My long stay in that lone island had, I feel, a very beneficial effect with me. I had time to meditate, to reflect, to look into myself, to examine my own heart and feelings, which I might never have done had I been mixing with the bustling, thoughtless world. Again and again I must urge my young friends to examine themselves—to reflect constantly. Do not say that there is no time—make time. It is one of the most important works of your life. Do not let trivialities put it off. Nothing you can possibly gain by the neglect can recompense you, however important you may for the time think the work in which you are engaged.

The first thing the strangers did on waking was to sit up and sing a hymn, and then several of them pulled out of the pockets secured to their waists books, which we had no doubt were Bibles; others had hymn-books, or devotional books of some sort.

The next day two or three of the strongest made signs that they would like to go and look at their canoe; but the others seemed content to remain where they were—indeed, many of them could not have moved even had they wished it. Jerry and I accompanied our new friends to the canoe. They seemed satisfied when they saw that she was safe; and having procured a few articles from her, and among them several cooking utensils, they returned with us to the settlement. They made signs, as they examined the canoe, that she would require much repair before she was again fit to put to sea. She was, to our eyes, a wonderful structure. There was not a nail in her; all her planks were sewed together, and secured in the same way to the ribs. This made her very strong and elastic, and accounted for her being able to endure the rough seas to which she must have been exposed.

Several days passed away, and our guests showed that they were recovering from the effects of their voyage. All this time we could not tell from whence they had come, or where they were going. They tried to explain, but we could not understand them. They were coming from some Christian island, and they were probably going to one; or, perhaps, they were native missionaries anxious to carry the gospel of salvation to their benighted fellow-beings among the inhabitants of Polynesia. We soon came to the conclusion that some were missionaries, who had their wives and children with them. One was a chief, who was escorting them, and the rest were the seamen of the canoe. Mr Brand arrived at this conclusion.

“But, sir,” said Jerry, “I thought missionaries always wore black coats and white ties!”

“John the Baptist was a missionary, but his raiment was of camel’s hair, and his food locusts and wild honey,” was the answer. “A man may be a first-rate missionary who dresses in a fustian jacket and leather gaiters, or whose costume is not more elaborate than that of these poor people. A friend of mine told me that he has often, sitting hammer in hand on the roof of a cottage nailing on shingles, preached the gospel to a congregation who were as attentive as if he were in a high pulpit, and were habited in lawn sleeves.”

There was something in the manner and the grave and thoughtful countenances of the missionaries which enabled us to distinguish them from the rest, and the one who already spoke a few words in English quickly acquired more by which to explain himself.

When they grew strong enough to move about, they made signs that they would not longer consume our store of provisions, but would, if we would let them have our canoes go and fish for themselves. To this, of course, we gladly consented; and they never came back without offering us a portion of what they had caught. We saw that they were preparing to remain some time on the island. They built themselves huts near their big canoe, and also three small canoes for fishing. Whatever fish they caught which they did not wish to consume, they carefully cut in two and dried in the sun. They also discovered a plantation of gourds, some of which they dried to serve as jars for holding water. We also went on with our preparations for a voyage. When they discovered what we were about, they seemed much satisfied, and intimated that they hoped we would accompany them. We, in reply, assured them that we would be very glad to do so. They then took us to the big canoe, and showed us how carefully they were at work repairing her. Whenever any of the lacing which kept her together was in any way worn or chafed, they put in fresh with the greatest neatness, covering all the seams up with a sort of gum which they collected in the woods. In this we could not help them, but we assisted in curing a large supply of fish and birds, and in collecting roots, and filling the cocoa-nuts and gourds with water. When they saw that we had still a number of turtle alive, they seemed highly pleased, and signified that they would prove a very valuable and wholesome provision for the voyage.

Everything was at last ready. The canoe was brought round into the lagoon to load. We all assembled. One of the native missionaries offered up in his own tongue some earnest prayers for our safety, and thanksgiving for mercies bestowed. Mr Brand followed his example in English. Then all went on board—the women and children first; the missionaries went next, followed by the chief and the sailors; and we five Englishmen, with Surley, brought up the rear. Another hymn was sung, the canoe was cast loose, the seamen seized their paddles, and slowly, to the music of a hymn sung by all the natives, we paddled out of the lagoon. The sea was smooth, though there was a fresh breeze; the sail was hoisted, and away we glided at a rapid rate to the eastward.

Chapter Eighteen.

A Voyage in a South Sea canoe.

Once more we were on the boundless ocean, out of sight of land, the stars only as our guides, and the sagacity of the Polynesian chief and his followers to depend on. What made us feel most strange was our utter ignorance where we were going. From the quantity of provisions and water the natives had thought it necessary to provide, it was evident that we had a long voyage before us—perhaps many weeks might be occupied in performing it. We could scarcely hope not to experience a gale of wind even in the Pacific during that time, and how could we hope to weather it out in so frail a craft, especially deeply laden as we were?

When Jerry and I expressed our apprehensions, after we had been some days on board, and were beginning to get very tired of being cramped up, the answer of Cousin Silas rebuked us,—“Trust in Providence, my lads—on the arm of Him who has already preserved us from so many dangers. He would not have sent this canoe full of Christian men to us, unless for some good object.” Jerry and I felt that Cousin Silas spoke the truth, and we made no further complaints.

It was surprising how delicate and attentive the islanders were to us—I will not call them savages. They devoted the end of one of the canoes for our accommodation, and raised over it an awning with mats, that we might be shaded from the heat of the sun, which was at times excessive. They selected the most delicate and the best-dressed food for us, and always served us first. Their habits were cleanly, and they were always kind and courteous towards each other, as they were especially to us. Now, as all this was so different to what I had fancied the natural character of the inhabitants of the islands in this part of the Pacific, I could not but suppose that their Christianity had produced the change. Had I known that the immediate ancestors of these very people, and, indeed, some of the men on board, had been cannibals and savages of the worst description, I might have been still more astonished. Oh, it is a glorious thing to know what a mighty change pure, simple Christianity will work in the heart of man, vile and deformed as sin has made it! Cousin Silas often used to remark, that the world was a very useful book, if we could but read it aright; and, thanks to him, I learned many important lessons from it. No lesson was more important than that which taught me the great change which the doctrines of Christianity, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, produce on men of the most savage natures. It confirmed and strengthened my faith in the power of the gospel; and I wish that all my young friends would read the accounts which they may find of the labours of missionaries in those and other hitherto benighted regions, and they will, if I mistake not, find the same result produced on their hearts which I experienced in mine. However, I must continue my narrative.

We had brought with us our fishing-hooks and lines, and whenever the breeze was moderate, we used to throw them out, and seldom passed an hour without catching some fish. This afforded a pleasant and wholesome change to our diet, and economised our provisions. Our progress was slow, and we were unable to ascertain how long the voyage was likely to last. Hitherto we had enjoyed only the finest weather; the wind had always been favourable, and even the strongest breeze which had wafted us along had only covered the ocean with a brisk ripple.

I mentioned that one of the missionaries spoke a few words of English. So great was his desire to acquire a further knowledge of the language, that all day long he was engaged in learning it from one or other of us. He first obtained a large vocabulary of substantives. These he noted down in a pocket-book which he cherished with great care, and then he began upon verbs. These are more difficult to obtain, when neither master nor pupil understands the other’s language. However, by dint of various signs, he obtained a good number, of which he began very soon to make use. We got on talking by degrees, till we really did understand each other very fairly. By degrees we gleaned from him the following narrative:—

He and his companions belonged to an island in the neighbourhood of Otaheite, all the inhabitants of which, from the teaching of some missionaries, had embraced with joy the Christian faith. From living in a state of constant warfare, no one for a moment knowing if his life was safe from the assaults of his fellow-islanders, they had all become peaceable and contented, life and property being as secure as in any part of the world. The missionaries had taught them many useful arts, and had introduced into the island many vegetables, and a variety of fruits, with some few animals; so that they had now a constant and ample supply of all the necessaries of life.

Highly valuing all the blessings they enjoyed, they heard that there were some islands lying far away to the west, the inhabitants of which were still ignorant savages. Some of their people had occasionally visited them in trading-vessels, and some of their canoes had, it was said, formerly gone there occasionally. At all events, they believed that the inhabitants understood their language. If, then, some of their people had ventured so far for the sake of gain, much more did it behove them to go there for an object inestimably more important—the salvation of the souls of a number of their fellow-creatures. A daring chief undertook to head an expedition, and six native preachers volunteered to go and settle with their wives and families among the heathen islanders, and to convey to them faithfully the gospel of salvation.

Two large canoes were fitted out, strengthened for the voyage, and stored and provisioned. The whole population of the island assembled on the beach to bid their countrymen farewell, and to offer up their prayers for their safety. They knew somewhat of the dangers they must encounter, perhaps not all of them, but they had counted the cost, and had they been greater than those of which they did know, they would not have been deterred from the attempt. With a fair breeze the two canoes set sail, and glided on over the smooth sea, towards the far-distant group of islands. Day after day they sailed on; no land greeted their sight, but they believed that they were on the right course, and fearlessly committed themselves to the care of a merciful Providence. They knew that however they might be directed, it would be for the best.

For many days the two canoes kept together, and the crews encouraged each other; their voices raised in hymns of praise being wafted afar across the waters, as they joined in chorus, and sang alternately with each other. At length dark clouds were seen gathering in the horizon, light scud flew across the sky, the sea began to rise—the canoes laboured much—soon they were pitching violently into the quick-coming seas: still they were skilfully managed, and the wind allowed them to keep their course. Gradually, however, they drifted further and further apart. Night came on, but the tempest did not abate. Several of the people were kept continually bailing, for, in spite of all their care, the sea constantly broke over them, and from the straining of the canoe many a leak was formed. No one who endured them, could ever forget the horrors of that night. “Had we been as we once were,” continued the missionary, “we should have resigned ourselves to our fate, and perished; but we knew that it is the duty of Christians to strive to the last, trusting in the arm of Him who is all-powerful to save, and while prepared for death, never abandoning hope. The morning at length came. The other canoe was nowhere to be seen. In vain we stood up and strained our eyes on every side, as we rose to the top of a sea; not a sign of her could we perceive. Still we trusted that our friends might have been preserved. That day the gale blew as furiously as before; but in the evening it moderated, though the sky was covered with clouds, and we knew not whither we were drifting. For several days we drifted on, ignorant of our position. Every morning, when daylight returned, we looked out eagerly for our friends, but we never saw them again. We live in hope that they may have been preserved. All is for the best.

“We thought that when the gale abated, and the sea grew calm, and the sun came out, our sufferings would have an end; but they only then began. Our stock of water was becoming less and less. Many of our provisions had been so damaged by the sea, that they quickly decayed. The sea became calm as the lagoon inside a coral isle; the sun burst forth with intense heat; our thirst grew excessive. Our island was plentifully supplied with water, and we had always been accustomed to an abundance; yet now we dared not drink more than the shell of a small nut could hold at a time. Carefully we husbanded the precious fluid; we had learned to know its value. At last the time came when not a drop remained. Every calabash was examined over and over again—the last drop was drained out. We sat down, and looked mournfully at each other. Our thirst increased. We dipped our heads in salt water—we continually sprinkled each other over with it; but that did not convey coolness to our parched tongues. ‘We must die,’ exclaimed some one. ‘No, no,’ answered one of our missionary brethren; ‘we will pray without ceasing—we will trust in God. He will send us relief when we least expect it.’ That very evening a flight of sea-fowl flew close to the canoe. We were able to knock over several. Their blood assisted to quench our thirst; their flesh, too, revived our strength. The next day several fish were caught; but it was not food we wanted. ‘Water! water! water!’ was the cry from old and young alike. Still a day passed away—there was no sign of land—no sign of rain. The next day came; intolerable was the thirst we endured by noon. In vain we strained our eyes through the hot, quivering atmosphere; the sky was blue and pure as ever; not a speck could we discern in the horizon. We had hoped that we might reach the group of islands to which we had been bound; we accordingly kept, as we believed, a direct course for it. Another morning broke. During the night, our sufferings had been intense. Could we survive through another day? We stood up to glance round the horizon. Directly before us arose, as if sprouting out of the water, a line of palm and cocoa-nut trees! How eagerly we plied our oars to reach the island on which they grew! How thankfully our voices sang the morning hymn, and uttered our accustomed prayers! We rapidly neared the spot. We might have run close by it in the night without seeing it. We paddled round to find a spot on which to land. Tantalising indeed was it to see the ground where we might hope to gain life and strength, and yet not be able to place our feet on it. At last an opening appeared in the surrounding reef, we ran in, and, hauling up our canoe, hurried off in search of water. No water could we find, but the strongest climbed some of the cocoa-nut trees, and quickly threw down a supply of their refreshing fruit. Oh, how delicious and cool was the milk which they afforded us! Still, pure water was what we most wanted; but though we searched in every direction, and dug down as deep as we could with our rough wooden tools, not a drop could we find.

“We remained here a week hoping for rain, but it came not. The juice from the cocoa-nuts restored our strength. We collected all we could gather for our voyage. Once more we resolved to trust ourselves to the sea. We embarked, and hoisting sail, stood away on our former course. No land appeared in sight. Many days passed away. Our supply of cocoa-nuts was almost exhausted. Again death by thirst stared us in the face. Oh, how carefully we husbanded the few precious nuts which remained! They at last were exhausted. The hot sun again arose, and we had no liquid with which to quench our thirst. The burning rays of the bright luminary struck down on our heads with intense force. ‘Water! water! water!’ we repeated as before. Some almost gave way to despair. ‘We have before been preserved, why give up all hope now?’ said others. In the evening a small cloud was seen to rise out of the sea. It spread wider and wider. There was no wind. It advanced toward us. Fast from it fell a thick shower of pure, sweet water. On it came, we opened wide our mouths, we spread out our hands. Oh, how gratefully it moistened our parched lips! We stretched out our sail and all our garments, and let the precious streams we thus gathered run into our gourds and pots. All that evening the rain came down in a continuous fall, and every moment we were occupied in collecting it, till all our receptacles were full to the brim,—not a shell did we allow to remain empty: and then we poured it down our throats in a full, refreshing stream. Scarcely were we satisfied when the rain ceased—the dark cloud blew onward—the stars shone forth brightly from the clear sky, and we pursued our course.

“The next island we came to was barren—no water, and no nuts; we must have perished had we been cast on it. Then we reached another with some inhabitants on it. We understood, in part, their language. Their ancestors had, they believed, been cast on it wandering as we were across the ocean. Their canoe had been destroyed, and they had remained there without wishing to depart. They had been driven forth from their native isles by cruel wars, in which the greater number of their kindred had been destroyed. They received us in a friendly manner, and invited us to remain with them. They had heard nothing of the Truth. The gospel-message had never reached their ears. From consulting with them we were convinced that we had been driven so far out of our course that we should never reach the islands of which we were in search. Here, however, was work for us to do, pointed out clearly by the finger of God. We told the islanders, to their joy, that we would remain with them; and by degrees we opened to their wondering ears the glorious tidings we had brought. Astonished, they heard, but did not refuse to listen. Some speedily believed. The news we brought was of a nature their hearts had long yearned for; it spoke of rest from toil—rest from suffering—rest from sin. Others, in time, accepted the truth with thankfulness. Every day we preached, and every day some one acknowledged himself a sinner, and sought redemption through Him alone who can give it. At length our glorious work was accomplished. We gave them books; we taught them to read. We told them that we must depart to try and reach our own homes. They entreated that one of our number would remain with them. It was resolved that one should remain to guide them aright. We drew lots. He on whom the lot fell, without a murmur, with his wife and family, joyfully remained—though he well knew that he could never hope again to see the land of his birth, and many dear to him there. But I am making my story longer than I intended.

“Once more we set sail to return to our homes. Numerous were the hardships we endured, though no one murmured. Several islands were visited. At some, food was procured; at others we were afraid to stay, on account of the fierce character and the cannibal propensities of the inhabitants. We had been ten days out of sight of land when we reached your island, and truly did we rejoice to find not only whites, but Christian men to receive us.”

With these words the native missionary finished his narrative. I was particularly struck with the artless simplicity of his account, and the faith and perseverance he and his companions had exhibited, so worthy of imitation. I felt ashamed as he spoke of white men, when I recollected how many act in a way so totally at variance with their character as Christian and civilised men, and how bad an example they set to those whom they despise as heathens and savages. I have very frequently met young men who fancy when they are abroad that they may throw off all restraints of religion and morals, under the miserable excuse that people should do at Rome as the Romans do,—in other words, act as wickedly as those among whom they have gone to live. What would have become of Lot had he followed the example of those among whom he took up his abode? Now, my young friends, I daresay that you will think I am very young to lecture you; but remember that I have been round the world, and I should have been very dull and stupid had I not reaped some advantage from the voyage. What I want to impress upon you is, when you leave your homes and go abroad, to be if anything more strict, more watchful over yourselves even than you have before been. Society will, too probably, afford less moral restraint, the temptations to evil will be greater; but pray against them faithfully—strive against them manfully, and they will not overcome you.

Our voyage, as I was saying, had hitherto been prosperous; but a gale came on, and we were exposed to the very dangers the missionary had so well described to me. We could do nothing except help to bail out the canoe, for the natives understood how to manage her much better than we did; and, with all our civilisation and nautical knowledge, we had to confess that in that respect they were our superiors. The canoe laboured fearfully, and often I thought that she must founder. How anxiously we looked out for some sign that the gale was abating, but in vain. Had we been in our own ship, we should certainly have thought very little of the gale; but in this frail canoe we had ample reason to dread its consequences. At length the wind shifted, and drove us on in what the islanders considered our proper course. We ran on for some days without seeing land, and then the gale blew over and left us becalmed under a burning sun. We had carefully from the first husbanded our water, having the advantage of the previous experience of our companions. As it was, we had barely sufficient to quench the constant thirst produced by the heat. Every day, too, seemed to increase our thirst and to diminish our stock of the precious fluid. Our hope had been to fall in with some vessel which might either supply us or give us a course to the nearest island where we might obtain it. One forenoon, when we had been suffering even more than usual, the chief declared that he saw a vessel on our weather bow, and that she would cross our course. With intense eagerness and hope we all looked out for her. As her sails rose out of the water, we saw that she was a schooner. If we could but get on board her, we thought that we might again in time rejoin the Triton. We were very certain that Captain Frankland would not cease to look for us while a chance remained of our being discovered. Gradually we neared the schooner. I saw Cousin Silas and Ben Yool looking at her with great earnestness.

“What is she, Ben, do you think?” asked Cousin Silas.

“Why, Mr Brand, as you know, sir, I’ve been boxing about the world for the best part of the last forty years, and I think I ought to know one craft from another, and to my mind that vessel is no other than the piratical craft we were so long aboard. I say, if you ask me, sir, that we ought to stand clear of her. She’ll bring us no good.”

“Exactly my idea,” answered Cousin Silas; “the wretches might very likely send us to the bottom, or carry us off again as prisoners.”

We were, however, too near the schooner to hope to escape from her; but we agreed that we might lie concealed while the canoe sailed quietly by her, and that, probably, no questions would be asked. We had some little difficulty in explaining the character of the vessel to our friends. When they did understand it, they seemed to be much horrified, and undertook carefully to conceal us. As we drew near the schooner, the rest of our party went below; but I wrapped myself up in a piece of matting, leaving a small aperture through which I could see what was going forward. The schooner stood close up to us. I was very certain that she was the pirate. Several faces I recognised. Among them was Captain Bruno. At first I thought that they were going to run us down; then I dreaded that they were going to make us come alongside. Hauling their foresail to windward, they hailed two or three times, but in a language was not understood. At last an answer was given from the canoe. What it was I could not tell. It seemed to satisfy them. To my great joy they once more let draw their foresail, and stood away from us. This was not the last time we were to see that ill-omened craft.

As soon as she had got to some distance off, my friends came out of their hiding-place, and I disengaged myself from the folds of the mat. Truly thankful were we that we had escaped her. The missionary told us that the pirates had stated that we were about three hundred miles to the westward of Otaheite, and that we should pass several islands to get there. Once at Otaheite the chief knew the direct course to his own island, and believed that he should have no difficulty in finding it. Our escape from the pirate made us, for a time, almost forget our raging thirst; we could not, however, but admire the fidelity and resolution of the natives, who, rather than run the risk of betraying us, had refrained from asking for water from the pirate.

All that day our sufferings were very great. As we were running on during the night, our ears were assailed by the sound of breakers. We listened; they were on our weather bow. If we ran on we might miss the island; so we hauled down our sail, and paddled slowly on towards the spot whence the sound proceeded. All night we remained within sound of the surf. How anxiously we waited for daylight to ascertain that there was an island, and not merely a coral reef over which the sea was breaking! That night was one of the most anxious we had yet passed. Slowly the hours dragged along. It was wonderful to observe the calm and resigned manner of the islanders. The missionaries and the chief never gave the slightest sign of distress; even the women did not complain. “It must be near daybreak,” said Mr Brand, waking up out of a sleep into which he had at last fallen. “Look out.” We strained our eyes in the direction in which we believed the island to exist. A few pale streaks appeared in the east; and then, oh! our hearts leaped with joy as we saw tall, thin lines appear against the sky; and, as the light increased, the stems and tops of trees were revealed to view. But our joy was somewhat damped when we discovered that a long line of heavy breakers rolled between us and them. At sight of the island the natives, with one accord, raised a hymn of praise and thanksgiving which put our doubts to shame; and the chief, pointing to the surf, made signs that we must go round on the other side, where we should find a place to land. The sail was forthwith hoisted, and we quickly ran round to the lee side, where a wide opening in the surf presented itself. We paddled through it into the inner bay or lagoon, and reaching the shore, the canoe was secured.

The natives did not forget their prayers and hymn of thanksgiving, in which we all heartily joined them. They then looked cautiously about, to ascertain that there were no people on the island who might treat us as enemies. This necessary precaution being taken, we hurried about in every direction in search of water. Jerry and I kept together. Our tongues were parched with thirst. Some of the natives were climbing the cocoa-nut trees, in case any might still retain milk; but the season for the fruit was now passing. Indeed, we wanted water, pure simple water. We felt that we should value it far more than the richest wine from the vineyards of Burgundy or the Rhine. At last we observed a little moisture on the ground near a large tree. We followed up its trace, and soon, shaded by shrubs, we came to a basin of bright, cool water. We eagerly stooped down and lapped up some of the delicious fluid, and then shouted loudly to our friends to come and enjoy the valued luxury with us. In a very short time the pool was surrounded with men, women, and children, ladling up the water with their calabashes and bowls, the mothers pouring it into the mouths of their children before they would themselves touch a drop, while the men knelt down and lapped it up as we had done. As I watched the scene, I bethought me that it was a subject fit for the exercise of the painter’s highest art.

We spent a week on the island, repairing the canoe, catching fish, and filling our water jars with water. This may appear an unnecessarily long time to have waited on our voyage, but, after being cramped up for so many weeks, it was necessary to recruit our strength and to stretch our limbs. Much refreshed, we continued our voyage. I forgot to state that at every island where we touched we engraved our names on the trunks of trees, in the most conspicuous situation, and stated the direction in which we were going. We had done this also on our own island, as we called it, that should any vessel visit the spot she might perhaps convey intelligence to Captain Frankland that we were alive, and give him some clue as to where to look for us. Our friends understood our object, and now added some sentences in their own language to the same effect. The fine weather continued, and confident in the guidance and protection of Him who had hitherto preserved us from so many and great dangers, we launched forth again into the deep.

We passed several small islands; some had but a few stunted trees growing on them; others again had scarcely soil sufficient to nourish a few blades of long wiry grass; while others were barren rocks without verdure of any description, their heads but lately risen from beneath the waves. I believe that it was at one time supposed that these coral formations rose from immense depths in the ocean, and that those wonderful and persevering polypi worked upwards till they had formed submarine mountains with their honey-combed structures; but it is now ascertained that they cannot exist below at the utmost fifty feet of the surface, and that they establish the foundation of their structures on submarine mountains and table-lands, while they do not work above low-water mark. How comes it then, it will be asked, that they form islands which rise several feet above the sea? Although the polypi are the cause of the island being formed, they do not actually form it. They begin by building their nests on some foundation which instinct points out to them. First they work upwards, so as to form a wall, the perpendicular side of which is exposed to the point whence the strongest winds blow and the heaviest sea comes rolling in. Then they continue to work along the ground and upwards on the lee side of the wall, sheltered by their original structure from the heavy seas. They also work at each end of their wall in a curve with the convex side exposed to the sea. Thus, at length, beneath the ocean a huge circular wall of considerable breadth is formed. Storms now arise, and the waves, dashing against the outer part of the walls, detach huge masses of the coral, six feet square or more, and cast them up on the top of it, where they remain fixed among the rough peaks of coral; and gradually other portions are thrown up, till a mass is formed above high-water mark. Other bits, ground by the waves into sand, now form a beach, united with shells and various marine productions. Birds come and settle, and leave seeds which spring up; and trees grow, and attract moisture; and fresh springs are formed, and the spot becomes fit for the abode of man. Some islands have had a rock, or, perhaps, the plateau of some marine mountain for their commencement, and the polypi have simply enlarged it, and formed a reef around it. (“The Coral Island,” by R.M. Ballantyne, Esquire, Nelson and Sons.) However, this interesting subject has been so often well explained in other works that I will not further enlarge on it, though I could not pass it by in the description of my voyage without some notice.

Another week we had been out of sight of land. We were longing to find some spot on which we might stretch our legs, if only for a few hours, and, what was more important, obtain a fresh supply of water, when towards the evening the treetops of a large island appeared before us stretching away on either side to the north and south. We approached near enough to be seen from the shore, if there were inhabitants on it, of which there could be little doubt; but we could discover no place where it would be safe to attempt a landing. Judging that the shortest way to get round to the other side would be to go to the south, we paddled in that direction during the night. The roar of the surf prevented any sounds from the shore from reaching our ears; but we observed several fires lighted on the beach, which assured us that the island was populated. The question, of course, was—Would the inhabitants appear as friends or foes? We paddled but very slowly during the night, just sufficiently to keep the canoe away from the breakers, and to get round to the place where it was believed a passage would be found. At daylight we perceived the looked-for spot, and stood towards it. We observed a number of people on the beach. They had scarcely any clothing; their skins were dark, their hair was long and straggly, and the men had spears or clubs in their hands. Our chief stood up and examined them narrowly. No green boughs were waved as a sign of amity; on the contrary, their gestures appeared somewhat of a threatening character. We had just got to the mouth of the passage when his quick eye detected a number of canoes collected inside the reef, and full of men, armed with darts and bows and arrows. He made a hasty sign to his followers to back their paddles, and away we shot out of the trap.

As soon as our flight was discovered the canoes gave chase. They were small, each carrying not more than six or eight men; but from their numbers they were formidable. The men in them were also armed with a variety of weapons, and we thought it very likely that the arrows and darts might be poisoned. In a long line they darted out of the passage through the breakers, like hornets out of their nest, to the attack. “There they come, the black scoundrels!” exclaimed Ben Yool. “Ten, fifteen, twenty,—there are thirty of them altogether. They’ll give us no little trouble if they once get alongside. However, they think that they’ve only got their own countrymen, so to speak, to deal with. They’ll find themselves out in their reckoning, I hope.”

As we got away from the land we felt the force of the wind, and the chief ordering the sail to be set, we shot rapidly ahead. Still the small canoes made very rapid way through the water. The chief looked at us, as much as to ask, “What will you do, friends?” Mr Brand understood him, and answered by producing our fire-arms. Fortunately we had had very little necessity to expend our cask of powder and our shot, and we had a good supply. The missionaries, when they saw the fire-arms, put their hands to their heads as if in sorrow that it would be necessary to shed blood, but some words spoken by their chief reassured them. We could have told them that the sin lies with those who make the attack, provided the other party has employed all evident means to avoid hostilities.

By the orders of their chief our people got their own bows and spears ready, and then they set to work with their paddles again, and plied them most lustily, much increasing the speed of the canoe. This, however, had only the effect of making our enemies redouble their efforts to overtake us.

Mr Brand and Jerry and I were the best shots; the doctor was not a good one, and Ben knew better how to manage a big gun than a musket.

“You will fire over their heads, will you not?” said the doctor.

“I think not,” answered Mr Brand. “It will be mercy to make them feel the effects of our power. If each of us can knock over one of their people they may be so terrified that they will turn back at once; but if they once come on and attack us, we know not where the slaughter may end, even should we prove victorious.”

It was agreed, therefore, that as soon as the savages got near enough to distinguish us, we were to jump up, and taking steady aim, to pick off those who appeared to be chiefs in the headmost boats. We explained our plan to our chief, and he much approved of it.

The wind freshening we made good way, but still the flotilla of canoes was fast overtaking us. The voices of the savages, as they shouted and shrieked at us, were wafted across the water; but they had not the effect of intimidating our friends. “Ah, my boys, you’ll shout to a different tune, I suspect, before long,” exclaimed Ben, as he eyed them angrily. At length, in spite of all the efforts of our friends, the savages got close up to us; and two men in the leading canoe, lifting their bows, were about to draw their arrows, when Cousin Silas exclaimed, “Now is the time, my lads; give it them.” We all fired. The two savages dropped instantly, and one man in each of the next canoes went head foremost overboard. The people in the following canoes hesitated for a minute what to do. The delay gave us time to reload. Again we fired, while our people jumping up sent a flight of arrows among our enemies. Shrieks, and cries, and groans, arose from the canoes, which all crowded thickly together like a flock of sheep, their people astonished and terrified at what had occurred. Then they turned round, and all paddled back in evident confusion. We shouted, and gave them a parting volley; but this time it was over their heads to hasten their movements. We were preserved,—not one of us had received the slightest injury. Away we glided, as fast as the wind and our paddles would carry us from the inhospitable island.

Chapter Nineteen.

Voyage in a whaler—further adventures.

Wearily our voyage had continued for many weeks, yet we felt that having been preserved from so many dangers, it would be sinful to complain. No one was actually sick, not a life had been lost, and by great economy our provisions and water had hitherto been sufficient for our necessities. A flight of birds had passed over our heads, directing their course to the north-east. We saw our chief watching them, and he at once ordered the canoe to be steered in the same direction. All day we stood on. Just as the sun was setting, we thought we saw a faint blue peak rising out of the water, but even the most practised eye could not determine whether it was land or a light cloud. We continued the same course during the night. For several hours I watched, then, overcome by fatigue, I fell asleep. “See! see!” I heard Jerry exclaim. I jumped up. There appeared before us the lofty and rugged peaks of a line of mountains. Of great height they seemed, after the low land to which our eyes had been so long accustomed. Their sides were clothed with verdure, pleasant and refreshing to the sight; and at their bases were groves, and fields, and sparkling streams, with heat pretty-looking cottages scattered about. There was a slight swell. When the canoe rose to the top of it, we could see a yellow beach, with a circle of bright, blue, calm water around it, and outside a line of white foaming breakers, the guardians of the shore. “Otaheite! Otaheite!” exclaimed the chief and his followers; and we thus knew that we were on the coast of the dominion of the ill-treated Queen Pomare; but we also knew that there were civilised men on shore, and that we should probably be received there with kindness and hospitality.

Soon discovering a passage through the reef, we ran in, and were at once surrounded by canoes full of people, wondering who we were and whence we had come. Our friends quickly gave an outline of our and their adventures, to satisfy curiosity. They found there several people from their own island, one a chief who had become a wealthy man. He took them to his own house, and had their canoe hauled up to be repaired. I need not say that she was visited by all the foreign residents, curious to examine a craft of so frail a structure which had performed so long a voyage. Our consul was very civil to us, and we were received into the house of an English gentleman, who treated us with the greatest kindness. As we met with no very interesting adventures during our stay here, I will content myself with giving a brief account of the island.

Otaheite was discovered in 1767, by Captain Wallis, who called it King George’s Island; but it is better known by the name of Tahiti. It is of volcanic formation, and consists of two peninsulas joined by a neck of low land, about two miles across. The whole island is about thirty miles in circumference. The smaller portion, called Tairaboo, is the most fertile; but as Tahiti proper has the best harbour, it is the most frequented, and is the seat of government.

We know very little of the history of the island. Soon after its discovery, a chief, who assumed the title of Pomare the First, made himself king. His son, and then his grandson, succeeded him, and the present queen is his granddaughter; her name is Aimata, but she has taken the title of Pomare the Fourth. She has established a constitution, and seven chiefs act as her ministers. For many years both the chiefs and people have professed Christianity, having been converted to a knowledge of the truth by Protestant missionaries. These missionaries were undoubtedly earnest, pious men, but they have been unable altogether to check the vices which the lawless rovers, outcasts of every civilised nation in the world, have introduced among them. Notwithstanding the counteracting influences I have mentioned, civilisation was making progress in the island, under the teaching of the Protestant missionaries, when the peace was disturbed by the arrival of two French Roman Catholic priests. They travelled about the country endeavouring to teach their doctrines, but in no place did they find willing hearers. A few chiefs who were in opposition to the Government for political motives, gave them some countenance, and they were entertained at the house of the American consul. The people, however, resolved that they should not remain to attempt the corruption of the faith in which they had been instructed, and rising in a body, compelled them to go on board a small vessel, which carried them to Wallis Island, two thousand miles off. The French who had long desired the possession of some island in the Pacific inhabited by partly civilised people, were too glad to found a pretext on this circumstance for interfering in the affairs of Tahiti. A frigate, the Venus, commanded by Monsieur Du Petit Thouars, entered the harbour of Papieti. The French, captain, bringing his guns to bear on the town, demanded satisfaction for the outrage committed on his countrymen. The queen was inclined to resist, but the foreign inhabitants, knowing that they should be the chief sufferers, collected the amount demanded, which was at least four times as much as any pecuniary loss the priests had incurred. He also forced a treaty on the queen, by which Frenchmen were allowed to visit the island at pleasure, to erect churches, and to practise their religion. This was the commencement of the complete subjugation of the Tahitians to the French. So much for the history of the island.

The valleys, and a plain which extends from the sea-shore to the spurs of the mountains, are very fertile, and produce in great abundance all tropical plants. The climate is warm, but not enervating; the scenery is in many parts very beautiful. Thus the natives are tempted to lead an easy and idle life, exerting but little their physical and mental powers. It is, indeed, to their credit that they do not altogether abandon themselves to indolence. They are by nature constituted to enjoy the beautiful scenes by which they are surrounded. Consequently, they delight in building their cottages in the most retired and lovely spots they can find. Their habitations are surrounded with fences, inside which they cultivate the taro, and sweet potatoes, the banana, the bread-fruit, the vi-apple, groves of orange and cocoa-nut trees, and at times the sugar-cane. Their habitations are of an oval shape, often fifty or sixty feet long, and twenty wide. They are formed of bamboos, planted about an inch apart in the ground. At the top of each wall thus formed, a piece of the hibiscus, a strong and light wood, is lashed with plaited rope. From the top of the four walls the rafters rise and meet in a ridge, those from the ends sloping like those from the sides. The rafters, which touch each other, are covered with small mats of the pandanus leaf, which, closely fitted together and lapping over each other, forms a durable roof, impervious to the rain. The earth, beaten hard, forms the floor. There are no regular partitions, but mats serve the purpose when required. Their bedsteads are made of a framework of cane raised two feet from the ground, and covered with mats, the most luxurious using pillows stuffed with aromatic herbs. They have neither tables nor chairs. Their style of cooking is very simple: they bake their food in extemporised ovens filled with hot stones. Since my return I have often intended to propose having a picnic, and to cook all our food in Tahitian fashion. The dress of the people is undergoing a rapid and considerable change. Formerly a native cloak and kilt was all that was thought necessary; now every sort of European clothing is in vogue. We had an example of this at a feast our English friend gave to a number of chiefs and their relations. Some of the gentlemen had on uniform coats, with nankeen trousers too short for them, and coloured slippers. Others had top-boots, red shirts, black breeches, sailors’ round jackets, and cocked hats. Some had high shoes and buckles, and others had no shoes at all; but all had shirts and trousers, or breeches. Some, indeed, were in complete costume: shoes, stockings, trousers, waistcoat, coat, shirt, with a huge neck-tie—every garment of a different colour, and often too large or too small—while a little straw hat was worn on the top of the head. Indeed, it was very evident that their clothes had been collected from all parts of the world, many garments probably having passed a probation in pawnbrokers’ shops, or in those of old clothes-men in London or Liverpool. I was particularly struck by the total want of perception of congruity as to dress exhibited both by men and women after they had abandoned their native costume, which, if somewhat scanty, was graceful and adapted to the climate. The women we saw were dressed in straw bonnets of huge proportions and ugly shape, and loose gowns of gay colours reaching from the throat to the ankles, with silk handkerchiefs tied round their necks. A few wore wreaths of flowers round their heads, which formed a picturesque part of their ancient costume. The people are said to be very honest, and always seemed in good-humour, happy and cheerful, while we never saw them quarrelling or disputing with each other, far less coming to blows. Many of them are scrupulous in their attendance on religious worship; the Sabbath is strictly kept by all, not even a boat being launched, while those who are seen abroad are decently clothed, going to or coming from church. What change French civilisation may have worked in this state of things it is painful to reflect. We visited several schools, and except that their skins were darker, the appearance of the children differed little from that of the same class in any part of Europe, while they appeared in no way wanting in intelligence. In fact, from all we saw and heard, we came to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the islands of Polynesia are generally as capable of a high state of education and civilisation as the people of any other race, while their minds are peculiarly susceptible of religious instruction. Our fellow-voyagers afforded us a good example of this. We much regretted that we could not converse familiarly with them. Our missionary friend had especially won our regard and esteem.

They were now anxious to return to their own island, the season of the year being favourable for the voyage. It was with much regret that we heard of their intended departure. With a large concourse of natives and several English missionaries, we accompanied them down to the beach to see them off. Prayers were offered up by all present for their safety during their voyage. It was an impressive and affecting scene. Many wept as the fine old chief and his friends stepped on board. He could scarcely refrain from tears, nor could we. The frail canoe was launched forth into the deep, the sail was hoisted, and away they went on a voyage of three hundred miles, with full faith that the God who had hitherto preserved them would watch over them still.

We did not at the moment believe that our departure was so near. The next day the Matchless, a Liverpool whaler, arrived in the harbour of Papieti. We met her master, Captain Brown, who told us that he was bound for the coast of Japan, and that he should touch at the Bonin Islands, and probably fish off there some time. At this latter place we knew that Captain Frankland fully intended to call. How much his plans might be changed by our supposed loss we could not tell, but at all events we could not hope for a better opportunity of falling in again with the Triton. Captain Brown had lost several of his people,—some by sickness, others in a gale, and others by desertion. Hearing this, Mr Brand offered his own and our services as far as the Bonin Islands, or for a longer period, should we gain no account of our own ship. They were without hesitation accepted. The Matchless remained but a few days, having called in merely to obtain water and a supply of fresh provisions. Our kind English friend, not content with having supported us all the time we remained at Tahiti, insisted on supplying us with as good an outfit as he could procure in the country. When we expressed our gratitude and unwillingness to be so great a burden on him, he smiled. “What is the use of property, unless to do good with it?” he remarked. “Do not say a word about the matter. When you reach home, should the obligation weigh too heavily on your conscience, you can send me back the value; but I then shall be the loser, as it will show me that you will not believe in the friendship which induces me to bestow these trifles as a gift.” After this very kind speech we could do no more than sincerely and cordially thank him. The day before we embarked, he told us that he had been making inquiries about Captain Brown. “I would rather that you had another man to sail with,” he observed. “He is a person with two countenances, I am afraid. On shore he is mild, and obliging, and well-behaved; but afloat he is, I am told, tyrannical and passionate, and often addicted to intemperance. You will, accordingly, be on your guard. You will probably remain only a few weeks with him, or I should advise you to give up the voyage, and wait for another opportunity of going westward.” This was not pleasant news, but we resolved on no account to delay our departure, and, thanking our friend for his warning, as well as for all the kindness we had received at his hands, we the next day went on board the Matchless.

She was a fine vessel, and well-found with boats and gear. How great a contrast did she offer to the frail canoe in which we had lately made so long a voyage! How strongly built and rigged! How well calculated to stand the buffeting of the winds and waves! How impossible did it seem that any harm could come to her! I felt this, I own, as I walked her deck. She had already taken twenty whales, or fish, as sailors wrongly call them. For some time Captain Brown was very civil and good-natured, and we began to hope that our friend had received a wrong account of him.

Although we did not expect to meet with whales, men were always kept at the mast-heads on the look-out. I shall not forget the excitement of the scene when, after we had been a week at sea, the cry was uttered from aloft, “There she spouts! there she spouts!” In an instant everybody was alert. “Where away? where away?” was asked. The point where the whale had appeared was indicated. The boats were lowered; the crews leaped into them. The master went in one, two mates in others. Off they pulled in hot chase. The whale sounded; the men lay on their oars. In half an hour she rose again, throwing up a jet of sparkling foam into the air. Again the boats dashed on. The master’s headed the rest. His harpoon struck the monster. One of the other boats got fast directly after. Then off went the whale at a terrific speed, dragging the boats after her directly away from the ship. Now she sounded, and all their lines were run out; but just as they would have to cut, up she came again. We followed under all sail.

The day was drawing to a close when another whale was seen floating idly close to us. The possibility of obtaining another rich prize was not to be lost. Mr Brand had served for three years in a whaler, and was now doing duty as mate. He ordered a boat to be manned. Jerry and I entreated that we might accompany him. “One only can go,” he answered; “I am very sorry.” The lot fell upon me. Jerry was never jealous. “Old Surley and I will take care of each other,” he answered. Away we went. A long, low island was in sight from the mast-head. The other boats could nowhere be seen. We got up to the whale before she sounded. I fancy she was asleep. The harpoon Mr Brand shot into her awakened her up. Off she went in the direction of the land, at a great rate. I wished Jerry had been with us. It was so pleasant to be dragged along at so furious a rate, the foam flying over the bows of the boat. Formerly harpoons were always darted by the hand. Now fire-arms are used. The butt of the harpoon is placed in the barrel, and the rope is attached to it by a chain. Less skill and strength is required to strike the whale, but just as much skill and experience is requisite to avoid being struck in return and smashed to atoms by the wounded animal. Whenever the whale slackened her speed, we hauled up in the hope of getting another harpoon into her, but she was soon off again; then she sounded, and we were nearly losing our line. Again she rose; a second harpoon was run into her. Off she was again. At length blood mingled with the foam from her spouts. With fury she lashed the water around. “Back! back for your lives!” shouted Mr Brand. Well it was that we got out of her way in time. One blow from those tremendous flukes would have destroyed us.

Loudly we shouted as the monster lay an inanimate mass on the surface of the deep. Then we looked about us. We had approached close to the island, but darkness was settling down over the face of the waters. The ship was not to be seen. Clouds were gathering thickly in the sky. A gale, we feared, was brewing. Our safest plan was to lie by all night under the lee of the whale. The wind came from the very direction where we believed the ship to be. We should never be able to pull against it. We had got out our harpoons from the dead whale, and were putting our gear in order, when, just as we were going to make fast to it, the huge mass sunk from our sight! We looked at each other with blank disappointment. It was gone—there can be no doubt about it, and was utterly irrecoverable. “Don’t grumble, my lads. We should have been worse off had we been fast to it with a gale blowing, and unable to cut ourselves adrift,” exclaimed Mr Brand. “Let us thank the Almighty that we have escaped so great a danger. We’ll run under the lee of that island for the night, and try and find the ship in the morning.” Accordingly we bore away, and were in a short time in comparatively smooth water. Still the weather looked very threatening. We pulled in close to the breakers. “Harry,” said Cousin Silas, “I think we should know that island. I see an opening in the breakers, and a clump of trees on it which seems familiar to my eyes. We shall be better off on shore than here. I will take the boat in.” The men were somewhat astonished when they received the order to pull in for the land. We exactly hit the passage, and soon had the boat hauled up on the beach. “We will have a roof over our heads to-night, lads,” said Cousin Silas, leading the way, and in a quarter of an hour we were seated under the shelter of the hut where we had lived for so many months! It was strange that we had so unexpectedly fallen in with our own island again.

We lit a blazing fire, and caught some wild-fowl, and knocked down some cocoa-nuts, which were now in season, and picked some bread-fruit, and, with the provisions we had in the boat, enjoyed a capital meal, which somewhat restored our spirits after the loss of our whale. As far as we could discover, no one had been there since we left the spot,—even our beds were ready for us. All hands rested soundly, and by the next morning the short-lived summer gale had blown itself out. I mounted to the top of our flag-staff, and to my no small satisfaction saw our ship lying-to five or six miles off to the westward. I was hurrying with the rest down to the boat, for I had no wish to be left again on the spot though I felt an affection for it, when Cousin Silas stopped me. “We have an important work to perform,” said he. “Before we go we will obliterate our former directions and write fresh ones, saying where we are now going.” I saw the wisdom of this precaution in case the Triton might visit the place; and, accordingly, with our knives we carved in a few brief words a notice that we were well and bound for the Bonins. This done, we embarked and ran out towards the ship.

On getting on board we found the captain in a desperately bad humour at having been compelled by the gale to abandon the whales he had caught; and our account of our loss did not improve his temper. He swore and cursed most terribly at his ill luck, as he chose to call it; and, to console himself, opened his spirit case and drank tumbler after tumbler of rum and water. The result was soon apparent: he issued contradictory orders—quarrelled with the mates—struck and abused the men, and finally turned into his cot with his clothes on, where he remained for several days, calling loudly for the spirit bottle whenever he awoke. From this period he became an altered man from what he had at first appeared, and lost all control over himself.

I will not dwell on the scenes which ensued on board the whaler. They were disgraceful to civilised beings, and to men calling themselves Christians. Cousin Silas, and the doctor, and Ben, did all they could to counteract the evil,—the latter by exercising his influence forward, and the others in endeavouring to check the officers, who seemed inclined to imitate the example of the master. Cousin Silas had charge of one watch, and he got Jerry and me placed in another, and he told us instantly to call him should we see anything going wrong. Thus three or four weeks passed away. We managed during the time to kill two whales, and to get them stowed safely on board; and this put the captain into rather better humour. However, the ship was often steered very carelessly, and a bad look-out was kept.

We were running under all sail one day when, as I was forward, I saw a line of white water ahead, which I suspected must be caused by a coral reef. I reported the circumstance. Fortunately there was but little wind. I looked out anxiously on either hand to discover an opening. To the southward the line of foam terminated. The helm was put down, and the yards braced sharp up; but in five minutes a grating noise was heard and the ship struck heavily. The seamen rushed from below,—they full well knew the meaning of that ominous sound, and they believed that the ship was hopelessly lost. The captain at the time was unconscious of everything. Cousin Silas hurried on deck, and, taking a glance round, ordered the helm to be put up again, the yards to be squared, and the courses which had been clewed up to be let fall. It was our only chance. The ship’s head swung round; once more she moved—grating on, and, the doctor said, tearing away the work of myriads of polypi. “Hurrah! hurrah!” a shout arose from all forward. We were free. Away we flew.

This narrow escape ought to have been a warning to all on board. Unhappily it was not. The same system was pursued as before. The other mates grow jealous of Cousin Silas, and did their utmost to counteract his efforts. One night Jerry and I were on deck, actively moving about, followed by Old Surley, looking out in every direction; for it was very dark, and the officers had been having a carouse. For some reason or other I was more than usually uneasy. So was Jerry.

“I should not wonder,” said he, “that something will happen before long.”

“I hope not, if it is something bad,” said I; “but I’m not altogether happy. I think that I will go and call Mr Brand.”

“What shall we say to him, though? There will be no use rousing him up till we have something to tell him.” I agreed with Jerry, so we continued talking as before.

“What are you youngsters about there?” shouted the first mate, who, although it was his watch, was half tipsy. “Go below, and turn in; I’ll not have chattering monkeys like you disturbing the discipline of the ship.” Jerry and I hesitated about obeying, and Jerry whispered to me that he would go and call Mr Brand. But the mate sung out, “Mutiny! mutiny! Go to your own kennels, you young hounds!” and ordered some of the watch on deck to carry out his commands. We could not help ourselves, so we went below, and turning into our berths very soon fell asleep.

How long we had been asleep I do not know. I was awoke by a terrific crash and loud cries and shrieks. Jerry and I sprung up, so indeed did everybody below, and rushed on deck. It was very dark; but from the way the ship heaved and lurched, and the sheets of foam which flew over her, we knew that she was among the breakers, and striking hard on a reef. The fore-mast and main-mast had gone by the board. The mizzen-mast alone stood. That fell soon after we got on deck, crushing several people beneath it. Anxiously we hunted about shouting for Cousin Silas, followed by Old Surley, who, since we came on board, scarcely ever left our heels. We naturally sought him for advice. It was, indeed, a relief to us to find him unhurt. In a short time we discovered the doctor and Ben. We clustered together, holding on by the bulwarks; for every now and then a sea came and washed over the decks, and we ran great risk of being carried away. Nothing could we see on either side beyond the white roaring breakers. Cousin Silas said that he was certain we must have been driven some way on the reef, or the sea would have broken more completely over us, and no one could have hoped to escape. Several people had already been washed overboard, and had been lost or killed by the falling masts; but who they were we could not tell. What, also, had become of the captain we did not know. He had not, that we could discover, come on deck. Perhaps, all the time he was below, unconscious of what had occurred. All we could do was to cling on where we were, till with daylight we should be able to tell our position. Every now and then we felt the ship lifting, and it appeared as if she was driving gradually over the reef. Another danger, however, now presented itself—we might drive over the reef altogether, and sink on the other side! We strained our eyes through the darkness; but, surrounded as we were with spray, it was impossible to distinguish the shore, even though it might be near at hand. If there was no land, our lot would indeed be sad; for, wherever we were, it was clear that the ship would be totally lost, and, as far as we could discover, all our boats were destroyed. After two or three hours passed in dreadful suspense, though it appeared as if the whole night must have elapsed, the ship became more steady, and the sea broke over her less violently. “We must get a raft made,” exclaimed Cousin Silas. The men seemed to look instinctively to him for orders, and willingly obeyed him. All hands set to work, some to collect the spars which had not been washed overboard, others to cut away the bulwarks and to get off the hatches—indeed, to bring together everything that would serve to form a raft. Dark as it was they worked away; for they knew that when the tide again rose the ship might be washed over the reef and sink, or go to pieces where she lay. How eagerly we watched for daylight to complete our work! The dawn at length came; and as the mists of night rolled off, we saw before us a range of lofty mountains, of picturesque shapes, rising out of a plain, the shore of which was not more than a quarter of a mile off. As the sun rose a rich landscape was revealed to us, of cocoa-nut groves, and taro plantations, and sparkling streams, and huts sprinkled about in the distance.

“At all events we have got to a beautiful country,” observed Jerry, as he looked towards it.

“One from which we shall be thankful to escape, and where our lives will be of little value unless we can defend ourselves from the inhabitants, who are, I suspect, among the most bloodthirsty of any of the natives of Polynesia,” answered Cousin Silas. “However, the sooner we can get on shore, and establish ourselves in some good position for defence, the better.”

The raft, which had been constructed with the idea that we might require it for a long voyage, was a very large one, and having launched it, we found that it could not only carry all the ship’s company, but a number of other things. We found an ample supply of arms and ammunition—most valuable articles under our present circumstances. We got them all up, as well as our clothes and everything valuable in the ship which could at once be laid hands on; we also took a supply of provisions, that we might for a time be independent of the natives. One thing more was brought up—that was, the still senseless body of the captain. There he lay, totally unconscious of the destruction his carelessness had brought on the ship intrusted to his care. In silence and sadness we shoved off from the ship which had borne us thus far across the ocean. Many of our number were missing; two of the mates and six seamen had been killed by the falling of the masts, or washed overboard.

We paddled across the smooth water inside the reef as fast as we could, hoping to land before any of the natives had collected to oppose us. All our people had muskets, and some had cutlasses, so that we were able to show a bold front to any one daring to attack us. As we neared the shore we saw in the distance a number of people with bows, and arrows, and clubs, hurrying towards our party. We soon ran the raft aground, and, leaping on shore, were led by Cousin Silas to the summit of a rocky hill close to where we were.

The savages advanced with threatening gestures. None of them had fire-arms. We thus felt sure that, if they ventured to attack us, we should make a good fight of it. Cousin Silas called four of the men to the front, and ordered them to fire over the heads of the savages, to show them the power we possessed. The savages halted at the sound, and looked about to see what had become of the balls they heard whistling above them. While they hesitated, Cousin Silas, cutting down a green bough, went to the brow of the hill and waved it over his head—a token of a friendly disposition, understood in all those regions. To our great satisfaction, we saw the savages tearing down boughs, which they waved in the same manner. Among the whaler’s crew was a Sandwich Islander who spoke the language of many of the people in those regions. He was told to try and see if he could make them understand him. Waving a bough he went forward to meet them, while the rest of us stood ready to fire should any treachery be practised. They did not seem, however, to have meditated any, and met him in a perfectly friendly manner. After talking to them for some time, he came back and said he had arranged everything. He told them that we were voyaging to our own country, and that we had landed here to await the arrival of another ship. If we were treated well, our friends would return the compliment; but that if otherwise, they would certainly avenge us. This, undoubtedly, was far from strictly true; but I have no doubt that it had the effect of making the savages disposed to treat us hospitably. The savages on this put down their arms and advanced towards us with friendly gestures. Mr Brand, consequently, went to meet them, ordering us, at the same time, to keep our arms ready in case of treachery. The savages were very dark. Some of them, whom, we took to be chiefs, wore turbans over their frizzled-out hair, and mantles and kilts of native cloth. They shook hands with Mr Brand in a very friendly way, and invited us all to their houses; but he replied that he preferred building a house where we had landed, though he would be obliged to them for a supply of food. The natives replied very politely that the food we should have, and that they hoped we should change our minds regarding the place where we proposed building a house.

After some further conversation the chiefs and their followers retired, and Mr Brand advised all hands to set to work to fortify the hill where we were posted, and to bring up the greater part of the raft, and everything on it, to our fort. When this was done, we made a small raft on which we could go off to the wreck, hoping to bring away everything of value before she went to pieces. The natives watched our proceedings from a distance, but our fire-arms evidently kept them in awe, and prevented them from coming nearer. As soon as they had completed the raft, three of the whaler’s crew were eager to go off to the wreck; but Mr Brand advised them to wait till just before daylight the following morning, when they might hope to perform the trip without being perceived. He warned them that the savages were especially treacherous, and could in no way be depended on. Five or six of them, I think it was, laughed at him, and asking why they should fear a set of black savages, expressed their intention of going on board at once. Accordingly, carrying only a couple of muskets with them, they shoved off from the shore, and without much difficulty got up to the wreck. It was then low-water, but the tide was rising. We watched them on board, and then they disappeared below. We waited anxiously to see them commence their return, but they did not appear. “They have broken into the spirit-room, I fear,” remarked Cousin Silas. “If so, I fear that they will be little able to find their way back.” An hour passed away. We began to fear some disaster had befallen them. While watching the wreck, we saw from behind a wooded point to the right a large canoe make its appearance, then another, and another, till a dozen were collected. It was too probable that some treachery was intended. We fired three muskets in quick succession, in hopes of calling the attention of the seamen. No sooner did the savages hear the sound of the fire-arms than they paddled away towards the wreck. They had got nearly up to it, when the seamen came on deck, and stared wildly around them, making all sorts of frantic gestures. Seeing the canoes, they fired their muskets at them, but hit no one; and then, throwing down their weapons on the deck, they doubled their fists, and with shouts of laughter struck out at their approaching enemies. The savages hesitated a moment at the discharge of the muskets, but finding that they were not again fired at, they paddled on at a rapid rate, and getting alongside the vessel, swarmed in numbers on board. We saw that the tipsy seamen who made a show of fighting were speedily knocked down, but what afterwards became of them we could not tell. The savages were evidently eagerly engaged in plundering the ship, and hurriedly loaded their canoes with the things they collected. They, of course, knew that the tide was rising, and that their operations might be speedily stopped. Some of the canoes, deeply laden, had already shoved off, when we saw the remainder of the savages make a rush to the side of the vessel; bright flames burst forth from every hatchway; several loud reports were heard; then one louder than the rest, and the ill-fated ship, and all who remained on board, were blown into the air!

Chapter Twenty.

Our escape from the island.

After the catastrophe I have described, the ship continued to burn furiously—the oil in her hold helping to feed the conflagration. The savages who were already in their canoes paddled rapidly away; many must have lost their lives, as several canoes appear to have been destroyed. Numbers of the unfortunate wretches, wounded by the explosion, were swimming about, trying to get hold of their canoes or of pieces of the wreck; while others, who had escaped injury, were making for the shore. But they had watchful enemies in the sea looking for them; the water swarmed with sharks, and several, unable to defend themselves, were caught by the voracious monsters. What became of our poor countrymen—whether they were blown up with the ship or carried off by the savages—we could not tell.

By this accident our numbers were sadly diminished, as was our hope of obtaining what we might require from the wreck. Cousin Silas took occasion to urge upon the remainder of the men the importance of keeping together for mutual support; but, from the way the whaler’s crew took his advice, I saw that they were in no way inclined to follow it. It was with difficulty even that he could persuade them to keep watch at night. That was a trying period with us. Cousin Silas and I, with two of the crew kept our watch; and Ben, and the doctor, and Jerry, with two others, watched the rest of the night. We kept our ears and eyes wide open, and fancied that we could see under the shadow of the trees the savages prowling about us, and could hear their suppressed whispers; but if such was the case, when they found that we were on the alert, they refrained from attacking us.

That first night the captain awoke from his stupor, and, sitting up, inquired what had occurred. When he was told, somewhat abruptly, by one of his crew that the ship was cast away, that the mates and several of the men were lost, and that we were surrounded by savages ready to destroy us, the account had so great an effect on him that it seemed to drive him out of his mind. He shrieked out, “It is false! it is false—mutiny! mutiny!” and continued to rave in the most outrageous and dreadful manner. Thus he continued for many hours. The doctor said he was attacked with delirium tremens, brought on by his intemperate habits; and thus he continued, without being allowed a moment of consciousness to be aware of his awful state, till he was summoned hence to stand before the Almighty Judge, whose laws, to the last moment of his earthly probation, he had systematically outraged. We buried him just outside our fort, at night, that the savages might not observe that our number was still further reduced.

Three or four days passed away. Both night and day we were equally on the alert, but the stock of provisions we had brought with us from the wreck was growing very low, and it was necessary to devise some plan for obtaining more. The savages, on the other hand, finding that they could not easily surprise us, changed their tactics, and once more came towards us in friendly guise, bringing fruits and vegetables, and pigs and poultry. Had they been aware of our starving condition, they could not have hit upon a better plan to win our confidence. Still, however, Cousin Silas did not trust to them.

“They may really be friendly,” he remarked, “and let us behave towards them as if they were; but never let us for a moment be off our guard.” When, however, the natives began to spread out their banquet before the very eyes of the famished sailors, and invited them to come down and partake of it, very few could resist the temptation. One after another went down, till only the doctor and Ben, Jerry and I, with Cousin Silas, remained on the hill. Even old Surley thought he might as well join the party, but after he had gobbled up a good supply of pork, which some of the sailors gave him, he hurried back to us. We watched anxiously what would next happen. In a short time Jerry exclaimed that he thought it was a pity we should not benefit by the feast, and before Cousin Silas could stop him he had run down the hill and was among the savages. At that moment, what was our horror to see the natives start up, each dealing the white man nearest him a terrific blow on the head. No second one was needed. Every one of our late companions lay killed upon the ground. Jerry started back, and endeavoured to run to us, but a savage caught him by the shoulder, and (how my blood ran cold!) I thought would brain him on the spot. Jerry looked up in his face with an imploring glance. Something he said or did, or the way he looked, seemed to arrest the savage’s arm. Perhaps he may have reminded him of a son he had lost. He lifted up his club, but this time it was to defend his young prisoner from the attack of another savage. He then took him by the hand, and led him to a distance from the rest. Jerry looked back earnestly at us, but he saw that if he attempted to escape from his protector he should probably be killed by one of the others, so he accompanied him without resistance. The rest of the savages, collecting the dead bodies, fastened ropes to their legs, and dragged them away, with loud shouts and songs of triumph. To our surprise, they did not molest us. They saw that we retained the fire-arms, and probably thought that they might take us at an advantage another time without risk to themselves. We had still a good supply of powder and balls, so, loading all the muskets, we prepared for an attack. Horrified as I had been at the slaughter of our late shipmates, my great anxiety was about Jerry. I hoped that his life might be safe, but it was a sad fate to be kept in captivity by such treacherous and bloodthirsty savages as these had showed themselves to be. I asked Mr Brand where he thought we were. He replied that he had no doubt, from the appearance and conduct of the savages, that we had been wrecked on one of the outlying Fiji Islands. He told me that the inhabitants, a few years back, had all been the very worst cannibals in the Pacific, but that of late years Protestant missionaries had gone among them, and that in some of the islands, of which there were eighty or ninety inhabited, the whole population had, he understood, become Christians. Still, however, a large number, among whom the light of truth had not been introduced, retained their old habits and customs; and among some of these we had unfortunately fallen. Of course, also, we could not but be excessively anxious about our own fate. How could we hope to hold out without food, should the savages attack us? The night passed away, however, in silence. Our enemies were evidently abiding their time.

It was just daybreak when Ben Yool started up. “I can’t stand it any longer,” he exclaimed. “I’ll just go and see if those savages left any of their provisions behind them.” Without waking Mr Brand to know what he would say, off he went down the hill. How anxiously I waited his return! I was afraid that some of the savages might be lying in wait, and might catch him. My ear watched for the sound of his footsteps. Five—ten minutes—a quarter of an hour passed away. At last I thought I heard the breathing of a person toiling up a hill. It might be a savage, though. I kept my rifle ready, in case it should prove an enemy. To my great satisfaction it proved to be Ben. He came loaded with bread-fruits and cocoa-nuts, and what was undoubtedly the hind quarters of a pig, while a calabash full of water hung round his neck. “I was afraid that I should have to come back without anything for my trouble,” said he. “Just then, under a tree, I stumbled over these provisions. How they came there I don’t know, but there they are and let us be thankful.”

We roused up Mr Brand and the doctor. They carefully examined the provisions, and agreed that they were very good of their sort, so we set to, and made a very hearty breakfast. From the place where Ben found the food, Mr Brand was of opinion that it had been left there expressly for us, but whether by a friend or by our enemies, for the purpose of entrapping us, it was difficult to say.

The day, as it advanced, threatened to be very stormy. The clouds came driving across the sky, and a gale began to blow, such as is rarely seen in those latitudes. It gave us rest, however, for the natives are not fond of venturing out in such weather, and we had less fear of being attacked. During the night we were aroused by hearing a gun fired. We peered out seaward through the darkness; another gun was heard, and a flash was seen. It was evidently from a vessel in distress. It was just before daybreak. The dawn came and revealed to us a schooner, with all her canvas gone, drifting towards the breakers, which rolled in with terrific power, a quarter of a mile from the shore. We gazed at the vessel; we all knew her at a glance, even through the gloom. She was the pirate schooner. On she drove. In another instant she was among the foaming breakers. Her time had come at last. We could hear the shrieks and despairing cries of the wretched men on board. She struck very near the spot where the whaler had been lost. Over the reef she drove. We could see the people one after the other washed overboard, and engulfed by the foaming waters. To help them would have been impossible, even had we not had to consider our own safety. At last one man appeared in the clear water inside the breakers. He seemed to be swimming, though he advanced but slowly, and we saw that he was lashed to a piece of timber. At last he drifted on shore.

“I cannot see the poor wretch die without help, pirate though he may be,” exclaimed Cousin Silas, running down to the beach. I followed him. The log of timber and its freight reached the shore at the moment we got down to it. There was no look of recognition. We ran into the water, and cast loose the body; but our undertaking had been useless. A corpse lay before us; and though the features were distorted, we recognised them as those of Captain Bruno. We had just time to hurry back to our fort, when we saw a body of savages coming round a point at a little distance off.

The schooner had, in the meantime, beaten over the reef, and was drifting across the channel, when, as she got within a hundred yards of the beach, she went down, leaving a dozen or more of her crew floating on the surface. Most of them struck out boldly for the shore; but no sooner did they reach it, believing themselves safe, than the clubs of the savages put an end to their existence. In a short time not one remained alive of the whole pirate crew. It seemed strange that the savages had allowed so long a time to elapse without attacking us, nor could we in any way account for their conduct, unless under the supposition that they were afraid of our fire-arms. To show them that our weapons were in good order, and that we were likely to use them effectually, we every now and then, when we saw any of the natives near, fired a volley in the air.

When we had gone down on the beach, on the occasion of the wreck of the schooner, we observed a canoe thrown upon the shore. She was evidently one of those deserted by the savages when the whaler blew up. We agreed that, if we could get her repaired, she might prove the means of our escape. The first thing was to cut some paddles. This we had no great difficulty in doing, from the trees growing around us. Watching their opportunity, when no savages were near, Mr Brand and Ben went down to examine her. On their return they reported that she was perfectly sound, and required little or nothing done to her. It was a question with us, however, whether we should commit ourselves to the deep at once, and endeavour to reach some more hospitable island, or wait for the possibility of a ship passing that way, and going off to her.

We had scarcely consumed our provisions, when at daybreak one morning we observed a basket under the very tree where Ben had before discovered what he brought us. He again went down, and returned with a similar supply. We considered this matter, and could not believe that any treachery was intended, but, on the contrary, we began to hope that we had some secret friend among the savages. Who he was, and how he came to take an interest in us, was the question. Several days more passed away. Each alternate night provisions were left for us. At length I resolved to endeavour to discover our friend. My great object was that I might be able by this means to gain tidings of Jerry, and perhaps to rescue him from the hands of his captors, for I continued to hope that he had not been put to death. I explained my plan to Mr Brand. After some hesitation, he consented to allow me to adopt it. “I feel with you, Harry, that I could never bring myself to leave the island without Jerry,” he answered; “and probably the savages, should they catch you, would be less likely to injure you than any of us.”

That night, soon after it was dark, I crept down to the tree, and concealing myself among some bushes which grew near, waited the result. I felt very sleepy, and could at times scarcely keep myself awake. At last I heard footsteps, as if a person were cautiously approaching the tree. A man dressed, as far as I could distinguish, like a chief, with a turban on his head, deposited a basket in the usual spot. I sprang out and seized his hand. At first he seemed much surprised, if not alarmed; but, recognising me, he patted me on the head, and uttered some words in a low voice, which I could not understand, but their tone was mild and kind. Then he put out his hand, and I distinctly felt him make the sign of the cross on my brow, and then he made it on his own. I no longer had any doubt that he was a Christian. I longed to ask him about Jerry, but I found that he did not understand a word of English. It was so dark, also, that he could scarcely see my gestures. I tried every expedient to make him comprehend my meaning. I ran on, and then seized an imaginary person, and conducted him back to the fort. I raised my hands in a supplicating attitude. I shook his hands warmly, to show how grateful I should be if he granted my request. At last I began to hope that he understood me. He shook my hands and nodded, and then, assisting me to carry the basket close up to the fort, hurriedly left me.

This circumstance considerably raised the spirits of all the party, for we felt that we had a friend where we least expected to find one. If, however, we could but get back Jerry, we resolved to embark. Perhaps the Christian chief might help us. Had we been able to speak the language, our difficulties would have been much lessened. Here, again, we had another example of the beneficial results of missionary labours. How the chief had been brought to a knowledge of the truth we could not tell, but that his savage nature had been changed was evident. Perhaps there might be others like him on the island. How it was that we had remained so long unmolested was another puzzle. Perhaps it was owing to some superstitious custom of the natives, Mr Brand observed. Perhaps we were tabooed; or, as we had, as they might suppose, existed so long without food, they might look upon us as beings of a superior order, and be afraid to injure us. Our patience, meantime, was sorely tried. We were afraid also that the natives might discover our canoe, and carry it off.

As may be supposed, our eyes took many an anxious glance seaward, in hopes of being greeted by the sight of a vessel. Nor were they disappointed. A large ship was discovered one forenoon standing in for the land. How the sight made our hearts beat! The time had arrived for us to endeavour to make our escape—but could we go and leave Jerry?

“Yes; we may induce the captain to come and look for him,” said Cousin Silas.

“But suppose he will not,” observed the doctor.

“Then I, for one, will come back in the canoe, and not rest till I find him,” exclaimed Ben Yool. “They can only kill and eat me at the worst, and they’ll find I’m a precious tough morsel.”

“I’ll keep you company, Ben,” said I, taking his hand.

So it was agreed that we were to embark at once. Taking our rifles and muskets, the paddles in our hands, and some provisions in our pockets, we hurried down to the beach. We had got the canoe in the water, when a shout attracted our attention. Old Surley gave a bark of delight, and ran off. “That is Jerry’s voice,” I exclaimed, hurrying to meet him. At a distance were several men and boys in hot pursuit. Jerry was somewhat out of breath, so I took his hand and helped him along, without asking questions. He, Surley, and I, leaped into the canoe together; Mr Brand, Ben, and the doctor seized the paddles, and shoving her off into deep water, away we steered towards the passage through the reef. Scarcely had we got a couple of hundred yards off before the savages reached the shore. They instantly fitted their arrows to their bows; but I, seizing my rifle, made signs that if they let fly I would fire in return. They understood the hint, and ran off along the beach to a spot where a number of their canoes were hauled up. The leading one, with only three men in her, came dashing close after us through the surf. One held his bow ready to shoot, the rest had placed their weapons at the bottom. The other canoes contained more savages, and followed close after their leader. This made us redouble our efforts to escape. We darted through the passage just as a dozen canoes or more left the shore. We had a terribly short start of them, and they paddled nearly twice as fast as we could.

“Shall I fire and give notice to the ship?” I asked Mr Brand. I was sitting in the bow of the canoe facing forward.

“Yes, yes, Harry, fire,” he answered. “They will hear us on board by this time.” I took one of the muskets and fired in the air. Directly after, we saw the ship crowding more sail, and standing directly for us.

“I thought so all along, and now I’m certain of it,” exclaimed Ben, almost jumping up in his seat. “I know that starboard topmast studden-sail, and no mistake. She’s the Triton! Hurrah! hurrah!”

“You’re right, Ben,” said Mr Brand. “I felt sure also that she was the Triton, but still was afraid my hopes might have in some way have deceived me. But give way, give way, or the savages will be up to us before we are alongside her.” The caution was not unnecessary, for the canoes of the savages had already got within range of our rifles.

“Couldn’t you bring down a few of the niggers, sir?” asked Ben. “It will only serve them right, and mayhap will stop their way a little.”

“No, no; never shed blood as long as it can be avoided,” answered Cousin Silas. “These very savages who are now seeking our lives may ere long be shown the light of truth, and be converted and live. See, I believe they have already made us out on board the Triton. They are firing to frighten off the savages.”

As he spoke, three guns were fired in quick succession from the Triton. The noise and smoke, to which the savages were evidently unaccustomed, made them desist paddling. We redoubled our efforts, and shot ahead. After a little hesitation, the savages once more pressed on after us, but happily at that moment the ship again fired. Mr Brand at the same time seized the muskets and discharged them one after the other over the heads of our pursuers. Again they wavered, some even turned their canoes about, two or three only advanced slowly, the rest ceased paddling altogether. This gave us a great advantage, and without waiting to let Mr Brand reload the muskets, we paddled away with our hopes of escape much increased. Some minutes elapsed, when the courage of the savages returned, and fearing that we might altogether escape them, they all united in the pursuit. The breeze, however, freshened, the ship rapidly clove the waters, and before the canoes had regained the distance they had lost, we were alongside. Loud shouts of welcome broke from every quarter of the Triton as we clambered up her side.

I will not attempt to describe the meeting of Jerry and his father. Captain Frankland, indeed, received us all most kindly and heartily. For a long time he had given us up as lost, but still he had continued the search for us. The Dove had been captured by the American corvette, and soon afterwards he had fallen in with her. From the pirates on board the little schooner he discovered that we were on board the large one. He had pursued her for several months, till at length, passing our island, he had observed our flag-staff and our hut still standing. This was, fortunately, after our second visit, when we had altered the inscriptions on the trees. The gale which had wrecked the pirate had driven the Triton somewhat to the southward of her course for the Bonins, whither she was bound to look for us; and thus, by a wonderful coincidence, she appeared at the very moment her coming was of most importance to rescue us from slavery, if not, more probably, from a horrible death.

The savages, when they saw that we were safe on board the ship, finally ceased from the pursuit. Captain Frankland kept the ship steadily on her course, ordering five or six guns to be fired without shot over their heads, as a sign of the white man’s displeasure. After the first gun, the savages turned round their canoes, and, in terror and dismay, made the best of their way to the shore. The Triton was then steered for the coast of Japan.

It was not till some days afterwards that Jerry gave me an account of what had befallen him among the savages. “I was in a horrible fright when the savage dragged me off,” he said. “I thought that he was keeping me to kill at his leisure, just as a housewife does a pig or a turkey, when he wanted to eat me. I cannot even now describe the dreadful scenes I witnessed when the cannibal monsters cooked and devoured the poor fellows they had so treacherously slaughtered. What was my dismay, also, when a few days afterwards some more bodies of white men were brought in! I thought that they had killed you all; and it was only when I found that there were ten instead of five bodies, that I hoped I might have been mistaken.

“The man who had captured me treated me kindly, and fed me well. At first I thought he might have had his reasons (and very unsatisfactory they would have been to me) for doing the latter; but this idea I banished (as it was not a pleasant fine, and took away my appetite) when I found that he did not partake of the horrible banquets with his countrymen. He was constantly visited also in the evening by a chief, who evidently looked on them with disgust, and always looked at me most kindly, and spoke to me in the kindest tones, though I could not understand what he said. One evening, after he and my master had been talking some time, he got up and made the sign of the cross on my brow, and then on his own, and then on that of my master. Then I guessed that I must have fallen among Christians, and that this was the reason I was treated so kindly. I understood also by the signs he made that you all were well, and that he would do his best to protect you.

“One day he came and told me to follow him into the woods. My master’s hut was some way from the other habitations, so that we could go out without of necessity being observed. It was, however, necessary to be cautious. What was my delight when he took me to a height, and showing me a vessel in the distance, pointed to the fort, and signed to me to run and join you as fast as I could! You know all the rest.”

Jerry at different times afterwards gave me very interesting accounts of various things he had observed among the savages of the Fijis, but I have not now space to repeat them.

How delightful it was to find ourselves once more on board the fine steady old ship, with a well-disciplined crew, and kind, considerate officers! Our sufferings and trials had taught us to appreciate these advantages: and I believe both Jerry and I were grateful for our preservation, and for the blessings we now enjoyed.

We had a very quick and fine run till we were in the latitude of Loo-Choo. A gale then sprung up—rather unusual, I believe, at that season of the year. It lasted two days. When the weather cleared, we saw a huge, lumbering thing tumbling about at the distance of three or four miles from us. It looked, as Fleming the gunner remarked, “like a Martello tower adrift.”

“If you’d said she was one of those outlandish Chinese junk affairs, you’d have been nearer the truth,” observed Mr Pincott the carpenter, who, as of old, never lost an opportunity of taking up his friend. “By the way she rolls, I don’t think she’ll remain above water much longer.”

Captain Frankland thought the same, and making sail we stood towards her. By that time she was evidently settling down. The ship was hove-to, the boats were lowered, and, in spite of a good deal of sea which then was on, we ran alongside. A number of strange-looking figures in coloured silks and cottons, dressed more like women than men, crowded the side. Some leaped into the water in their fright; others we received into the boats, and conveyed them to the ship. Two trips had been made, when Mr Pincott, who was in the boat with me, said he did not think she would float till we came back. At that moment a person appeared at the stern of the vessel handsomely dressed. He was a fine-looking old gentleman. He must have seen his danger, and he seemed to be bidding his countrymen farewell. I could not bear the thought of leaving him; so I begged Mr Pincott to pull back, and signing him to descend by one of the rope-ladders hanging over the stern, we received him safely into the boat. Scarcely had we done so, when the junk gave a heavy lurch. “There she goes, poor thing!” exclaimed Pincott. “Well, she didn’t look as if she was made to swim. But pull away, my lads—pull away. We may be back in time to pick up some of the poor fellows.” It was heartrending to see the poor wretches struggling in the water, and holding out their hands imploringly to us, and yet not be able to help them. Many very soon sunk; others got hold of gratings and bits of wreck, and endeavoured to keep themselves afloat, but some of those monsters of the deep—the sharks—got in among them, and very soon committed horrible havoc among the survivors. The moment we were able to get the people we had in the boat up the ship’s side we returned to the scene of the catastrophe. We pulled about as rapidly as we could, hauling in all we could get hold of still swimming about, but some were drawn down even before our very eyes, and altogether a good many must have been lost.

The old gentleman I had been the means of saving proved to be the chief person on board. We made out that the junk was from Loo-Choo, but that he himself belonged to some town in Japan. This we discovered by showing him a map, and from the very significant signs he made. While we were making all sorts of pantomimic gestures, Mr Renshaw suggested that a lad we had on board, supposed to be a Chinese, might perhaps be able to talk with him. Chin Chi had been picked up from a wreck at sea on a former voyage of the Triton, and had now made some progress in his knowledge of English. Chin Chi was brought aft with some reluctance. What, however, was our astonishment to see the old gentleman gaze at him earnestly for some minutes; they exchanged a few words; then they proved that Japanese nature was very like English nature, for, rushing forward, they threw themselves into each other’s arms—the father had found a long-lost son!

The son had been seized, like many of his countrymen, with a desire to see the civilised world, of which, in spite of the exclusive system of his government, he had heard, and had stolen off, and got on board a ship which was afterwards wrecked, he being the only survivor. Poor fellow, he had seen but a very rugged part of the world during his visit to England, in the Liverpool docks and similar localities. He told his father, however, how well he had been treated on board the Triton; and the old gentleman, on hearing this, endeavoured to express his gratitude by every means in his power.

Two days after this we found ourselves anchored off the harbour of Napha, in Great Loo-Choo. In a short time a boat came off from the shore bearing two venerable old gentlemen with long beards and flowing robes of blue and yellow, gathered in at the waist with sashes, and almost hiding their white sandalled feet. On their heads they wore yellow caps, something like the Turkish fez in shape, and fastened under their chins with strings, like a baby’s nightcap. Bowing with their noses to the planks as they reached the deck, they presented red visiting cards, three feet in length, and inquired what circumstance had brought the ship to their island. Great was their astonishment when our old friend Hatchie Katsie presented himself, and said that we had come to land him and his son, who had been shipwrecked. He had come to give notice of the loss of the junk, but that he purposed proceeding on in the ship to Japan.

His first care was to send on shore for proper clothes for Chin Chi, who looked a very different person when dressed in bright-coloured robes and a gay cap. He had got a similar dress for Jerry and me. He told Captain Frankland that he could not venture to invite him on shore, but that, as we were mere boys, he might take us under his escort.

Highly delighted, we accordingly pulled on shore. We found conveyances waiting for us, kagos they were called. They were the funniest little machines I ever saw—a sort of litter; suppose a box open in front and the sides, with a low seat inside, and the lid shut down. Even Jerry and I, though not very big, had great difficulty in coiling ourselves away in ours; and how our portly old friend contrived it, was indeed a puzzle. We had to sit cross-legged, with our arms folded and our backs bent double, and were borne jogging along by two native porters, our heads every now and then bumping up against the roof, till we couldn’t help laughing and shouting out to each other to ascertain if our skulls were cracked. I suppose the natives have a mode of glueing themselves down to the seats.

We passed over several well-made bridges, and along a paved causeway, having on either side a succession of beautiful gardens and fertile rice-fields, while before us rose a hill covered with trees, out of which peeped a number of very pretty-looking villas. When we reached the top of the hill we had a fine view over a large portion of the island—several towns and numerous villages were seen, with country-houses and farms scattered about. Altogether, we formed a very favourable opinion of the island and the advanced state of civilisation among the people of Loo-Choo.

The house to which our friend took us was built of wood, and covered with earthen tiles. It had bamboo verandas, and a court-yard in front surrounded by a wall of coral. The interior was plain and neat,—the rafters appearing overhead were painted red, and the floor was covered with matting. The owner of the house, an old gentleman very like Hatchie Katsie, received us very courteously, and after we had sat some time, ordered food to be brought in. Some long-robed attendants prepared a table in the chief hall, on which they placed a number of dishes, containing red slices of eggs and cucumber, boiled fish and mustard, fried beef, bits of hog’s liver, and a variety of other similar dainties, at which we picked away without much consideration, but which might have been bits of dogs, cats, or rats, for aught I knew to the contrary. The people of Loo-Choo must be very abstemious if we judge from the size of their drinking cups—no larger than thimbles! The liquor they drank, called sakee, is distilled from rice.

We only spent two days on shore, so that I cannot pretend to know much of the country. From its elevation, and being constantly exposed to the sea-breezes, it must be very healthy. It is also very fertile. All the agricultural instruments we saw were rude. The plough was of the old Roman model, with an iron point. One of the chief productions of the island is rice, and as for it a constant supply of water is required, there is a very extensive system of irrigation. To prepare it for cultivation, the land is first overflowed, and the labourer hoes, and ploughs, and harrows, while he stands knee deep in mud and water. It is first grown in plots and then transplanted. The banyan-tree is very abundant, and so is the bamboo, which supplies them with food, lodging, and clothing, besides, from its stately growth, forming a delightful shade to their villages. The sugar-cane is grown, and much sugar is made from it. The islands are of coral formation, but, from some mighty convulsion of nature, the rock on which the coral was placed has been upheaved, and now in many places appears above it. The sketch I introduce will afford a better notion of the country-scenery in Loo-Choo than any mere verbal account which I could give.

The people of Loo-Choo are well formed, and the men have full black beards, and their hair being well oiled is gathered to the back of the head, and fastened with a gold, silver, or brass pin, according to the rank of the wearer. Their dress is a loose robe with wide sleeves, gathered round the waist with a girdle, in which they carry their tobacco pouch and pipe. The upper classes wear a white stocking, and when they go out they put on a straw sandal secured to the foot by a band passing between the great toe and the next to it, as worn by the Romans. The peasants go bareheaded and barefooted, and wear only a coarse cotton shirt. Their cottages also are generally thatched with rice straw, and surrounded by a palisade of bamboos. The furniture is of the simplest description. It consists of a thick mat spread on the plank floor, on which the people sit cross-legged; a table, a few stools, and a teapot, with some cups, and a few mugs and saucers. Their food is chiefly rice and sweet potatoes, animal food being only used by the upper classes. The upper ranks use a variety of soups, sweetmeats, and cooked and raw vegetables. They are a hard-working people, though they have their festivals and days of relaxation, when, in open spaces between the trees, they indulge in their favourite foot-ball and other athletic sports.

I think what I have given is about the full amount of the information I obtained. One thing I must observe, that although they are now sunk in a senseless idolatry, from the mildness of their dispositions, and their intelligent and inquiring minds, I believe that if Christianity were presented to them in its rightfully attractive form, they would speedily and gladly embrace the truth.

As our friend Hatchie Katsie was anxious to return to Japan, Captain Frankland very gladly undertook to convey him there. He and Chin Chi, accordingly, once more embarked with us on board the Triton.

Chapter Twenty One.

Our voyage to Japan.

Our friend Hatchie Katsie belonged to the commercial town of Hakodadi, situated in the Straits of Saugar, on the south end of the Japanese island of Yesso, and before it we found ourselves one bright morning brought up. The harbour was full of junks of all sizes, coming and going, proving that a brisk trade must be carried on there. The town seemed of considerable extent, stretching along the sea-shore for a mile or more, while many of the streets ran up the sides of a lofty promontory, at the base of which it stands. The mountains rise directly behind to an elevation of a thousand feet, their bare summits often being covered with snow. The slopes are clothed with underwood, while on the plain below wide-spreading cypresses, maples, plum and peach trees grow in rich profusion. Altogether the scene is a very picturesque and beautiful one. From numerous stone quarries the Japanese have supplied themselves with an abundance of building materials. The appearance of the town, with its well-constructed sea walls, bridges, and dikes, showed us that the Japanese must be a very industrious people, and that they have made considerable advance in civilisation.

One of the first things which struck us was a Japanese boat which came alongside, both from her model and the neat way in which she was put together. Her bows were very sharp, she had great beam, and she tapered slightly towards the stern. She was built of pine wood, and varnished without any paint. Her crew, almost naked, stood aft, and sculled her along instead of rowing, at a very great rate. The official personages she brought off sat in the fore-part; one of them, armed with two swords, a mark of rank, stood in the bows, and made a very good figure-head. We should probably have had to take our departure without holding any communication with the shore, so anxious were the Japanese government to prevent any communication of the people with foreigners, when Hatchie Katsie made his appearance on deck. The account he gave his countrymen soon changed the aspect of affairs, and we were told that the governor of the place would no doubt make an exception in our favour.

Our friend having procured Japanese clothes for us, as he had done at Loo-Choo, told us that he might venture to take us on shore and show us something of the mode of life among his countrymen. I have no doubt that Chin Chi considered it far superior to that of the English, as far as he was able to judge of them. The Japanese gentlemen were, generally, finer men than those of Loo-Choo. Their dress also was different. One of the chief people in the place, if he was not the governor, wore a gaily-coloured robe of rich silk, with the back, sleeves, and breast, covered with armorial bearings. He wore a very short pair of trousers, with black socks and straw slippers. His hat, something like a reversed bowl, shone with lacquer and ornaments of gold. I must say, however, that Europeans have no right to quiz the head covering of any nation in the world, as ours far surpass all others in ugliness, and in the want of adaptation of means to an end.

Our friend could not take us publicly into the town, so he had us conveyed to his country-house in kagos, such as were used at Loo-Choo. On every side, as we passed along, the people were busily employed; some were lading their packhorses with bags of meal, others with heavy mallets were pounding grain into flour, while others were hoeing in the rice grounds up to their knees in water. There was no sign of poverty, and even the lowest people were well and comfortably clad in coarse garments, shorter than those of the more wealthy classes. All wear the hair drawn up and fastened at the top in a knot. In rainy weather they wear cloaks made of straw, so that a person looks like a thatched roof. The same sort of garments, I hear, are used by the Portuguese peasantry. The upper classes cover their robes with a waterproof cloak of oiled-paper. All, like the Chinese, use the umbrella as a guard from the sun and rain.

The streets are thoroughly drained, for not only are there surface gutters, but deep drains which carry all the filth into the sea. Here, again, they are in advance of many civilised people. Some of the best houses are built of stone, but they are usually constructed of a framework of bamboo and laths, which is covered with plaster painted black and white in diagonal lines. The roofs are composed of black and white tiles; the eaves extending low down to protect the interior from the sun, and the oiled-paper windows from the rain. They are, generally, of but one story. Some of the residences stand back from the street with a court-yard before them, and have gardens behind. The fronts of the shops have movable shutters, and behind these are sliding panels of oiled-paper or lattices of bamboo, to secure privacy when required. In the interior of the houses is a framework raised two feet from the ground, divided by sliding panels into several compartments, and spread with stuffed mats; it is the guest, dining, and sleeping-room of private houses, and the usual workshop of handicraftsmen—a house within a house. When a nobleman travelling stops at a lodging-house, his banner is conspicuously displayed outside, while the names of inferior guests are fastened to the door-posts. The doctor made a capital sketch of a scene we saw when looking into the interior of a Japanese house—a servant apparently feeding two children.

A Japanese has only one wife, consequently women stand far higher in the social scale than among other Eastern people. They have evening parties, when tea is handed round; and the guests amuse themselves with music and cards. Japanese ladies have an ugly custom of dyeing their teeth black, by a process which at the same time destroys the gums. The more wealthy people have suburban villas, the gardens of which are surrounded by a wall, and laid out in the Chinese style, with fish-ponds, containing gold and silver fish, bridges, pagoda-shaped summer-houses and chapels, beds of gay-coloured flowers, and dwarf fruit-trees.

A large portion of the people profess the Buddhist religion. We visited a large temple at Hakodadi, full sixty feet high. The tiled roof is supported on an arrangement of girders, posts, and tie-beams, resting upon large lacquered pillars. The ornaments in the interior, consisting of dragons, phoenixes, cranes, tortoises, all connected with the worship of Buddha, are elaborately carved and richly gilt. There are three shrines, each containing an image, and the raised floor is thickly covered with mats. We were shown a curious praying machine covered with inscriptions. At about the height easily reached by a person was a wheel with three spokes, and on each spoke a ring: turning the wheel once round is considered equivalent to saying a prayer, and the jingle of the ring is supposed to call the attention of the divinity to the presence of the person paying his devotions. The Sintoo worship is practised also among the Japanese, but its temples are less resorted to than those of Buddha.

We saw a number of junks building. In shape they were like the Chinese, but none were more than a hundred tons burden. Canvas instead of bamboo is used for sails.

The Japanese are decidedly a literary people. All classes can read and write; and works of light reading appear from their presses almost with the same rapidity that they do with us. They print from wooden blocks, and have wooden type. They have also long been accustomed to print in colours. The paper they employ is manufactured from the bark of the mulberry, but is so thin that only one side can be used. They have sorts of games, some like our chess, and cards, and lotto, and we saw the lads in the streets playing ball very much as boys do in an English country village.

As we did not go to the capital, I cannot describe it. We understood that there are two emperors of Japan—one acts as the civil governor, and the other as the head of all ecclesiastical affairs, a sort of pope or patriarch. The laws are very strict, especially with regard to all communication with foreigners. If a person of rank transgresses them and he is discovered, notice is sent to him, and he instantly cuts himself open with his sword, and thus prevents the confiscation of his property. The people exhibit an extraordinary mixture of civilisation and barbarism; the latter being the result of their gross superstitious faith, and their seclusion from the rest of the world; the former shows how acute and ingenious must be their minds to triumph over such difficulties.

Our friend Hatchie Katsie accompanied us to the shore when we embarked. Chin Chi parted with us most unwillingly. He longed to see more of the wonders of the world; but even had his father been ready to let him go, we could not have ventured to carry him away publicly in opposition to the laws of the country.

Once more we were at sea. “Homeward! homeward!” was the cry; but we had still a long way to sail and many places to visit before we could get there. Steering south, we came to an anchor before the city of Manilla, the capital of the Philippine Islands, the largest of which is Lujon. They belong to Spain, having been taken possession of in 1565. They are inhabited by a variety of savage tribes, most of whom have been converted by their conquerors to the Roman Catholic faith. The capital stands on a low plain near a large lake, which has numerous branches, now converted into canals. Hills rise in the distance, and behind them ranges of lofty mountains, clothed to their summits with luxuriant vegetation. The number of Europeans is very small compared to that of the half-castes and aborigines. There are said to be forty thousand of those industrious people, the Chinese, who appear now to be finding their way into every country on the shores of the Pacific where employment can be procured. The largest manufactory at Manilla is that of cigars. The city appeared to be in a somewhat dilapidated condition, the churches and public buildings, especially, were fast falling into decay.

We, as usual, were fortunate, and got a trip, through the kindness of an English merchant, up the lake and a good way into the interior, when we could not help wondering at the magnificent display of tropical vegetation which we beheld. We also saw three of the most ferocious animals of the country. Scarcely had we landed when, as with our friend and several Indian attendants we were proceeding along the hanks of the stream, our friend wished to send a message to a cottage on the opposite side to desire the attendance of the master as a guide. There was a ford near, but the Indian who was told to go said he would swim his horse across.

“Take care of the cayman,” was the warning given by all.

“Oh, I care not for caymans; I would fight with a dozen of them!” was the answer given, we were told.

The lake and rivers running into it abound with these savage monsters, a species of alligator or crocodile. The man forced his horse into the stream and swam on some way. Suddenly we were startled with the cry of “A cayman! a cayman! Take care, man!” The Indian threw himself from his horse and swam boldly to the bank, leaving his poor steed to become the prey of the monster. The cayman made directly for the horse, and seized him with his huge jaws by the body. The poor steed’s shriek of agony sounded in our ears, but fortunately for him the saddle-girth gave way, and he struggled free, leaving the tough leather alone in the brute’s mouth, and swam off to shore. The cayman, not liking the morsel, looked about for something more to his taste.

The Indian had reached the bank, but instead of getting out of the water, he stood in a shallow place behind a tree, and, drawing his sword, declared that he was ready to fight the cayman. The monster open-mouthed made at him; but the man in his folly struck at its head. He might as well have tried to cut through a suit of ancient armour. The next instant, to our horror, the cayman had him shrieking in his jaws, and with his writhing body disappeared beneath the surface of the stream!

After this our journey was enlivened by all sorts of horrible accounts of adventures with caymans, till we neared the spot where we expected to find some buffaloes. As we rode along we heard an extraordinary cry. “It is a wild boar,” exclaimed our friend; “but I suspect a boa has got hold of him—a great bore for him, I suspect.” We rode to the spot whence the sound came. There, sure enough, suspended from the low branch of a tree was a huge boa-constrictor, some twenty feet long, perhaps, which had just enclosed a wild pig in its monstrous folds. While we looked he descended, and lubricating the animal with the saliva from his mouth, and placing himself before it, took the snout in his jaws and began to suck it in. We had not time to wait, as our friend told us it would take a couple of hours before he got the morsel into his stomach. This process is performed by wonderful muscular action and power of distension.

In half an hour we reached a plain bordered by a forest. “Here we shall find buffaloes in abundance,” exclaimed our friend; “but, my lads, be cautious; keep behind me, and watch my movements, or you may be seriously injured, or lose your lives. Buffalo-hunting is no child’s play, remember.” We had with us a number of Indians on horseback armed with rifles, and a pack of dogs of high and low degree. Our chief hunter was a remarkably fine-looking man, a half-caste. He was dressed in something like a bull-fighter’s costume. He dismounted and approached the wood, rifle in hand. Two of the Indians threw off most of their clothes, and kept only their swords by their sides. Thus lightly clad, they were able to climb the trees to get out of harm’s way. The Indians beat the woods, and the dogs barked and yelped, till at length a huge buffalo came out to ascertain what all the noise was about. He stood pawing the ground and tossing up the grass with his horns, as if working himself into a rage, looking round that he might single out an object on which to vent his rage. Though we were at some distance, we felt the scene excessively trying. His eye soon fell on the bold huntsman, who stood rifle in hand ready to hit him on the head as he approached. If his hand trembled, if his rifle missed fire, his fate was sealed. The excitement, as I watched the result, was so great, that I could scarcely breathe. The huntsman stood like a statue, so calm and unmoved, with his eye fixed on the monstrous brute. The buffalo got within a dozen paces of him. I almost shrieked out, for I expected every moment to see the man tossed in the air, or trampled and gored to death with those formidable horns. On came the buffalo—there was a report—a cloud of smoke—and as it cleared away, he was seen with his knees bent and his head as it were ploughing the ground; yet another moment, and his huge body rolled over a lifeless mass; and the hunter advancing, placed his foot proudly between his horns, as a sign that he was the victor. Loud shouts rent the air from all the Indians, for the feat their leader had performed was no easy one, and which few are capable of accomplishing. In some parts of the island, buffaloes are taken with the lasso, as we had seen it employed in Mexico. The animal was cut up and transferred to a cart, to be carried down to the lake, by which it was to be conveyed to Manilla. Tame buffaloes are used for agricultural purposes.

The vegetable productions of the Philippines are very numerous. Rice is grown in great quantities. What is known as Manilla hemp is an article of much value. It is obtained from the fibre of a species of plantain. It, can only be exported from the port of Manilla. Indigo, coffee, sugar, cotton, and tobacco, are grown in abundance; indeed, were the resources of the islands fully developed, they would prove some of the richest in the world. But it may truly be said, that where Spaniards rule there a blight is sure to fall.

On leaving the Philippines, we sighted the coast of Borneo, and looked in at Sarawak, a province which the talent, the energy, the perseverance, and the philanthropy of Sir James Brooke, have brought from the depths of barbarism and disorder to a high state of civilisation. Those who are incapable of appreciating his noble qualities seem inclined to allow it to return to the same condition in which he found it. I heard Captain Frankland speak very strongly on the subject, and he said it would be a disgrace to England, and the most shortsighted policy, if she withdraws her support from the province, and refuses to recompense Sir James for the fortune which he has expended on it.

We next touched at Singapore, which was founded by a man of very similar character and talents to Sir James Brooke. That man was Sir Stamford Raffles, whose life is well worthy of attentive study. When, in 1819, the English took possession of the island at the end of the Malay peninsula, on which Singapore now stands, it contained but a few huts, the remnants of an old city, once the capital of the Malayan kingdom, and was then the resort of all the pirates who swarmed in the neighbouring seas. It is now a free port, resorted to by ships of all nations. It is the head-quarters of many wealthy mercantile houses, whose managers live in handsome houses facing the bay, while its working population is made up of Arabs, Malays, Chinese, and, indeed, by people from all parts of the East. Singapore is another example of what the talent and energy of one man can effect.

The next harbour in which we found ourselves was that of Port Louis in the Mauritius. The town stands at the head of the bay, and is enclosed on the east, and north, and south, by mountains rising but a short distance from the shore. The most lofty is the Pouce, which towers up 2800 feet immediately behind the town, and is a remarkable and picturesque object. The Mauritius is one of the most flourishing of England’s dependencies, and the French inhabitants seem perfectly contented with her rule, and appreciate the numerous advantages they possess from being under it. Since the abolition of slavery, coolies have been brought over to cultivate sugar, rice, tobacco, and to engage in other labours, formerly performed by the negro slaves. Port Louis is a well-built town, and has a bustling and gay appearance, from the number of traders from all parts of the East, who appear in their various and picturesque costumes. Our stay here was short.

We were next bound to the coast of Madagascar, Captain Frankland having instructions to endeavour to open up a trade with the people, and to gain all the information he could collect regarding them. Madagascar is larger than Great Britain and Ireland combined, and contains three millions of inhabitants. In 1817, a treaty was entered into between the governor of the Mauritius and Radama, who was king of part of the country. The king consented to the abolition of the slave trade; and in return, he was supplied with arms and ammunition, and military instructors were sent to drill his army. The London Missionary Society also sent over a body of highly intelligent men, some to instruct the people in Christianity, and others more particularly in a variety of useful arts. A considerable number of Malagasy youths were sent on board English ships of war to be instructed in seamanship, while others were carried to England to receive a more finished education. It is a remarkable fact, that, although when the missionaries arrived in 1818 letters were totally unknown, in ten years from 10,000 to 15,000 natives had learned to read, many of them to write, and several had made some progress in English. This speaks well for the zeal and excellence of the system employed by the missionaries, and for the talent of the natives.

King Radama, after considerably extending his dominions, died in 1828, when the policy of his successor towards the English considerably changed. The Malagasy government having resolved to impose their own laws on foreign residents at the port of Tamatave, an English and two French ships of war went there to try and settle the questions at issue. Failing to do so, they attacked the port, which, however, was so well defended, that they were compelled to retire, leaving several of their number behind, whose heads were stuck upon poles on the shore. In consequence of this untoward event, all intercourse with the English ceased for eight years. Before that time the government had commenced a cruel persecution of the Christian natives, and numbers were put to death. The effect, however, was very different from what was expected. Attention was drawn to the subject of Christianity. Many of all ranks began to study the Bible and to acknowledge the truth, and among them was the queen’s son, then only seventeen years old. The queen was greatly averse to the new religion; and this, probably, was one of the causes which made her break off all intercourse with strangers, while she carried on the persecution against her own subjects who had become converts. The patient way in which the Christians bore their sufferings induced many others to inquire into the truth of their doctrines, and ultimately to embrace them. At last a reaction took place; the queen began to discover the ill effects of the restrictive system she had been endeavouring to establish, and once more showed an inclination to renew her intercourse with civilised nations. Friendly relations with the British had again been established when we anchored before Tamatave.

The roadstead before Tamatave offers a good anchorage, except when the wind is from the north or east. Several species of pandanus and some tall cocoa-nut trees gave a tropical character to the scenery. Soon after anchoring, a large but rather clumsy canoe came alongside, with an officer who spoke a little English, and said he was the harbour-master, and a number of attendants. They wore neatly plaited straw hats, white shirts bound round the loins with cloths, and large white scarfs thrown gracefully over the shoulders like the Scotch plaid. The harbour-master entered in a book the name of the ship and other particulars, and we then accompanied him to his house on shore—that is, the captain, the doctor, and Jerry and I. It was built of wood, nearly fifty feet long and twenty-five high, a verandah running all round; a door in the centre, and windows on either side; the floor of the veranda well planked, so as to form an outer apartment. The whole was thatched with the leaves of the traveller’s-tree. The walls were covered with tofia, or native cloth, and the floor with a large fine mat. A well-made bedstead stood in one corner with sleeping mats on it, and in the centre a table covered with a white cloth. In different parts of the room were chairs and ottomans covered with mats; cooking utensils, arms, machines for making mats, bags of rice, and other articles for consumption, were arranged against the sides of the room. It was a fair specimen of a native house, and in the essentials showed a considerable advancement in civilisation and notions of comfort, as it was admirably adapted to the climate.

Captain Frankland’s object in coming to Madagascar was to open up a commercial intercourse with the people, and to advance this object he had resolved to visit the capital. He had been supplied with several letters of introduction to facilitate this object. This brought us in contact with a number of people. One of our first visitors was a fine-looking man, an officer of government. He wore a gold-lace cloth cap, a shirt with an elaborately worked collar and cuffs, and over it a lamba, the native scarf or plaid, the centre of which consisted of broad stripes of yellow, pink, scarlet, and purple, with the border of open work of yellow and scarlet lace. He had, however, neither shoes nor stockings. He was accompanied by two men bearing swords, the badges of his office. One of our visitors took snuff (a usual custom), by jerking it from a richly ornamented tube of cane which his servant handed to him, on to his tongue, when he swallowed it!

Tamatave, where we landed, is a large village, but the houses, or rather huts, have generally a dilapidated appearance. There are a few good houses, belonging to foreigners and to the government officers. We were amused by seeing slaves filling thick bamboos six or seven feet long with water from a well. The water is pulled up in a cow horn instead of a bucket, while the bamboo takes the place of a pitcher. We visited the market. The vendors sat in the centre, or at the side of platforms made of sand or mud, on which the articles were piled up. We found rice, maize, millet, mandioc, plantains, oranges, pine-apples, and many other fruits. All sorts of poultry were to be seen, and the butchers had their meat arranged before them cut up into pieces on broad plantain leaves. The women were dressed very much in articles of European manufacture; their hair, which is jet black, was arranged frequently in light curls or knots, which has a far from picturesque effect.

Nothing is more wonderful in Madagascar than the great strides education has made. Thirty years ago the language was unwritten. Only one person, who had been educated in the Mauritius, could write, and that was in a foreign language. Now, all the government officers can write, and all the business is transacted by writing, while all classes are greedy for instruction; indeed, we had great reason to believe that there are few more intelligent people than the inhabitants of that magnificent island.

Before starting on our journey we were invited to a dinner by one of the chiefs. Our surprise was great, when we approached the house, to find two lines of soldiers drawn up, dressed in white kilts with white belts across their naked shoulders, with a musket or spear. We were ushered into a handsome hall full of officers in every variety of European uniform, the chiefs having cocked hats, feathers, and gold epaulets. The lady of the house and several other ladies were present, dressed in English fashion; and the feast, which was abundant, was served much in the English style. Several of the officers spoke English, and toasts were drunk and speeches made, while a band played very well both when we entered and after dinner. Some female slaves stood behind the ladies, and two afterwards came in and made some very excellent coffee. We were very much interested as well as surprised to find so much civilisation among those whom we had supposed barbarians.

I have spoken of slaves. Although the government has abolished the exportation of slaves, slavery is still allowed in the country. The slaves are generally people taken in war from among the inhabitants of the northern provinces. People are also condemned to perpetual slavery for crimes by the government. The Hovas, the name of the dominant tribe, of whom Radama was chief, have made slaves of great numbers of the tribes whom they have conquered. We heard, however, that they are generally kindly treated. Many of the Christians were condemned to slavery during the late persecutions; but the conditions made with those who took charge of them was, that they were to be kept constantly at hard labour. We heard much of the admirable conduct of the Christians under all their persecutions. Their heathen masters declared that they could be intrusted with any matter of importance, and were scrupulously exact with regard to all property placed under their charge, while among themselves they kept up the pure and simple doctrines which they had learned from the Bible itself.

We now got ready for our journey. We had a guide who had been in England, and some years at the Cape of Good Hope, and spoke English perfectly. Our palanquins were something like cots slung on a long pole, with a roof of native cloth, which could be rolled up or let down to keep off the rain or sun. The machine was borne by four bearers, two before and two behind, while four others walked by the side ready to relieve them. No wheeled carriages are used in Madagascar, so that the only roads are the paths made by the unshod feet of the natives, or by the bullocks’ hoofs; and there is no water-carriage—all goods are conveyed on men’s shoulders from one part of the country to the other; so that we had quite an army with us, what with our relays of bearers, and those who carried our baggage and presents. Up and down hills we travelled, through the wildest scenery we could imagine. It is difficult to describe it. Sometimes we had to wind up and down over rugged heights; then through forests, frequently turning aside to avoid the huge trees which had fallen across our path; then across swamps and plots of slippery mud; and often we had to force our way through dense jungle, or through miles of primeval forests.

We saw many interesting trees and plants. One of the most beautiful is the bamboo. Some of the canes, nearly a foot in circumference at the base, rise to the height of forty or fifty feet, their slight, feathery-looking points, like huge plumes, waving with the slightest breeze, and assisting to keep up a circulation of the air. They are fringed at their joints with short branches of long, lance-shaped leaves. We saw bamboos of all sizes, some with the cane as delicate as a small quill, yet fully ten feet long; and these were also exceedingly graceful. So also were the tree-ferns, which grew in great profusion and beauty on the sides of the hills. But the most curious and valuable tree we saw was the traveller’s-tree. It has a thick succulent stem like the plantain. From ten to thirty feet from the ground it sends out from the stem, not all round, but on opposite sides, like a fan, ten or a dozen huge bright green leaves; so that facing it, it has the appearance of a vast fan. The stalk of the leaf is six or eight feet long, and the leaf itself four or six more. In each head were four or five branches of seed-pods, in appearance something like the fruit of the plantain. When they burst each pod was found to contain thirty or more seeds, in shape like a small bean, covered up with a very fine fibre of a brilliant purple or blue colour. The most singular arrangement, which gains this tree the name it bears, is the pure water which it contains. This is found in the thick part of the stem of each leaf, at the spot where it rises from the stem, where there is a cavity formed by nature. The water is evidently collected by the broad leaf, and carried down a groove in the stem to the bowl, which holds a quart or more, perhaps, at a time. The traveller’s-tree is of great use for other purposes to the natives. With the leaves they thatch their houses; the stems serve to portion off the rooms; and the hard outside bark is beaten flat, and is used for flooring. The green leaves are used to envelop packages, and sometimes a table is covered with them instead of a tablecloth, while they are also folded into various shapes, to be employed as plates, bowls, and even spoons.

We had to cross a river said to be infested by crocodiles. The natives walked close to us on either side, beating the water with long sticks to keep them away. The natives look on them with great dread, and attempt to propitiate them by charms or sacrifices, instead of endeavouring to destroy them. They, however, take their eggs in great numbers, and dry them for food.

Locusts in great numbers infest some of the provinces; but the people do not allow them to pass without paying a heavy tribute, and eat them as one of their chief luxuries, dressed in fat. They fly about two or three feet from the ground. As soon as they appear, men, women, and children rush out—the men catch them in sheets, the women and children pick them from the ground, and then shake them in sacks till the wings and legs are knocked off. The lighter parts are then winnowed away, and the bodies are dried in the sun and sold in the markets.

The natives seem to have the same dread of serpents that they have of crocodiles. The doctor found one, ten feet long, coiled away on the mat where he had slept one morning, on going back to look for something he had left there; but it escaped before it could be killed.

We slept during our journey sometimes at the habitations of chiefs, sometimes at peasants’ huts, and sometimes at houses in villages provided for our accommodation. The chiefs’ houses were small, but compactly built. We remarked that the water was kept in large earthen jars—like those used in the Holy Land, I conclude. The sleeping-places were neatly arranged round the rooms, and there was a general air of comfort and respectability perceptible in most of them. Very different was a peasant’s hut when we entered. It was not more than twenty feet square, divided into two compartments. In the outer were calves, lambs, and fowls. In the inner, at one end was a bed, and at the foot of it a fireplace, over which a man was cooking a pot of rice. His wife sat before a loom, consisting of four upright sticks fixed in the ground, with rods across. At the distance of seven feet were two short sticks driven into the ground, connected by a bar, over which was stretched the woof of silk to be woven. On this simple apparatus the most beautiful and rich patterns are worked. Silk-worms abound in some of the provinces, and a very large amount might be produced and form an important article of trade.

As we approached the capital we found the villages of the Hovas all strongly fortified on the summits of hills or rocks. They have but one narrow and difficult entrance, and are surrounded by one or more deep ditches, every ridge at the side of the hill being cut through. Great care, indeed, has been shown in their construction, showing that they were a warlike and marauding people, and found it necessary to guard against reprisals from the neighbours they have attacked.

Antananarivo, the capital, at which we at length arrived, after a journey of three hundred miles, is a very curious place. It is built on an oval hill, nearly two miles in length, rising four or five hundred feet above the surrounding country, and is seven thousand feet higher than the level of the sea. On the highest part of the hill, and forming a conspicuous object, is the palace of the queen. It is sixty feet high, with a lofty and steep roof, with attic windows, and is surrounded by balconies, one above, the other. The top is surmounted by a huge golden eagle, with outspread wings, which looks as if able to have a tough fight with the one which overshadowed the articles from the United States at, the Great Exhibition.

The palace of the prince, which is smaller, is on one side, and has also a golden eagle over it. The dwellings of other members of the royal family and chief nobility are on either side, while the rest of the houses, which are only of one story, clothe the sides of the hill, standing generally on small terraces, wherever the ground has allowed their formation. The houses are of plain unpainted wood, which gives them a somewhat sombre and dilapidated appearance. The interiors are, however, very comfortable, and admirably suited to the climate.

Captain Frankland had the honour of an audience with the queen, who received him very graciously, and seemed much pleased with the object of his visit to the country. Still more interested were we with the prince royal and the princess Rabodo, his wife, who had for some time become consistent Christians. We were much struck with the kind and courteous way in which the prince invariably treated his wife whenever they appeared in public. We always saw him dressed in a handsome uniform, and she always appeared in the costume of an English lady. All the officers of the court were well dressed, either in European uniforms, or in full native costume, which is very becoming.

We had a very comfortable house appropriated to us. We found the climate at this elevation far pleasanter than near the coast, the thermometer, in the morning, not being higher than 56 degrees to 58 degrees. A number of the chiefs visited Captain Frankland, to talk about the productions of the country and the best methods for improving its resources. Jerry and I meantime made several excursions into the surrounding country with the doctor, accompanied by a young chief, who spoke English very well. We one day passed a body of troops, and he told us that there were forty thousand men forming an army round the capital besides artillery. Among other places we visited was the country palace of Radama, called Isoaierana. The top of a hill had been removed to clear a space for the edifice. It is a wonderful building, considering the means at the disposal of the architect, but it wants height to give it grandeur. It is composed entirely of wood, the timber having been brought from a forest fifty miles off. Rows of balconies run round it. One hall we entered was a hundred feet long and forty wide; but that also wanted height to make it appear to advantage.

From the very slight description I have given of the country, it will be seen that considerable advances have of late years been made in civilisation. The prince royal is a most excellently disposed young man, but his education is defective. Should his life be spared, there can be no doubt that he will exert himself to carry on the improvements commenced under the auspices of Radama. Unhappily, his mother and most of the chief nobility still are heathens, while the severe edicts against the Christians yet remain in force. However, all must believe that Christianity will ultimately triumph, and a happy future be in store for that interesting country.

We were very sorry when, the captain having concluded his business, we had once more to get into our palanquins, and to commence our return journey to the coast. We met with no adventure worthy of being noted, though we saw a number of curious and interesting plants and shrubs. At length once more we trod the deck of the Triton. The anchor was hove up, the topsails hoisted, and with a fair breeze we stood to the southward. We touched at Cape Town, but I will not describe it or the Table Mountain, of which every one has heard over and over again. One day we were all on deck, when the Captain and mates and Jerry and I were taking observations. “I thought so,” exclaimed Captain Frankland; “we have just put a girdle round the world; and now, lads, you will have spare time enough to tie the knot.” In a few weeks after this we reached the shores of Old England in safety, and though we had heartily enjoyed our voyage, right glad and thankful too were we to see once more its snow-white cliffs.

I spent three days with Captain Frankland’s family, and then Jerry and old Surley, who must not be forgotten, accompanied me to my own home. All were there for the Christmas holidays, and what between my dear father and mother’s embraces, and my sisters pulling me here and there to get another and another kiss at my well-browned cheeks, and my brother’s reiterated and hearty thumps on the back, I was almost in as much danger of being pulled to pieces as I had during any time of the voyage, and had not Jerry been there to draw off the attention of some of the party, I do not know what would have been the result. Cousin Silas soon afterwards joined us, and remained while the ship was refitting. We spent a very merry Christmas, and no one seemed tired of hearing us recount our adventures. Old Surley used to sit at our feet, and he nodded his head and winked his eyes, as much as to say “It is all true, and if I could but speak I would tell you the same story.” I hope that my readers will receive it in as favourable a way as did my family. We had learned many lessons during our trip. We had been taught to respect other people, their manners, and even their prejudices, and to reflect what we ourselves should have been had we laboured under similar disadvantages, while at the same time we had seen every reason to love Old England more and more, and to be deeply grateful for the numberless inestimable blessings she enjoys. We had been taught, too, to observe the finger of the Almighty in his wondrous works, and to remark how he has scattered his precious gifts far and wide over the face of the globe for the benefit of his creatures. Our midnight watches have not been unprofitable. Often and often in the calm night we have gazed upward at the starlit sky and thought upon God. We have had time for reflection. We have felt our own unworthiness. We have asked ourselves the serious question, Do we make a good and complete use of the advantages we possess—of the instruction afforded us—of the great examples set before us—of the Word of God laid freely open for us? But I might go on for ever asking similar questions. Happy are those who can make satisfactory answers. I must conclude by expressing a hope that those who have gone through these pages will have found some of the amusement and instruction which Jerry and I obtained in our—

Voyage round the World.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Waihoura, the Maori Girl"

Chapter One.

The New Colony.

Arrival of the families of Mr Pemberton, Farmer Greening and others, in New Zealand.—Inspect Land.—Encamp near the Port till they can settle on the Land they have selected.

A fine emigrant ship, her voyage happily terminated, had just entered her destined port in the northern island of New Zealand. Her anchor was dropped, the crew were aloft furling sails, and several boats were alongside ready to convey the passengers to the shore. All was bustle and excitement on board, each person anxious to secure his own property,—and people were running backwards and forwards into the cabins, to bring away any minor articles which might have been forgotten.

The water was calm and bright, the sky intensely blue. On either hand were bold picturesque headlands running out into the sea, fringed by dark rocks, while beyond the sandy beach, which bordered the bay, on a partially cleared space, were seen numerous cottages, interspersed with tents and huts, many of the latter rudely constructed of boughs. Further off arose forests of tall trees, reaching to the base, and climbing the sides of a range of high mountains, here and there broken by deep ravines, with sparkling streams rushing down them, finding their way into a broad river which flowed into the bay. Beyond the first range appeared others—range beyond range, the summits of several towering to the sky, covered with mantles of snow shining with dazzling whiteness in the bright rays of the sun. In several places the forest gave way to wide open tracts, clothed with fern or tall waving grass.

“Here we are safe at last,” exclaimed Valentine Pemberton, a young gentleman about eighteen, as he stepped from one of the first boats on to the ledge of rocks which formed the chief landing-place of the settlement.

“Father, let me help you,” he added, extending his arm towards a middle-aged fine-looking man who followed him.

“Now, Lucy, take my hand; the rocks are somewhat slippery. Harry, you can look out for yourself.” He addressed his young sister, a fair sweet-looking girl of about fifteen, and his brother, a fine active boy, who sprang on to the rock after him.

“Take care of Betsy, though,” said Lucy, not forgetful of her faithful maid, whose attachment to her young mistress had induced to leave home for a strange land.

“Paul Greening is helping her,” answered Harry.

Mr Pemberton, with his daughter and two sons, soon made their way to the more even beach, followed by Betsy and Paul Greening. Paul’s father, farmer Greening, a sturdy English yeoman, with his wife and two younger sons, James and little Tobias, as the latter was called, though as big as his brothers, were the next to land.

“My boys and I will look after your things, Mr Pemberton,” shouted the farmer. “Do you go and find lodgings for Miss Lucy and Betsy.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Mr Pemberton, “but we have made up our mind to rough it, and purpose camping out under tents until we can get a roof of our own over our heads. Before we begin work, however, I wish to return thanks to Him who has guided and protected us during our voyage across the ocean. Will you and your family join us?”

“Aye, gladly sir,” answered farmer Greening. “We are ready enough to be angry with those who are thankless to us when we have done them a kindness, and I have often thought how ungrateful we are apt to be to Him who gives us everything we enjoy in this life.”

Mr Pemberton led the way to a sheltered spot, where they were concealed by some high rocks from the busy throng on the beach. He there, with his own children and the farmer’s family, knelt down and offered a hearty thanksgiving to the merciful God who had heretofore been their friend and guide, and a fervent prayer for protection from future dangers. Then, with cheerful hearts and strong hands, they returned to the boat, to assist in landing their goods and chattels, while Valentine and Paul went back to the ship to bring off the remainder of the luggage.

Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening, meantime, set off to get the surveying officer to point out a plot of ground on which they might encamp, the rest of the party remaining on the beach to look after their property.

While they were thus employed, a bustling little man, in a green velveteen shooting coat, approached Lucy, who, with Betsy and Mrs Greening were removing the lighter articles of their baggage. Underneath a broad-brimmed hat, which he wore far back on his bullet-like head, covered with short cropped hair, appeared a pair of round eyes, and a funny turned up nose.

“Oh, Miss Pemberton, I am shocked to see you so employed!” he exclaimed. “Let me assist you. My own things will not be brought on shore to-day, I am told, and I have no wish to go on board the ship again to look for them.”

“Thank you, Mr Nicholas Spears,” said Lucy, who had already discovered that the little man was never happy unless attending other people’s concerns, to the neglect of his own, and had no wish to encourage him in his bad habit. “My brother Harry and our friends here can do all that is necessary.”

“Oh, I beg ten thousand pardons, Miss Lucy, but I thought that I could be of use to you. It would be such a pleasure, believe me.”

Mr Nicholas Spears rolled his round eyes about, and twitched his mouth in such a curious manner when he spoke, that Lucy could scarcely refrain from laughing outright.

“If you don’t look after your own property, Mr Spears, I don’t think anybody else will,” observed Mrs Greening. “Just let me advise you to go back in the first boat, and see if any of your goods have been got out of the hold, or they may be sent on shore, and you will not know what have become of them.”

The little man seemed very unwilling to follow this wise counsel, but hearing his name called by some of the other emigrants, he hurried away to join them, and was seen running up and down the beach, carrying their boxes and parcels.

Most of the other passengers had now come on shore, and were busily employed in looking after their property, and conveying it from the beach.

Valentine and Paul had just returned with the remainder of their goods, and soon afterwards Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening returned, accompanied by four dark-skinned men, dressed in shirts and trousers, the few tattoo marks on their faces, and the shaggy state of their black hair, showing them to be of the lower order of natives. They brought also a small dray, drawn by bullocks, with which to transport the heavier articles of their luggage.

“Wherever you go, Mr Pemberton, with your leave, I and mine will go too,” said farmer Greening, as they walked along. “We have been neighbours in the old country, and you have ever been a kind friend to me, and if I can be of any use to you in choosing land, which I ought to know something about, why, you see, sir, it’s just what I shall be glad to do.”

Mr Pemberton knew the value of the farmer’s friendship and assistance too well to decline it, and thanked him heartily.

He had himself gone through many trials. After enjoying a good fortune derived from West Indian property, and living the life of a country gentleman, he found himself, at the time he was about to send his eldest son to the university, and his second boy into the navy, deprived of nearly the whole of his income. Soon afterwards he lost his wife, a far greater blow to his happiness, and believing that he could best provide for his children by emigrating to one of the colonies, with the small remainder of his fortune, he had embarked with them for New Zealand.

A cleared space on some rising ground overlooking the harbour had been selected for encamping. To this the property of the party was soon conveyed.

Mr Pemberton had brought with him two tents, the largest of which served as a store-house for his goods, and there was also space in it for beds for himself and his sons, while a much smaller one was appropriated to the use of Lucy and Betsy, which Lucy had invited Mrs Greening to share with them. The farmer and his sons, with the assistance of the Maoris, as the New Zealanders are called, were putting up a hut in which they might find shelter till the land they had purchased had been fixed on. It was composed simply of stakes driven into the ground, interwoven with branches of trees, beams being secured to the top, while other branches were placed on them and thatched with long grass, an operation quickly performed by the Maoris. Before dark it was in a sufficiently forward state to afford shelter to the farmer and his sons,—some heaps of fern, brought in by their active assistants, serving them for beds. While the pakehas, the strangers, as the natives call the English, slept at one end, the four Maoris occupied the other.

Before they lay down to rest Mr Pemberton invited them into his tent to join in family worship, a practice he had kept up during the voyage, and hoped in future to maintain under all circumstances.

“It’s a great blessing and advantage, Miss Lucy, to be associated with a gentleman like the Squire,” said Mrs Greening, when they returned to their tent. “My boys especially might be inclined to run wild in this strange country, if they hadn’t the good example he sets before them.”

“We, I am sure, shall be a mutual help to each other, Mrs Greening,” answered Lucy. “Your husband’s practical experience in farming will greatly assist my father and brothers, and I was truly thankful when I heard that you wished to settle near us.”

“We know what it is to have bad land, with a high rent to pay,” observed Mrs Greening with a sigh, “and I hope, now that we are to have a farm of our own, with a kind soil, we shall get on better than we did in the old country. Few are ready to work harder than my good man and our boys, and I have never been used to be idle since I was big enough to milk a cow.”

The following day Mr Pemberton and the farmer, accompanied by Valentine and Paul, prepared to set off, with one of the Maoris as a guide, to inspect a block of land lately surveyed, about ten miles from the coast, with a fine stream flowing through it.

Before starting they surveyed from the hill the road they were to take. At a short distance appeared the outskirts of the forests, composed of the lofty kauri, or yellow pine, kahikatea, or white pine, the rimu, with its delicate and gently weeping foliage, and several others, interspersed by the shade-loving tree-fern, the most graceful of all forest trees. From the boughs hung parasites and creepers of brilliant hues,—some, like loose ropes from the rigging of a ship, others, in festoons winding from stem to stem, uniting far-off trees with their luxuriant growth.

“How shall you be able to pass through that thick forest?” asked Lucy, of her father.

“We shall have to make good use of our axes, I suppose,” said Valentine.

“We shall find but little difficulty,” observed Mr Pemberton. “Although the foliage is so dense overhead, there is no jungle or underwood to obstruct our passage, and in this hot weather we shall have the advantage of travelling thoroughly shaded from the rays of the sun. We shall find it far more fatiguing walking over the fern land, which, at a distance, looks so smooth and even.”

Mr Pemberton took his fowling-piece; but the only weapons carried by the rest of the party were their axes, to mark the trees round the land they hoped to select. They expected not to be absent more than three days.

Lucy and Harry accompanied them a short distance. They found, on their return, Mrs Greening busily employed with her sons in arranging the hut,—indeed, the good woman was never idle, and set an example of industry which some of the other settlers would have done wisely to follow. Leaving her boys to go on with the work, she commenced making preparations for dinner.

“You must let me act as your cook, Miss Lucy,” she said. “You and Betsy will have enough to do, and it’s what I am used to.”

The cooking, however, was of necessity somewhat after the gipsy fashion, a pot being hung from a triangle over a fire on the ground, and when the pot was removed the tea-kettle took its place.

They had no difficulty in procuring provisions, as there were several bakers in the village, and the Maoris brought in pigs and wild-fowl, and various roots and vegetables to the market.

Chapter Two.

Waihoura.

Natives arrive at Mr Pemberton’s camp.—They bring with them on a litter a young girl—Waihoura apparently very ill.—A Doctor is sent for, and a hut is built for her accommodation.

“Oh mother! mother! Miss Lucy! Betsy! do look at the strange savages who are coming this way,” exclaimed little Tobias, as he rushed up to the door of the tent the following morning. “I never did see such wild creatures, except once at the fair, and they were white men painted up to make believe they had come from foreign parts. There’s no doubt about these, though.”

Lucy and her companions being thus summoned, hurried from the tent and joined Harry and the two young Greenings, who were standing on the brow of the hill, watching a band of twenty or thirty Maoris, who, emerging from the forest, were coming towards where they stood. At their head stalked a tall savage-looking warrior. His face, as he drew near, was seen to be thickly covered with blue lines, some in spirals, others in circles and curls of various devices. His black hair was gathered in a knot at the top of his head, and secured with a polished bone, while several large rings hung from his ears. Over his shoulders was thrown a large mat cloak, which almost completely enveloped his form. In one hand he carried a musket, more on the present occasion to add to his dignity than for use, as swords were formerly worn by gentlemen in Europe. His companions had their faces tattooed, though in a much less degree than was that of their leader. Some wore merely long kilts round their waists, but many had cloaks of matting. The hair of most of them was cut short, looking like a black mop at the top of their heads. Savages though they looked, they walked with a dignity and freedom that showed they felt their own consequence and independence. They were followed by several women, also clothed in mats, though of a finer texture than those of the men. Their hair hung loosely over their shoulders, and several wore a wreath of flowers or shells, which assisted to keep it off their eyes. Their faces were but slightly tattooed, the chin, and lips only being marked, giving the latter a curious blue look, which Lucy thought detracted much from their otherwise comely appearance. They were walking on either side of a small litter, covered with boughs, and carried by four young men.

The party of natives advanced as if about to ascend the hill; but when the chief saw that it was occupied by the tents, he ordered them to halt at its base, and they immediately began to make preparations for encamping, while the young men were sent off towards the woods to collect fuel for the fires and materials for building huts. The litter having been placed on the ground, the women gathered round it, as if much interested in whatever it contained. The chief himself then approached, and the boughs being partially removed, Lucy perceived that its occupant was a young girl. The chief seemed to be speaking to her with tender interest. At length, on seeing Lucy and her companions watching him, he advanced towards them.

“Oh! Miss Lucy, let’s run away—the savage is coming, and I don’t know what he will do,” cried Betsy, in great alarm.

“I am sure he will not hurt us, from the gentle way he was speaking to the young girl,” said Lucy, holding her ground, though she felt a little nervous.

“He looks terribly fierce, though,” observed Mrs Greening. “But it won’t do to run away, as if we were afraid.”

The chief, whose eye had been fixed on Lucy, now approached her, and pointing to the litter, seemed to invite her to come down and speak to his daughter, for such she felt the girl must be. “Oh miss, don’t go,” cried Betsy. “You don’t know what they will do;” but Lucy, struck by the appearance of the occupant of the litter, was eager to learn more about her, and overcoming any fears she might have felt, at once accompanied the chief.

The women made way for her as she got close to the litter. On it reclined, propped up by matting, which served as a pillow, a girl apparently of about her own age. Her complexion was much fairer than that of any of her companions, scarcely darker, indeed, than a Spanish or Italian brunette. No tattoo marks disfigured her lips or chin; her features were regular and well-formed, and her eyes large and clear, though at present their expression betokened that she was suffering pain. She put out her hand towards Lucy, who instinctively gave her her’s.

“Maori girl ill, berry ill,” she said. “Tell pakeha doctor come, or Waihoura die—pakeha doctor make Waihoura well.” Although the words may not have been so clearly pronounced as they have been written, Lucy at once understood their meaning.

“Oh yes, I will send for a doctor,” she answered, hoping that Dr Fraser, the surgeon who came out with them in the ship, would be found on shore. She beckoned to Harry, and told him to run and bring Dr Fraser without delay. The chief comprehended her intentions, and seemed well pleased when Harry and Tobias, who also offered to go, set off towards the village.

As no one addressed her, Lucy guessed rightly that the Maori girl was the only person of her party who could speak English, and curious to know how she had learned it, she asked the question. “Waihoura learn speak pakeha tongue of missionary,” she answered, “but near forget now,” and she put her hand to her brow, as if it ached.

“The doctor will come soon, I hope, and give you medicine to make you better,” said Lucy, taking the young girl’s hand, which felt hot and feverish. Waihoura shook her head, and an expression of pain passed across her countenance. “We will pray to God, then, to make you well,” said Lucy. “He can do everything, so be not cast down, but trust Him.” The Maori girl fixed her large eyes on her as she was speaking, evidently trying to understand her meaning, though apparently she did not entirely comprehend it.

Savage in appearance as were the people who surrounded her, Lucy did not feel afraid of them, while they evidently regarded her with much respect. Betsy having at length gained courage, came down the hill with Mrs Greening.

“Poor dear,” said the farmer’s wife, when she saw the Maori girl. “What she wants is good food, a comfortable bed, and a little careful nursing. If we had our house up, I’ll be bound we would bring her round in the course of a few weeks, so that that painted-faced gentleman, her father, would not know her again.”

“We would make room for her in our tent,” said Lucy. “Or, perhaps, her friends would build a hut for her close to it; they probably would soon put one up, and it would be far better for her to remain with us than to return to her home.” The chief had been watching them while they were speaking, and seemed to understand that they were discussing some plan for his daughter’s benefit. He spoke a few words to her.

“What say?” she asked, looking at Lucy, and then pointing to her father.

“We wish you to stop here and let us nurse you,” said Lucy, trying still further to explain her meaning by signs. The young girl’s countenance brightened, showing that she understood what Lucy had said, and wished to accept her offer. Perhaps the remembrance of her stay with the Missionary’s family brought some pleasing recollections to her mind.

While they were still speaking, a person was seen hurrying along the somewhat dusty road which led from the village, and Lucy soon recognised Mr Nicholas Spears.

“Has not he come yet?” he exclaimed, as he drew near. “Dr Fraser, I mean. I met Master Harry, and that big lout Tobias. I beg your pardon, Mrs Greening. I did not see you were there, and so I told them I would find him and send him on; so I did, for I understood from them that a princess, or some great person, wanted his services. If he has not come I must go back and hurry him. Is that the princess? She don’t look much like one, however, she may be a princess for all that. Your servant, Miss, and that old gentleman, with the curious marks on his face, is her father, I suppose? Your servant, sir,” he added, making the chief a bow with his broad-brimmed hat.

The chief bent his head in acknowledgment, and seemed somewhat inclined to rub noses with the little man as a further sign of his good-will; but Mr Spears sprang back in alarm, evidently thinking it safer to keep at a distance from the savage-looking warrior; observing, however, the confidence shown by Lucy and her companions, he walked round them once or twice, gazing at them as if they had been wild beasts at a show. As he passed again near Lucy, she reminded him of his promise to look for Dr Fraser, and much to her satisfaction, off he set at full speed.

In a short time the doctor was seen coming along the road, followed by Harry and Tobias.

“Oh, Dr Fraser, I am so glad you are come,” said Lucy. “Here is a sweet interesting Maori girl, and she is very ill, I fear. Can you do anything for her?”

“I am afraid, Miss Lucy, unless she can speak English, or we have an efficient interpreter, there may be some difficulty in ascertaining her disease, but I will do my best.”

“Oh, she understands a little English,” said Lucy, “and seems very intelligent.”

The doctor approached the litter, and stooping down, remained some time by the girl’s side, asking her questions, and endeavouring to comprehend her answers.

“Unless I can have her for some time as my patient, I fear, Miss Pemberton, that I cannot do much for her,” he said at length. “My lodgings are very small, and I suspect that among the settlers there are none who would be willing to receive her.” Lucy then told him of the plan she and Mrs Greening had proposed. “That would certainly afford the best prospect of her recovery,” he answered. “If we can explain that to her friends, perhaps they would be willing to allow her to remain.”

Lucy was very glad to hear this, for she already felt a deep interest in the young Maori girl.

“There is her father,” said Lucy, pointing to the chief, “perhaps you can make him understand what we propose.”

“I will try,” said Dr Fraser, “but, if not, I must get Mr Clifton, the surveyor, who speaks their language, to explain it to him.”

The chief, who had been looking on all the time with an expression of anxiety visible on his stern countenance, now drew near, and with the assistance of his daughter, was made to comprehend what their new friends proposed. He stopped some time, apparently considering the matter, and then having consulted with several of his companions, he returned, and taking Lucy’s hand, placed it in that of Waihoura, as if confiding her to her care.

“But we must make them understand that they must build her a comfortable house,” said Lucy. This the doctor managed to do without much difficulty, and leading the chief up the hill, showed the position in which he wished it to be placed.

The natives, who appeared to render implicit obedience to their chief, immediately went off to cut timber. The doctor, meantime, marked the dimensions of the building, and showed the height he desired to have it, which was nearly three times that of the ordinary native huts.

“We must have a proper door and a couple of windows, too,” he remarked. “The poor girl requires fresh air more than anything else, probably she has been shut up in the smoke and heat of a native hut, and unless we have one of a very different character, she will have little chance of recovery.”

Idle and averse to work, as Lucy heard that the Maoris were, she was pleased to see the rapid way in which they erected the hut. While some dug the holes for the posts, and others cut them down, a third party brought them up the hill. They were evidently surprised at the size of the building, and uttered numerous exclamations of astonishment when the doctor made them understand that it must be in no respect smaller than he proposed. Harry, with James and Tobias, got their spades and levelled the ground for the floor, rendering considerable assistance also in digging the holes.

Among the articles Mr Pemberton had brought were several doors and window sashes, intended for his own cottage. Lucy suggested that these should be unpacked, and a door and two windows be used for the hut.

“I am sure that my father will not object,” she said, “and it will make the house much more comfortable.”

“I wish that all our countrymen had as much consideration for the natives as you show, Miss Lucy,” observed the doctor, “and I feel sure Mr Pemberton will approve of what you propose doing.” The door and two windows were accordingly fixed, the Maoris showing themselves very expert carpenters.

The doctor having seen that the plan he proposed for the house was likely to be properly carried out, returned to the town to get some medicine, while Mrs Greening arranged a comfortable English bed, in which his patient might be placed.

Before nightfall the hut was completely finished. Mrs Greening removed her own bedding to it, that, as she said, she could be at hand to attend to the young native girl; and Dr Fraser having given her some medicine, took his departure, promising to come back, early the next morning.

The chief showed by his manner the perfect confidence he placed in his new friends, and leaving his daughter in their charge, he and his companions retired to the foot of the hill, where they spent the night round their camp fire.

Lucy sat for some time by the side of Waihoura, who showed no inclination to go to sleep; she evidently was astonished at finding herself in an English bed, and watched over by a fair pakeha girl instead of her own dark-skinned people. She talked on for some time, till at length her words grew more and more indistinct, and closing her eyes, to Lucy’s satisfaction, she fell asleep.

“Now, do you go back to your tent,” said Mrs Greening. “I’ll look after the little girl, and if I hear any noise I’ll be up in a moment and call you or Betsy; but don’t be fancying you will be wanted, the little girl will do well enough, depend on that.”

Lucy very unwillingly retired to her tent, and was much surprised when she awoke to find that it was already daylight.

Chapter Three.

In Camp.

Dr Fraser arrives with Mr Marlow, a missionary, who recognises Waihoura.—He persuades her father to allow her to remain.—Return of Mr Pemberton, who has selected his land, and begins to settle on it.—The farm described.—He leaves them again for it accompanied by Mr Spears.—Waihoura recovers and learns English, while Lucy learns Maori.—A vessel arrives with sheep, some of which the doctor buys, and are looked after by Toby.—Lucy tries to explain the Gospel to Waihoura.

“I am not quite happy about her, Miss Lucy,” said Mrs Greening, when Lucy, as soon as she was dressed, went into the hut. “If she was an English girl I should know what to do, but these natives have odd ways, which puzzle me.”

The young Maori girl lay as she had been placed on the bed, with her eyes open, but without moving or speaking. There was a strange wild look in her countenance, so Lucy thought, which perplexed her.

“I wish the doctor were here,” she said; “if he does not come soon, we will send Harry to look for him.”

“Little Tobias shall go at once, Miss,” answered Mrs Greening. “The run will do him no harm, even if he misses the doctor.”

Tobias was called, and taking his stick in hand, the young giant set off at a round trot down the hill.

Lucy sat watching the sick girl, while Mrs Greening and Betsy made preparations for breakfast. Every now and then she cast an anxious glance through the open doorway, in the hopes of seeing the doctor coming up the hill.

“Oh! how sad it would be if she were to die in her present heathen state; when should she recover, she may have an opportunity of learning the blessed truths of the gospel,” thought Lucy. “How thankful I should feel could I tell her of the love of Christ, and how He died for her sake, and for that of all who accept the gracious offers of salvation freely made to them. I must try, as soon as possible, to learn her language, to be able to speak to her.”

Such and similar thoughts occupied Lucy’s mind for some time. At length, turning round and looking through the open doorway, she saw several natives coming up the hill. She recognised the first as Waihoura’s father. The party approached the hut, and stopped before the entrance.

“Dear me, here comes some of those savage-looking natives,” exclaimed Mrs Greening. “What shall we say to them? I hope they are not come to take the poor little girl away.”

“I will try and make them understand that we have sent for the doctor, and that if they wish her to recover, they must let her remain under his charge,” said Lucy, rising and going to the door. Though still feeling somewhat nervous in the presence of the Maoris, her anxiety to benefit Waihoura gave her courage, and she endeavoured, by signs, to make the chief understand what she wished. She then led him to the bedside of his daughter, who lay as unconscious as before. He stood for some time gazing down at her, the working of his countenance showing his anxiety.

Lucy felt greatly relieved on hearing Toby’s voice shouting out, “The doctor’s a-coming mother, I ran on before to tell you, and there’s a gentleman with him who knows how to talk to the savages.”

In a short time the doctor arrived, accompanied by an Englishman of middle age, with a remarkably intelligent and benignant expression of countenance.

“Mr Marlow kindly agreed to come with me,” said Dr Fraser. “He understands the Maori language, and I shall now be able to communicate with my patient, and to explain to her friends what is necessary to be done to afford her a prospect of recovery.”

“I am afraid she is very ill,” said Lucy, as she led the doctor and Mr Marlow into the hut. The latter addressed the young girl in a low gentle voice. At first she paid no attention, but at length her eyes brightened and her lips moved. Mr Marlow continued speaking, a smile lighted up her countenance. She replied, and taking his hand, pressed it to her lips.

“I thought so,” he said, turning to Lucy, “we are old acquaintances. When still a child, she was for a short time at my missionary school, but her father resisted the truth, and took her away. Through God’s providence she may once more have an opportunity of hearing the message of salvation. We must endeavour to persuade Ihaka, her father, to allow her to remain. He loves his daughter, and though unconscious of the value of her soul, for the sake of preserving her life, he may be induced to follow our advice.”

Dr Fraser, through Mr Marlow, put several questions to Waihoura, and then administered some medicine he had brought, leaving a further portion with Mrs Greening, to be given as he directed.

Mr Marlow then addressed Ihaka the chief, who seemed to listen to him with great attention. He told him what the English doctor had said, and urged him, as he loved his daughter, to leave her under his care. Ihaka at first hesitated, unwilling to be separated from his child. Mr Marlow pressed the point with great earnestness, and at length the chief signified his readiness to comply with the doctor’s advice.

“Tell him if he restores my daughter, I and my people will be friends to him and the pakehas, for his sake, for ever,” he said, pointing to Dr Fraser.

“The life of your daughter, as well as that of all human beings, is in the hands of the great God who rules this world, and allows not a sparrow to fall to the ground without knowing it,” answered Mr Marlow. “The doctor is but His instrument, and can only exert the knowledge which has been given him. To that loving God we will kneel in prayer, and petition that she may be restored to health.”

Saying this, Mr Marlow summoned the English lads; and Betsy, who had hitherto kept at a distance, and kneeling on the ground, offered up an earnest prayer to God, that if it was in accordance with His will, and for the benefit of the young Maori girl, He would spare her life. All present earnestly repeated the “Amen,” with which he concluded his prayer. The savages, during the time, stood round in respectful silence; and, though not understanding the words uttered, were evidently fully aware of the purpose of what had been said.

Ihaka once more entering the hut, Waihoura recognised him. Taking her hand, he beckoned Lucy and Mrs Greening to approach, and placed it in theirs, as if confiding her to their charge.

“Please, sir,” said Mrs Greening to Mr Marlow, “tell the chief we will do the best we can for his little girl. She is a sweet young creature, and I little expected to find such among the savages out here.”

“They have hearts and souls, my dear lady, as we have, and though their colour is different to ours, God cares for them as He does for us.”

The chief seemed content, and after again addressing the missionary, he and his people took their departure.

“The savages are all going, mother,” exclaimed little Tobias some time afterwards, as he came puffing and blowing up the hill. “I could not feel quite comfortable while they were near us, and I am glad that we are rid of them.”

“We should not judge from outside looks, Tobias,” remarked Mrs Greening. “As the good missionary said just now, they have hearts and souls like ours, and I am sure that chief, fierce and savage as he looks, loves his daughter as much as any English father can do.”

Dr Fraser and Mr Marlow had before this returned to the town, promising to come back in the evening to see how their patient was getting on.

The consumption of firewood in the camp was considerable, as Mrs Greening kept up a good fire in the open air for the cooking operations. Harry and Tobias had brought in a supply in the morning, and Harry’s hands and clothes gave evidence how hard he had laboured.

“We shall want some more wood before morning,” observed Mrs Greening, turning to her sons.

“I am ready to go again,” said Harry, “if James will stay in the camp.”

“No; Master Harry, its my turn to go if you will stop behind,” said James.

“If you wish it I’ll stay,” replied Harry. “One of us ought to remain, or strangers coming up to the camp might be troublesome, and I would not permit that.”

While James and Tobias set off with axes in their hands, and pieces of rope to bind their faggots, Harry got his gun, and began to march up and down on guard. He evidently considered himself like a sentinel in the presence of an enemy. Now he looked on one side of the hill, now on the other. No person could have entered the camp without receiving his challenge.

He had thus been passing up and down for some time, when he caught sight, in the distance, of some persons emerging from the forest.

“Here they come,” he shouted out, “Papa and Valentine, Mr Greening and Paul, and the two natives who went with them.” He was examining them with his spy-glass. “Yes, it’s them, and they will soon be here. Pray get supper ready, Mrs Greening; depend upon it they will be very hungry after their long march.”

Mrs Greening, aided by Betsy, at once got her pots and saucepans on the fire.

Harry, though feeling much inclined to run down and meet the party, restrained his eagerness. “A sentry must not quit his post,” he said to himself, “though no harm will happen, I’ll keep to mine on principle.”

In a short time Mr Pemberton, with his companions, appeared at the foot of the hill. Lucy ran down to meet them, eager to welcome her father, and to tell him about Waihoura.

“I am glad you can be of assistance to the young girl, and it is most desirable that we should be able to show our friendly disposition towards the natives,” he observed.

“Oh, I do so hope she will recover,” said Lucy. “But I am afraid that some time must pass before she is well enough to be moved.”

“That would decide me in a plan I propose,” said Mr Pemberton. “Greening and I have settled our ground, and I hope that we may be put in possession of it in a day or two; we will then leave you here with Harry and Tobias, while we go back and build our houses, and make preparations for your reception.”

Lucy had expected to set out as soon as the ground was chosen; but as she could not hope that Waihoura would be in a fit state to be moved for some time, she felt that the arrangement now proposed was the best.

Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening were highly pleased with the ground they had selected.

“We propose to place our houses on the slope of a hill, which rises within a quarter of a mile of the river,” he observed. “Greening will take one side and I the other. Our grounds extend from the river to the hill, and a little way beyond it; when the high road is formed, which will, from the nature of the country, pass close to our farm, we shall have both land and water communication. Close also to the foot of the hill, a village probably will be built, so that we shall have the advantage of neighbours. Among other advantages, our land is but slightly timbered, though sufficiently so to afford us an ample supply of wood for building, and as much as we shall require for years to come for fencing and fuel. From the spot I have chosen for our house, we have a view over the country in this direction, so that, with our telescope, we can distinguish the vessels, as they come into the harbour, or pass along the coast.”

“We shall have plenty of fishing too, Harry,” exclaimed Valentine. “And we may, if we go a little distance, fall in with wild boars and plenty of birds, though there are none which we should call game in England.”

“Oh! how I long to be there, and begin our settlers’ life in earnest,” said Harry. “I hope the little savage girl will soon get well enough to move.”

“I wish we could be with you also to help you in the work,” said Lucy. “How can you manage to cook without us?”

“Valentine and Paul have become excellent cooks, and though we shall miss your society, we shall not starve,” observed Mr Pemberton.

“Our camp life is a very pleasant one,” remarked Valentine. “For my part I shall be rather sorry when it is over, and we have to live inside a house, and go to bed regularly at night.”

This conversation took place while they were seated at supper on the ground in front of the large tent. It was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Fraser, accompanied by Mr Marlow, to see Waihoura.

“She is going on favourably,” said the doctor, as he came out; “but she requires great care, and I feel sure that had you not taken charge of her, her life would have been lost. Now, however, I trust that she will recover. Mr Marlow will let her father understand how much he is indebted to you, as it is important that you should secure the friendship a chief of his power and influence.”

In two days Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening were ready to start for their intended location. Each had purchased a strong horse, and these were harnessed to a light dray, which Mr Pemberton had bought. It was now loaded with all the articles they required, and sufficient provisions and stores to last them till their cottages were put up, and they could return for the rest of the party. By that time it was hoped that the young Maori girl would be in a fit state to be moved.

“I will not let her, if I can help it, go back to her own people,” said Lucy. “She will become, I am sure, attached to us. I may be of use to her, and she will teach me her language, and it will be interesting to learn from her the habits and customs of the natives.”

“Yes, indeed, it would be a pity to let the poor little girl turn again into a savage,” observed Mr Greening. “I can’t fancy that their ways are good ways, or suited to a Christian girl, and that I hope, as Miss Lucy says, she will turn into before long.”

It had been arranged that Lucy and Betsy should take up their abode in the large tent, in which there was now sufficient room for their accommodation, the small one being packed up for Mr Pemberton’s use.

The dray being loaded, the farmer went to the horses’ heads, and the young men, with the two Maoris, going on either side to keep back the wheels, it slowly descended the hill.

“We shall not make a very rapid journey,” observed Valentine. “But we shall be content if we come to the end of it in time without a break down.”

Harry felt very proud at being left in charge of the camp, and Tobias promised that there should be no lack of firewood or water, while he could cut the one, and draw the other from the sparkling stream which ran at the foot of the hill.

“We shall do very well, never fear, sir,” said Mrs Greening to Mr Pemberton, “and as soon as you and my good man come back, we shall be ready to start.”

Just as her father had wished Lucy good-bye, Mr Spears, with a pack on his back, and a stout stick in his hand, was observed coming up the hill.

“Just in time, neighbour,” he exclaimed, as he came up to Mr Pemberton. “I found out, at the surveyor’s office, where you had selected your land, and I made up my mind at once to take a piece of ground close to it. As I am all alone, I have only bought a few acres, but that will be enough to build a house on, and to have a garden and paddock. With your leave I’ll accompany you. There are several more of our fellow passengers who will select land on the same block when they hear that you and I have settled on it, and we shall soon have, I hope, a pleasant society about us. We shall all be able to help each other; that’s the principle I go on.”

Mr Pemberton told Mr Spears that he was very willing to have him as a companion on the journey, and that he was glad to hear that a settlement was likely soon to be formed near him. He was well aware that the differences of social rank could not be maintained in a new colony, and he had made up his mind to be courteous and kind to all around him, feeling assured that all the respect he could require would thus be paid him by his neighbours. He at once gave a proof of his good intentions.

“Your pack is heavy, Mr Spears, and we can easily find room on our waggon for it,” he said, and taking off the pack, he secured it to the vehicle which they had just then overtaken.

“Thank you, good sir, thank you,” answered Mr Spears, as he walked forward, with a jaunty elastic step, highly pleased at being relieved of his somewhat heavy burden. “One good turn deserves another, and I hope that I may have many opportunities of repaying it.”

Mr Pemberton had promised Lucy to send over, from time to time, to let her know what progress was made, and to obtain intelligence in return from her. Notwithstanding this, she looked forward eagerly to the day when he would come back to take her and the rest of the party to their new abode. Though she did her best to find employment, the time would have hung somewhat heavily on her hands had she not had Waihoura to attend to.

The Maori girl, in a short time, so far recovered as to be able to sit up and try to talk. She seemed as anxious to become acquainted with English as Lucy was to learn her language. They both got on very rapidly, for though Waihoura had some difficulty in pronouncing English words, she seldom forgot the name of a thing when she had once learned it. She would ask Lucy to say the word over and over again, then pronouncing it after her. At the end of a week she could speak a good many English sentences. Lucy made almost as rapid progress in Maori, she having the advantage of several books to assist her, and at length the two girls were in a limited degree able to exchange ideas.

No one in the camp, however, was idle. Harry, who always kept guard, was busy from morning to night in manufacturing some article which he thought likely to prove useful. Betsy either went with Tobias to cut wood, or bring up water, or assist Mrs Greening, and frequently accompanied her into the town when she went marketing; and sometimes Tobias, when he was not wanted to cut wood, went with his mother.

One day he came back with the information that a vessel, which had come to an anchor in the morning, had brought over from Australia several head of cattle, and a large flock of sheep.

“I wish father were here, he would be down on the shore, and buying some of them pretty quickly,” he exclaimed.

“Could we not send to let him know,” said Lucy. “Harry, I heard papa say, too, that he wished to purchase a small flock of sheep as soon as he could find any at a moderate price. I should so like to have charge of them. I have always thought the life of a shepherd or shepherdess the most delightful in the world.”

Harry laughed. “I suspect when it began to rain hard, and your sheep ran away and got lost in the mountains and woods, you would wish yourself sewing quietly by the fireside at home, and your sheep at Jericho,” he exclaimed, continuing his laughter. “Still I should be very glad if we could get the sheep, though I am afraid they will all be sold before we can receive papa’s answer.”

While the conversation was going on, Dr Fraser arrived to see Waihoura. Harry told him that he would very much like to send to his father to give notice of the arrival of the sheep.

“Would you like to turn shepherd?” asked the doctor.

“I should like nothing better, for I could take my books with me, or anything I had to make, and look after the sheep at the same time; it would suit me better than Lucy, who has a fancy to turn shepherdess, and have a crook, and wear a straw hat set on one side of her head, surrounded with a garland, just as we see in pictures.”

“I suspect Miss Lucy would find home duties more suited to her,” said the doctor; “but if you, Harry, will undertake to look after a small flock of sheep, I think I may promise to put one under your charge, and to give you a portion of the increase as payment. I was thinking of buying a hundred sheep, but hesitated from not knowing any one I could trust to to keep them. From what I have seen of you, I am sure you will do your best; and as your father and farmer Greening will probably purchase some more, they will run together till they are sufficiently numerous to form separate flocks. If you will write a letter to your father I will send a messenger off at once,” said the doctor. “Indeed, so certain am I that they would wish to purchase some, that I will, when I go back, make an offer for a couple of hundred in addition to mine.”

The next day the doctor told them that he had purchased the sheep as he had proposed, and he brought a letter from Mr Pemberton thanking him for doing so, and saying that they had made such good progress in their work, that they hoped, in another week, to come back for the rest of the party.

“I am rather puzzled to know what to do with the sheep in the meantime,” said the doctor. “I cannot entrust them to natives, and there is not a European in the place who has not his own affairs to look after. What do you say, Harry, can you and Tobias take care of them?”

“I cannot quit my post,” answered Harry, though he was longing to go and see the sheep. “If they were sent up here, I could watch them, but I am afraid they would not remain on the hill while there is better pasture below.”

“Tobias could take charge of them, sir,” said Mrs Greening. “And if we had our old dog ‘Rough,’ I’ll warrant not one would go astray.”

“Rough,” who had accompanied farmer Greening all the way from England, had mysteriously disappeared the morning of their arrival; he could not be found before they had quitted the ship, and they had since been unable to discover him.

“That is curious,” said the doctor; “for this morning, when I bought the sheep, a man offered me a shepherd’s dog for sale. I told him that should he not in the meantime have found a purchaser, I would treat with him in the evening after I had seen the dog. Should he prove to be ‘Rough,’ I will not fail to purchase him.”

Tobias, on hearing this, was very eager to accompany Dr Fraser.

“The old dog will know me among a thousand, and the man will have a hard job to hold him in,” he observed, grinning from ear to ear.

The doctor, after he had seen Waihoura, told Lucy she need have no further anxiety about her friend, who only required good food and care completely to recover.

“I must get Mr Marlow to see her father, and persuade him to allow her to remain with you, and he may assure him very truly that she will probably fall ill again if she goes back again to her own people,” he said.

Tobias accompanied the doctor into the town in the hopes of hearing about his favourite “Rough.” He had not been long absent, when back he came with his shaggy friend at his heels.

“Here he is mother, here he is Master Harry,” he shouted. “I know’d how it would be, the moment he caught sight of me, he almost toppled the man who held him down on his nose, and so he would if the rope hadn’t broken, and in another moment he was licking me all over. The doctor gave the man a guinea; but I said it was a shame for him to take it, and so did everybody, for they saw that the dog knew me among twenty or thirty standing round. The man sneaked off, and ‘Rough’ came along with me. Now I must go back and bring the sheep round here to the foot of the hill. There’s some ground the surveyor says that we may put them on till we can take them to our own run, but we must give ‘Rough’ his dinner first, for I’ll warrant the fellow has not fed him over well.”

“Rough” wagged his stump of a tail to signify he understood his young master’s kind intentions, and Mrs Greening soon got a mess ready, which “Rough” swallowed up in a few moments, and looked up into Toby’s face, as much as to say, “what do you want with me next?”

“Come along ‘Rough,’ I’ll show you,” said Toby, as he set off at a round trot down the hill.

The party at the camp watched him with no little pleasure, when a short time afterwards, he, with the aid of “Rough,” was seen driving a flock of sheep from the town past the hill to a meadow partly enclosed by a stream which made its way into the sea, a short distance off. “Rough” exhibited his wonderful intelligence, as he dashed now on one side, now on the other, keeping the sheep together, and not allowing a single one to stray away. It was a difficult task for Toby and him, for the sheep, long pent up on board ship, made numberless attempts to head off into the interior, where their instinct told them they would find an abundance of pasture. Without the assistance of “Rough,” Toby would have found it impossible to guide them into the meadow, and even when there, he and his dog had to exert all their vigilance to keep them together. Harry was sorely tempted to go down to assist. “I must not quit my post though,” he said. “As soon as I am relieved, then I’ll try if I cannot shepherd as well as Toby. It seems to me that ‘Rough’ does the chief part of the work.”

The doctor had engaged a couple of natives to assist Toby in looking after the sheep, but he was so afraid of losing any, that he would only come up to the camp for a few minutes at a time to take his meals, and to get “Rough’s” food. The Maoris had built him a small hut, where he passed the night, with the flock lying down close to him, kept together by the vigilant dog. The Maoris were, however, very useful in bringing firewood and water to the camp.

Waihoura was now well enough to walk about. Lucy had given her one of her own frocks and some other clothes, and she and Betsy took great pains to dress her in a becoming manner, they combed and braided her dark tresses, which they adorned with a few wild flowers that Betsy had picked, and when her costume was complete, Mrs Greening, looking at her with admiration, exclaimed, “Well, I never did think that a little savage girl could turn into a young lady so soon.” Waihoura, who had seen herself in a looking-glass, was evidently very well satisfied with her appearance, and clapped her hands with delight, and then ran to Lucy and rubbed her nose against her’s, and kissed her, to express her gratitude.

“Now that you are like us outside, you must become like us inside,” said Lucy, employing a homely way of speaking such as her Maori friend was most likely to understand. “We pray to God, you must learn to pray to Him. We learn about Him in the Book through which He has made Himself known to us as a God of love and mercy, as well as a God of justice, who desires all people to come to Him, and has shown us the only way by which we can come. You understand, all people have disobeyed God, and are rebels, and are treated as such by Him. The evil spirit, Satan, wishes to keep us rebels, and away from God. God in His love desires us to be reconciled to Him; but we all deserve punishment, and He cannot, as a God of justice, let us go unpunished. In His great mercy, however, He permitted another to be punished for us, and He allowed His well-beloved Son Jesus Christ, a part of Himself, to become the person to suffer punishment. Jesus came down on earth to be obedient in all things, because man had been disobedient. He lived a holy pure life, going about doing good, even allowing Himself to be cruelly treated, to be despised and put to shame by the very people among whom He had lived, and to whom He had done so much good. Then, because man justly deserves punishment, He willingly underwent one of the most painful punishments ever thought of, thus suffering instead of man. When nailed to the cross, His side was pierced with a spear, and the blood flowed forth, that the sacrifice might be complete and perfect. Then He rose again, to prove that He was truly God, and that all men will rise from the dead; and He ascended into heaven, there to plead with the Father for all who trust Him, and to claim our freedom from punishment, on the ground that He was punished in our stead.”

“Jesus sent also, as He had promised, the Holy Spirit to dwell on earth with His people, to be their Comforter, their Guide and Instructor, and to enable them to understand and accept His Father’s loving plan of salvation, which He had so fully and completely carried out.”

“Do you understand my meaning,” said Lucy, who felt that she had said more than Waihoura was likely to comprehend.

She shook her head. “Lucy not bad woman;” pointing to Mrs Greening, “not bad; Maori girl bad, Maori people very bad,” she answered slowly. “God no love Maori people.”

“But we are all bad when compared to Him—all unfit to go and live in His pure and holy presence,” exclaimed Lucy. “And in spite of their wickedness, God loves the Maori people as much as He does us; their souls are of the same value in His sight as ours, and He desires that all should come to Him and be saved.”

“Why God not take them then, and make them good?” asked Waihoura.

“Because He in His wisdom thought fit to create man a free agent, to give him the power of choosing between the good and the evil. Why He allows evil to exist, He has not revealed to us. All we know is that evil does exist, and that Satan is the prince of evil, and tries to spread it everywhere throughout the world. God, if He chose, could overcome evil, but then this world would no longer be a place of trial, as He has thought fit to make it. He has not left man, however, without a means of conquering evil. Jesus Christ came down on earth to present those means to man; they are very simple, and can very easily be made use of; so simple and so easy that man would never have thought of them. Man has nothing to do in order to get rid of his sins, to become pure and holy, and thus fit to live in the presence of a pure and holy God. He has only to put faith in Jesus Christ, who, though free from sin, as I have told you, took our sins upon Himself, and was punished in our stead, while we have only to turn from sin, and to desire not to sin again. We are, however, so prone to sin, that we could not do even this by ourselves; but Christ, knowing our weakness, has, as He promised, when He ascended into heaven, sent His Holy Spirit to be with us to help us to hate sin, and to resist sin.”

Lucy kept her eyes fixed on her friend to try and ascertain if she now more clearly understood her. Waihoura again shook her head. Lucy felt convinced that her knowledge of English was still too imperfect to enable her to comprehend the subject. “I must try more than ever to learn to speak Maori,” she said, “and then perhaps I shall better be able to explain what I mean.”

“Maori girl want to know much, much, much,” answered Waihoura, taking Lucy’s hand. “Maori girl soon die perhaps, and then wish to go away where Lucy go.”

“Ah, yes, it is natural that we should wish to be with those we have loved on earth, but if we understand the surpassing love of Jesus, we should desire far more to go and dwell with Him. Try and remember, Waihoura, that we have a Friend in heaven who loves us more than any earthly friend can do, who knows how weak and foolish and helpless we are, and yet is ever ready to listen to us, and to receive us when we lift up our hearts to Him in prayer.”

“Maori girl not know how to pray,” said Waihoura, sorrowfully.

“I cannot teach you,” said Lucy, “but if you desire to pray, Jesus can and will send the Holy Spirit I told you of. If you only wish to pray, I believe that you are praying, the mere words you utter are of little consequence, God sees into our hearts, and He knows better than even we ourselves do, whether the spirit of prayer is there.”

“I am afraid, Miss Lucy, that the little girl can’t take in much of the beautiful things you have been saying,” observed Mrs Greening, who had all the time been listening attentively. “But I have learned more than I knew before, and I only wish Tobias and the rest of them had been here to listen to you.”

“I am very sure my father will explain the subject to them more clearly than I can do,” said Lucy, modestly. “I have only repeated what he said to me, and what I know to be true, because I have found it all so plainly set forth in God’s Word. My father always tells us not to take anything we hear for granted till we find it there, and that it is our duty to search the Scriptures for ourselves. It is because people are often too idle, or too ignorant to do this, that there is so much false doctrine and error among nominal Christians. I hope Mr Marlow will pay us a visit when we are settled in our new home, and bring a Maori Bible with him, and he will be able to explain the truth to Waihoura far better than I can. You will like to learn to read, Waihoura, and we must get some books, and I will try and teach you, and you will teach me your language at the same time.”

Lucy often spoke on the same subject to her guest; but, as was to be expected, Waihoura very imperfectly understood her. With more experience she would have known that God often thinks fit to try the faith and patience even of the most earnest and zealous Christians who are striving to make known the truth of the gospel to others. The faithful missionary has often toiled on for years among the heathen before he has been allowed to see the fruit of his labours.

Chapter Four.

Settling Down.

Return of waggon to the camp for Lucy and the rest of the party, who set off for the farm.—Scenery on the road.—Arrival at farm.—Mr Spears again.—Plans for the future.

“Here comes the waggon,” shouted Harry, as he stood on the brow of the hill waving his hat. “There’s farmer Greening and Val. Papa has sent for us at last.”

Harry was right, and Val announced that he had come for all the lighter articles, including Lucy and her companions, who were to set out at once with farmer Greening, while he, with a native, remained to take care of the heavier goods.

The waggon was soon loaded, leaving places within it for Lucy and Waihoura, Mrs Greening and Betsy insisting on walking.

“Now Val, I hand over my command to you, and see that you keep as good a watch as I have done,” said Harry, as he shook hands with his brother. “I must go and take charge of the sheep.” Valentine smiled at the air of importance Harry had assumed. “There’s the right stuff in the little fellow,” he said to himself, as he watched him and young Tobias driving the sheep in the direction the waggon had taken.

Lucy was delighted with the appearance of the country, as they advanced, though she could not help wishing very frequently that the road had been smoother; indeed, the vehicle bumped and rolled about so much at times that she fully expected a break down. Waihoura, who had never been in a carriage before, naturally supposed that this was the usual way in which such vehicles moved along, and therefore appeared in no degree alarmed. She pointed out to Lucy the names of the different trees they passed, and of the birds which flew by. Lucy was struck with the beauty of the fern trees, their long graceful leaves springing twenty and thirty feet from the ground; some, indeed, in sheltered and damp situations, were twice that height, having the appearance of the palm trees of tropical climates. The most beautiful tree was the rimu, which rose without a branch to sixty or seventy feet, with graceful drooping foliage of a beautiful green, resembling clusters of feathers; then there was the kahikatea, or white pine, resembling the rimu in foliage, but with a light coloured bark. One or two were seen rising ninety feet high without a branch. There were numerous creepers, some bearing very handsome flowers, and various shrubs; one, the karaka, like a large laurel, with golden coloured berries in clusters, which contrasted finely with the glossy greenness of its foliage. Some of the fruits were like large plums, very tempting in appearance; but when Lucy tasted some, which the farmer picked for her, she was much disappointed in their flavour. The best was the poro poro, which had a taste between that of apple peel and a bad strawberry.

Birds were flitting about from tree to tree; the most common was the tui, with a glossy black plumage, and two white feathers on the throat like bands, and somewhat larger than an English blackbird, which appeared always in motion, now darting up from some low bush to the topmost bough of a lofty tree, when it began making a number of strange noises, with a wonderful volume of tone. If one tui caught sight of another, they commenced fighting, more in sport, apparently, than in earnest, and ending with a wild shout; they would throw a summer-set or two, and then dart away into the bush to recommence their songs and shouts. There was a fine pigeon, its plumage richly shaded with green purple and gold, called the kukupa. Occasionally they caught sight of a large brown parrot, marked with red, flying about the tops of the tallest trees, and uttering a loud and peculiar cry; this was the kaka. Waihoura pointed out to Lucy another bird of the parrot tribe, of a green plumage, touched with gold about the head, and which she called the kakarica.

As the waggon could only proceed at a snail’s pace, they had made good but half the distance, when they had to stop for dinner by the side of a bright stream which ran through the forest. The horses, which were tethered, cropped the grass, and Mrs Greening unpacked her cooking utensils.

While dinner was getting ready, Waihoura led Lucy along the bank of the stream to show her some more birds. They saw several, among them an elegant little fly-catcher, with a black and white plumage, and a delicate fan-tail, which flew rapidly about picking up sun-flies; this was the tirakana. And there was another pretty bird, the makomako, somewhat like a green linnet. Several were singing together, and their notes reminded Lucy of the soft tinkling of numerous little bells.

They had seen nothing of Harry and Tobias with the sheep since starting, and farmer Greening began to regret that he had not sent one of his elder sons to drive them.

“Never fear, father,” observed Mrs Greening, “our little Tobias has got a head on his shoulders, and so has Master Harry, and with ‘Rough’ to help them, they will get along well enough.”

Mrs Greening was right, and just as the horses were put too, “Rough’s” bark was heard through the woods. In a short time the van of the flock appeared, with a native, who walked first to show the way. Though “Rough” had never been out in the country before, he seemed to understand its character, and the necessity of compelling the sheep to follow the footsteps of the dark-skinned native before them.

“It’s capital fun,” cried Harry, as soon as he saw Lucy. “We have to keep our eyes about us though, when coming through the wood especially, but we have not let a single sheep stray away as yet.”

“Well, boys, our fire is still burning, and my missus has cooked food enough for you all,” said farmer Greening. “So you may just take your dinner, and come on after us as fast as you can.”

“We will not be long,” answered Harry. “Hope, mother, you have left some bones for ‘Rough’ though,” said Toby. “He deserves his dinner as much as any of us.”

“Here’s a mess I put by for him to give when we got to the end of our journey,” answered Mrs Greening, drawing out a pot which she had stowed away in the waggon. She called to “Rough,” who quickly gobbled it up. The waggon then moved on, while Harry and his companions sat round the fire to discuss their dinner. “Rough,” in the meantime, vigilantly keeping the sheep together.

The remainder of the journey was found more difficult than the first part had been. Sometimes they had to climb over steep ranges, when the natives assisted at the wheels, while Mrs Greening and Betsy pushed behind; then they had to descend on the other side, when a drag was put on, and the wheels held back. Several wide circuits had to be made to avoid hills on their way, and even when over level ground, the fern in many places was so very thick that it was rather hard work for the horses to drag the waggon through it.

“This is a rough country,” observed Mrs Greening, as she trudged on by her husband’s side. “I didn’t expect to see the like of it.”

“Never fear, dame,” answered the farmer. “In a year or two we shall have a good road between this and the port, and a coach-and-four may be running on it.”

At length the last range was passed, and they reached a broad open valley, with a fine extent of level ground. In the distance rose a hill, with a sparkling river flowing near it, and thickly wooded heights. Further on beyond, it appeared a bold range of mountains, their highest peaks capped with snow.

“This is, indeed, a beautiful scene,” exclaimed Lucy.

“That’s our home, Miss,” said the farmer, pointing to the hill. “If your eyes could reach as far, you would just see the roof of your new house among the trees. We shall come well in sight of it before long.”

The waggon now moved on faster, as the fern had been cut away or trampled down, and the horses seemed to know that they were getting near home.

Mr Pemberton and the farmer’s sons came down to welcome them, and to conduct them up to the house.

Lucy was surprised to find what progress had already been made. The whole of it was roofed over, and the room she was to occupy was completely finished. The building was not very large. It consisted of a central hall, with two bed-rooms on either side, and a broad verandah running entirely round it; behind it were some smaller detached buildings for the kitchen and out-houses. In front and on one side a space was marked off for a flower garden, beyond which, extending down the side of the hill to the level ground, was a large space which Mr Pemberton said he intended for the orchard and kitchen garden. On that side of the house were sheds for the waggons and horses, though now occupied by the native labourers.

“They consider themselves magnificently lodged,” said Mr Pemberton. “And they deserve it, for they worked most industriously, and enabled me to put up the house far more rapidly than I had expected. I believe, however, that they would have preferred the native wahré, with the heat and smoke they delight in, to the larger hut I have provided for them, and I have been sometimes afraid they would burn it down with the huge fire they made within.”

Farmer Greening’s cottage, which was a little way round on the other side of the hill, was built on a similar plan to Mr Pemberton, but it was not so far advanced.

“You must blame me, Mrs Greening, for this,” said Mr Pemberton. “Your husband insisted on helping me with my house before he would begin yours, declaring that he should have the advantage of having mine as a model. I hope, therefore, that you will take up your abode with us till yours is finished, as Harry and I can occupy the tent in the meantime.”

Mrs Greening gladly accepted the invitation; she thought, indeed, that she should be of use to Lucy in getting the house in order. The sitting-room was not yet boarded, but a rough table had been put in it, and round this the party were soon seated at tea.

“Beg pardon, I hope I don’t intrude, just looked in to welcome you and my good friend Mrs Greening to ‘Riverside.’ Glad to find that you have arrived safe. Well, to be sure, the place is making wonderful progress, we have three families already arrived in the village, and two more expected tomorrow, and I don’t know how many will follow. I have been helping my new friends to put up their houses, and have been obliged to content myself with a shake-down of fern in the corner of a shed; but we settlers must make up our minds to rough it, Mr Pemberton, and I hope to get my own house up in the course of a week or two.”

These words were uttered by Mr Nicholas Spears, who stood poking his head into the room at the doorway, as if doubtful whether he might venture to enter.

“I thank you for your kind inquiries, Mr Spears,” said Mr Pemberton, who, though he could not feel much respect for the little man, treated him, as he did everybody else, with courtesy. “If you have not had your tea come in and take a seat at our board. We have but a three-legged stool to offer you.”

This was just what Mr Spears wished; and sitting down he began forthwith to give the party all the news of the settlement. From his account Lucy was glad to find that two families, one that of a naval, the other of a military officer, who had just arrived in the colony, had taken land close to theirs, and were about to settle on it.

Although the midsummer day was drawing to a close, Harry and Toby, with the sheep, had not yet made their appearance. Paul and James went off to meet them, and take the flock where they were to remain for the night, so as to relieve the boys of their charge. There was a fine bright moon, so they would have no difficulty in finding their way. Not long afterwards Harry’s voice was heard, echoed by Toby’s, shouting to the sheep, and the two boys rushed up to the house.

“Here we are, papa,” cried Harry. “We have brought the sheep along all safe, and now Paul and James have got charge of them, we may eat our supper with good consciences.”

Mrs Greening quickly placed a plentiful meal before the two young shepherds, who did ample justice to it.

“We must get some cows, farmer, if we can procure any at a moderate price, when you next go back to town,” said Mr Pemberton.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” answered the farmer.

“And some pigs and poultry,” added Mrs Greening. “I should not think myself at home without them, and Miss Lucy and Betsy will be wanting some to look after.”

“And a few goats, I suspect, would not be amiss,” observed the farmer. “I saw several near the town, and I hear they do very well.”

Waihoura, who was listening attentively to all that was said, seemed to comprehend the remark about the goats, and made Lucy understand that she had several at her village, and she should like to send for some of them.

Supper being over, Mr Pemberton, according to his usual custom, read a chapter in the Bible, and offered up evening prayer; and after Mr Spears had taken his departure, and the rest of the family had retired to their respective dormitories, heaps of fern serving as beds for most of them, Mr Pemberton and the farmer sat up arranging their plans for the future. The latter agreed to return to town the next day to bring up the remainder of the stores, and to make the proposed purchases.

Although they all knew that at no great distance there were several villages inhabited by savages, till lately, notorious for their fierce and blood-thirsty character, they lay down to sleep with perfect confidence, knowing that the missionary of the gospel had been among them, and believing that a firm friendship had been established between them and the white occupants of their country.

Chapter Five.

Ihaka’s Visit.

Life at Riverside.—Waihoura begins to learn the truth.—Her father, accompanied by several chiefs, comes to take her to his pah, and she quits her friends at Riverside.

The settlement made rapid progress. In the course of a few weeks Mr Pemberton’s and farmer Greening’s houses were finished, their gardens dug and planted; and they had now, in addition to the sheep, which Harry and Toby continued to tend, several cows and pigs and poultry. Lucy, assisted by Betsy, was fully occupied from morning till night; she, however, found time to give instruction to Waihoura, while Mr Pemberton or Valentine assisted Harry in his studies. He seldom went out without a book in his pocket, so that he might read while the vigilant “Rough” kept the sheep together. Several other families had bought land in the neighbourhood, and had got up their cottages. Some of them were very nice people, but they, as well as Lucy, were so constantly engaged, that they could see very little of each other.

The Maoris employed by Mr Pemberton belonged to Ihaka’s tribe, and through them he heard of his daughter. He had been so strongly urged by Mr Marlow to allow her to remain with her white friends, that he had hitherto abstained from visiting her, lest, as he sent word, he should be tempted to take her away. Lucy was very glad of this, as was Waihoura. The two girls were becoming more and more attached to each other, and they dreaded the time when they might be separated.

“Maori girl wish always live with Lucy—never, never part,” said Waihoura, as one evening the two friends sat together in the porch, bending over a picture-book of Scripture subjects, with the aid of which Lucy was endeavouring to instruct her companion. Lucy’s arm was thrown round Waihoura’s neck, while Betsy, who had finished her work, stood behind them, listening to the conversation, and wondering at the way her young mistress contrived to make herself understood. “God does not always allow even the dearest friends to remain together while they dwell on earth,” replied Lucy to Waihoura’s last remark. “I used to wish that I might never leave my dear mother; but God thought fit to take her to Himself. I could not have borne the parting did not I know that I should meet her in heaven.”

“What place heaven?” asked Waihoura.

“Jesus has told us that it is the place where we shall be with Him, where all is love, and purity, and holiness, and where we shall meet all who have trusted to Him while on earth, and where there will be no more parting, and where sorrow and sickness, and pain, and all things evil, will be unknown.”

“Maori girl meet Lucy in heaven?” said Waihoura, in a tone which showed she was asking a question.

“I am sure you will,” said Lucy, “if you learn to love Jesus and do His will.”

Waihoura was silent for some minutes, a sad expression coming over her countenance.

“Maori girl too bad, not love Jesus enough,” she said.

“No one is fitted for heaven from their own merits or good works, and we never can love Jesus as much as He deserves to be loved. But He knows how weak and wayward we are, and all He asks us is to try our best to love and serve Him, to believe that He was punished instead of us, and took our sins upon Himself, and He then, as it were, clothes us with His righteousness. He hides our sins, or puts them away, so that God looks upon us as if we were pure and holy, and free from sin, and so will let us come into a pure and holy heaven, where no unclean things—such as are human beings—of themselves can enter. Do you understand me?”

Waihoura thought for some time, and then asked Lucy again to explain her meaning. At length her countenance brightened.

“Just as if Maori girl put on Lucy’s dress, and hat and shawl over face, and go into a pakeha house, people say here come pakeha girl.”

“Yes,” said Lucy, inclined to smile at her friend’s illustration of the truth. “But you must have a living faith in Christ’s sacrifice; and though the work and the merit is all His, you must show, by your love and your life, what you think, and say, and do, that you value that work. If one of your father’s poor slaves had been set free, and had received a house and lands, and a wife, and pigs, and many other things from him, ought not the slave to remain faithful to him, and to try and serve him, and work for him more willingly than when he was a slave? That is just what Jesus Christ requires of those who believe in Him. They were slaves to Satan and the world, and to many bad ways, and He set them free. He wants all such to labour for Him. Now He values the souls of people more than anything else, and He wishes His friends to make known to others the way by which their souls may be saved. He also wishes people to live happily together in the world; and He came on earth to show us the only way in which that can be done. He proved to us, by His example, that we can only be happy by being kind, and gentle, and courteous to others, helping those who are in distress, doing to others as we should wish they would do to us. If, therefore, we really love Jesus, and have a living active faith in Him, we shall try to follow His example in all things. If all men lived thus, the gospel on earth would be established, there would be really peace and good will among men.”

“Very different here,” said Waihoura. “Maori people still quarrel, and fight, and kill. In pakeha country they good people love Jesus, and do good, and no bad.”

“I am sorry to say that though there are many who do love Jesus, there are far more who do not care to please Him, and that there is much sin, and sorrow, and suffering in consequence. Oh, if we could but find the country where all loved and tried to serve Him! If all the inhabitants of even one little island were real followers of Jesus, what a happy spot it would be.” Waihoura sighed.

“Long time before Maori country like that.”

“I am afraid that it will be a long time before any part of the world is like that,” said Lucy. “But yet it is the duty of each separate follower of Jesus to try, by the way he or she lives, to make it so. Oh, how watchful we should be over ourselves and all our thoughts, words and acts, and remembering our own weakness and proneness to sin, never to be trusting to ourselves, but ever seeking the aid of the Holy Spirit to help us.”

Lucy said this rather to herself than to her companion. Indeed, though she did her best to explain the subject to Waihoura, and to draw from her in return the ideas she had received, she could not help acknowledging that what she had said was very imperfectly understood by the Maori girl. She was looking forward, however, with great interest, to a visit from Mr Marlow, and she hoped that he, from speaking the native language fluently, would be able to explain many points which she had found beyond her power to put clearly.

The work of the day being over, the party were seated at their evening meal. A strange noise was heard coming from the direction of the wahré, which the native labourers had built for themselves, a short distance from the house. Harry, who had just then come in from his shepherding, said that several natives were collected round the wahré, and that they were rubbing noses, and howling together in chorus. “I am afraid they have brought some bad news, for the tears were rolling down their eyes, and altogether they looked very unhappy,” he remarked. Waihoura, who partly understood what Harry had said, looked up and observed—

“No bad news, only meet after long time away.” Still she appeared somewhat anxious, and continued giving uneasy glances at the door. Valentine was about to go out to make inquiries, when Ihaka, dressed in a cloak of flax, and accompanied by several other persons similarly habited, appeared at the door. Waihoura ran forward to meet him. He took her in his arms, rubbed his nose against hers, and burst into tears, which also streamed down her cheeks. After their greeting was over, Mr Pemberton invited the chief and his friends to be seated, fully expecting to hear that he had come to announce the death of some near relative. The chief accepted the invitation for himself and one of his companions, while the others retired to a distance, and sat down on the ground. Ihaka’s companion was a young man, and the elaborate tattooing on his face and arms showed that he was a chief of some consideration. Both he and Ihaka behaved with much propriety, and their manners were those of gentlemen who felt themselves in their proper position; but as Lucy noticed the countenance of the younger chief, she did not at all like its expression. The tattoo marks always give a peculiarly fierce look to the features; but, besides this, as he cast his eyes round the party, and they at last rested on Waihoura, Lucy’s bad opinion of him was confirmed.

Ihaka could speak a few sentences of English, but the conversation was carried on chiefly through Waihoura, who interpreted for him. The younger chief seldom spoke; when he did, either Ihaka or his daughter tried to explain his meaning. Occasionally he addressed her in Maori, when she hung down her head, or turned her eyes away from him, and made no attempt to interpret what he had said. Mr Pemberton knew enough of the customs of the natives not to inquire the object of Ihaka’s visit, and to wait till he thought fit to explain it. Lucy had feared, directly he made his appearance, that he had come to claim his daughter, and she trembled lest he should declare that such was his intention. Her anxiety increased when supper was over, and he began, in somewhat high-flown language, to express his gratitude to her and Mr Pemberton for the care they had taken of Waihoura. He then introduced his companion as Hemipo, a Rangatira, or chief of high rank, his greatly esteemed and honoured friend, who, although not related to him by the ties of blood, might yet, he hoped, become so. When he said this Waihoura cast her eyes to the ground, and looked greatly distressed, and Lucy, who had taken her hand, felt it tremble.

Ihaka continued, observing that now, having been deprived of the company of his daughter for many months, though grateful to the friends who had so kindly sheltered her, and been the means of restoring her to health, he desired to have her return with him to his pah, where she might assist in keeping the other women in order, and comfort and console him in his wahré, which had remained empty and melancholy since the death of her mother.

Waihoura, though compelled to interpret this speech, made no remark on it; but Lucy saw that the tears were trickling down her cheeks. Mr Pemberton, though very sorry to part with his young guest, felt that it would be useless to beg her father to allow her to remain after what he had said. Lucy, however, pleaded hard that she might be permitted to stay on with them sometime longer. All she could say, however, was useless; for when the chief appeared to be yielding, Hemipo said something which made him keep to his resolution, and he finally told Waihoura that she must prepare to accompany him the following morning. He and Hemipo then rose, and saying that they would sleep in the wahré, out of which it afterwards appeared they turned the usual inhabitants, they took their departure.

Waihoura kept up her composure till they were gone, and then throwing herself on Lucy’s neck, burst into tears.

“Till I came here I did not know what it was to love God, and to try and be good, and to live as you do, so happy and peaceable, and now I must go back and be again the wild Maori girl I was before I came to you, and follow the habits of my people; and worse than all, Lucy, from what my father said, I know that he intends me to marry the Rangatira Hemipo, whom I can never love, for he is a bad man, and has killed several cookies or slaves, who have offended him. He is no friend of the pakehas, and has often said he would be ready to drive them out of the country. He would never listen either to the missionaries; and when the good Mr Marlow went to his pah, he treated him rudely, and has threatened to take his life if he has the opportunity. Fear only of what the pakehas might do has prevented him.”

Waihoura did not say this in as many words, but she contrived, partly in English and partly in her own language, to make her meaning understood. Lucy was deeply grieved at hearing it, and tried to think of some means for saving Waihoura from so hard a fate. They sat up for a long time talking on the subject, but no plan which Lucy could suggest afforded Waihoura any consolation.

“I will consult my father as to what can be done,” Lucy said at last; “or when Mr Marlow comes, perhaps he can help us.”

“Oh no, he can do nothing,” answered Waihoura, bursting into tears.

“We must pray, then, that God will help us,” said Lucy. “He has promised that He will be a present help in time of trouble.”

“Oh yes, we will pray to God. He only can help us,” replied the Maori girl, and ere they lay down on their beds they together offered up their petitions to their Father in heaven for guidance and protection; but though they knew that that would not be withheld, they could not see the way in which it would be granted.

Next morning Waihoura had somewhat recovered her composure. Lucy and Mrs Greening insisted on her accepting numerous presents, which she evidently considered of great value. Several of the other settlers in the neighbourhood, who had become acquainted with the young Maori girl, and had heard that she was going away, brought up their gifts. Waihoura again gave way to tears when the moment arrived for her final parting with Lucy; and she was still weeping as her father led her off, surrounded by his attendants, to return to his pah.

Chapter Six.

Among the Maoris.

Riverside.—Mr Marlow the missionary, visits the Pembertons.—Lucy and her friends visit Ihaka.—A native Pah described.—A Feast—Native Amusements.—Return to Riverside.

The appearance of Riverside had greatly improved since Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening had settled there. They had each thirty or forty acres under cultivation, with kitchen gardens and orchards, and Lucy had a very pretty flower garden in front of the cottage, with a dairy and poultry yard, and several litters of pigs. Harry’s flock of sheep had increased threefold, and might now be seen dotting the plain as they fed on the rich grasses which had sprung up where the fern had been burnt. There were several other farms in the neighbourhood, and at the foot of the hill a village, consisting of a dozen or more houses, had been built, the principal shop in which was kept by Mr Nicholas Spears. The high road to the port was still in a very imperfect state, and the long talked of coach had not yet begun to run. Communication was kept up by means of the settlers waggons, or by the gentlemen, who took a shorter route to it on horseback.

Mr Marlow at length paid his long promised visit. Lucy eagerly inquired if he had seen Waihoura.

“I spent a couple of days at Ihaka’s pah on my way here,” he replied, “and I am sorry to say that your young friend appears very unhappy. Her father seems resolved that she shall marry Hemipo, notwithstanding that he is a heathen, as he has passed his word to that effect. I pointed out to him the misery he would cause her; and though he loves his child, yet I could not shake him. He replied, that a chief’s word must not be broken, and that perhaps Waihoura’s marriage may be the means of converting her husband. I fear that she would have little influence over him, as even among his own people he is looked upon as a fierce and vindictive savage.”

“Poor Waihoura!” sighed Lucy. “Do you think her father would allow her to pay us another visit? I should be so glad to send and invite her.”

“I am afraid not,” answered Mr Marlow. “Ihaka himself, though nominally a Christian, is very lukewarm; and though he was glad to have his daughter restored to health, he does not value the advantage she would derive from intercourse with civilised people. However, you can make the attempt, and I will write a letter, which you can send by one of his people who accompanied me here.”

The letter was written, and forthwith despatched. In return Ihaka sent an invitation to the pakeha maiden and her friends to visit him and his daughter at his pah. Mr Marlow advised Lucy to accept it.

“The chief’s pride possibly prevents him from allowing his daughter to visit you again, until, according to his notions, he has repaid you for the hospitality you have shown her,” he observed. “You may feel perfectly secure in going there; and, at all events, you will find the visit interesting, as you will have an opportunity of seeing more of the native customs and way of living than you otherwise could.”

Mr Pemberton, after some hesitation, agreed to the proposal, and Valentine undertook to escort his sister. Harry said he should like to go; “but then about the sheep—I cannot leave them for so long,” he said. James Greening offered to look after his flock during his absence. A lady, Miss Osburn, a very nice girl, who was calling on Lucy, expressed a strong wish to accompany her.

“I think that I am bound to go with you, as I have advised the expedition, and feel myself answerable for your safe conduct,” said Mr Marlow. “I may also prove useful as an interpreter, and should be glad of an opportunity of again speaking to Ihaka and his people.”

A message was accordingly sent to the chief, announcing the intention of Lucy and her friends to pay a visit to his pah.

The road, though somewhat rough, was considered practicable for the waggon, which was accordingly got ready. They were to start at daybreak, and as the pah was about twelve miles off, it was not expected that they would reach it till late in the afternoon. Two natives had been sent by Ihaka to act as guides, and as they selected the most level route, the journey was performed without accident.

About the time expected they came in sight of a rocky hill rising out of the plain, with a stream running at its base. On the summit appeared a line of palisades, surmounted by strange looking figures, mounted on poles, while in front was a gateway, above which was a larger figure, with a hideous countenance, curiously carved and painted. The natives pointed, with evident pride, at the abode of their chief.

As the path to it was far too steep to allow of the waggon going up it, Lucy and her friend got out to ascend on foot. As they did so, the chief and a number of his people emerged from the gateway, and came down to meet them. The usual salutations were offered, and the chief, knowing the customs of his guests, did not offer to rub noses. Lucy inquired anxiously for Waihoura. She was, according to etiquette, remaining within to receive her visitors.

After passing through a gateway, they found a second line of stockades, within which was a wide place occupied by numerous small wahrés, while at the further end stood two of somewhat larger size, ornamented with numerous highly carved wooden figures. On one side was a building, raised on carved posts, with a high-pitched roof—it was still more highly ornamented than the others, in grotesque patterns, among which the human face predominated. This latter was the chief’s store-house, and it was considerably larger and handsomer than his own abode. The dwelling-houses were of an oblong shape, about sixteen feet long and eight wide, with low walls, but high sloping roofs; the doors were so low that it was necessary to stoop when entering. The roofs were thatched with rampo, a plant which grows in the marshes; and the walls were of the same material, thickly matted together, so as to keep out both rain and wind.

As the party advanced, Waihoura appeared from her wahré, and throwing her arms on Lucy’s neck, began to weep as if her heart would break. She then conducted her friends into the interior, while the chief took charge of Mr Marlow, Valentine, and Harry.

Waihoura’s abode was clean and neat, the ground on each side covered thickly with fern, on the top of which mats were placed to serve as couches. Here the Maori girl begged her guests to be seated, and having recovered her composure, she thanked Lucy warmly for coming, and made inquiries about her friends at Riverside. She smiled and laughed, and became so animated, that she scarcely appeared like the same person she had been a few minutes before. She became very grave, however, when Lucy asked if her father still insisted on her marrying Hemipo.

“He does,” she answered, in a sad tone. “But I may yet escape, and I will, if I can, at all risks.”

She pressed her lips together, and looked so firm, that Lucy hoped that she would succeed in carrying out her resolution.

Their conversation was interrupted by a summons to a feast, which the chief had prepared, to do honour to his guests. In the centre of the pah a scaffold was erected, with bars across it, on which were hung up various fish, pieces of pork, and wild-fowl, while on the top were baskets full of sweet and ordinary potatoes, and a variety of other vegetables; and a number of women were employed in cooking, in ovens formed in the ground. These ovens were mere holes filled with hot stones, on the top of which the provisions were placed, and then covered up with leaves and earth.

In deference to the customs of their white friends, the natives had prepared seats for them, composed of fern and mats, in the shade of the chief’s wahré, while they themselves sat round, at a respectful distance, on the ground, in the hot sun.

When all were arranged, the chief, wrapped in his cloak, walked into the centre, and marching backwards and forwards, addressed the party, now turning to his guests, now to his countrymen, the rapidity of his movements increasing, till he appeared to have worked himself into a perfect fury. Waihoura, who sat by Lucy’s side, begged her and her friend not to be alarmed, he was merely acting according to custom. Suddenly he stopped, and wrapping his cloak around him, sat down on the ground.

Mr Marlow considered this a good opportunity of speaking to the people, and rising, he walked into their midst. His address, however, was very different to that of the chief’s. He reminded them that God, who rules the world, had given them all the food he saw there collected; that He desires to do good to the bodies of men, and to enable them to live in happiness and plenty; but that He loves their souls still more, and that He who had provided them with the food was ready to bestow on them spiritual blessings, to feed their souls as well as their bodies: that their bodies must perish, but that their souls must live for ever—He had sent the missionaries to them with His message of love, and He grieved that they were often more ready to accept only the food for their bodies, and to reject that which He offers for their souls. Much more he spoke to the same effect, and explained all that God, their Father had done for them when they were banished for their sins, to enable them again to become His dear children. Earthly fathers, he continued, are too often ready to sacrifice their children for their own advantage, regardless of their happiness here and of their eternal welfare. Ihaka winced when he heard these remarks, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, but said nothing. Other chiefs, who had come as guests, also spoke. Lucy was glad to find that Hemipo was not among them.

The feast then commenced, the provisions were handed round in neat clean baskets to each guest. Ihaka had provided plates and knives and forks for his English friends, who were surprised to find the perfect way in which the fish and meat, as well as the vegetables, were cooked.

After the feast, the young people hurried out of the pah towards a post stuck in the ground, on one side of a bank, with ropes hanging from the top; each one seized a rope, and began running round and round, now up, now down the bank, till their feet were lifted off the ground, much in the way English boys amuse themselves in a gymnasium. In another place a target was set up, at which the elder boys and young men threw their spears, composed of fern stems, with great dexterity. Several kites, formed of the flat leaves of a kind of sedge, were also brought out and set flying, with songs and shouts, which increased as the kite ascended higher and higher. A number of the young men exhibited feats of dancing, which were not, however, especially graceful, nor interesting to their guests. When the sun set the party returned to the pah. Mr Marlow, accompanied by Val, went about among the people, addressing them individually, and affording instruction to those who had expressed an anxiety about their souls.

Ihaka had provided a new wahré for his visitors, while Waihoura accommodated Lucy and Miss Osburn in her hut.

Lucy had hoped to persuade Ihaka to allow his daughter to return with her, but he made various excuses, and Waihoura expressed her fears that she was not allowed to go on account of Hemipo, who objected to her associating with her English friends.

Next morning the party set out on their return, leaving Waihoura evidently very miserable, and anxious about the future. They had got a short distance from the pah, when a chief with several attendants passed them, and Lucy felt sure, from the glimpse she got of his features, that he was Hemipo, especially as he did not stop, and only offered them a distant salutation. Mr Marlow again expressed his regret that he had been unable to move Ihaka. “Still, I believe, that he is pricked in his conscience, and he would be glad of an opportunity of being released from his promise,” he remarked. “The chief considers himself, however, in honour bound to perform it, though he is well aware that it must lead to his daughter’s unhappiness. I do not, however, suppose that he is biased by any fears of the consequences were he to break off the marriage, though probably if he did so Hemipo would attack the fort, and attempt to carry off his bride by force.”

When the party got back to Riverside, their friends were very eager to hear an account of their visit, and several regretted that they had not accompanied them.

“Who would have thought, Miss Lucy, when we first came here, that you would ever have slept inside one of those savage’s huts!” exclaimed Mrs Greening. “My notion was, that they would as likely as not eat anybody up who got into their clutches; but I really begin to think that they are a very decent, good sort of people, only I do wish the gentlemen would not make such ugly marks on their faces—it does not improve them, and I should like to tell them so.”

Chapter Seven.

The Beginning of Trouble.

Prosperous condition of the settlement—Mr Pemberton and his sons go out shooting.—Waihoura is observed flying from Hemipo, who fires and wounds her.—Rescued by Mr Pemberton and taken to Riverside.—Val goes for Dr Fraser.—On their return, Rahana, a native chief, saves their lives.—Ihaka arrives with his followers to defend the farm, as also do Rahana’s, but no enemy appears, and they, with Waihoura, return to Ihaka’s pah.

The little settlement went on prosperously, the flocks and herds increased, and more land was brought under cultivation; the orchards were producing fruit, and the kitchen gardens an abundance of vegetables.

There had been outbreaks of the natives in the northern part of the island, but those in their immediate neighbourhood were supposed to be peaceably disposed, and friendly towards the English.

Lucy had been for some time expecting to hear from Waihoura, and she feared, from the last account she had received from her, that the marriage the poor girl so much dreaded with Hemipo, might soon take place.

“I am afraid it can’t be helped,” observed Mrs Greening, who was trying to console her. “After all, he is her own countryman, and maybe she will improve him when they marry.”

“Oh, but I mourn for her because he is a heathen, and a cruel bad man,” said Lucy, “and I am sure she is worthy of a better fate.”

Mr Pemberton and Valentine had shortly after this gone out with their guns to shoot some wild-fowl which had visited the banks of the river. The young Pembertons and Greenings had built a boat, and as the birds appeared more numerous on the opposite side, Harry, who met them, offered to paddle them across. While Harry remained in the canoe, they proceeded up a small stream which ran into the main river. They were approaching the border of the forest. Although the foliage, entwined by creepers, was so dense towards the upper part of the trees that the rays of the sun were unable to penetrate through it, the lower part was open and free from underwood, thus enabling them to pass among the trees without difficulty, and to see for a considerable distance into its depths.

“We shall find no birds there,” observed Val. “Had we not better turn back and continue along the bank of the main stream?”

They were just about to do as Val proposed, when they caught sight of a figure running at full speed through the forest towards them.

“It is a woman, I believe,” exclaimed Val. “Yes, and there is a man following her. She is endeavouring to escape from him. She is crying out, and making signs for us to come to her assistance. She is Waihoura!”

As he spoke, the savage stopped, then levelled his rifle and fired. Waihoura shrieked out, and running a few paces further towards them, fell.

“I must punish the villain,” exclaimed Val, dashing forward.

“Stay, my boy,” said Mr Pemberton, “he deserves punishment, but not at our hands,—let us try and assist the poor girl.”

They hurried to where Waihoura lay. The bullet had wounded her in the shoulder. Meantime the savage had retreated, and when they looked round for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

“We must take the poor girl to the house and endeavour to obtain surgical assistance for her,” said Mr Pemberton.

They lifted her up and bore her along towards the river. Valentine shouted for Harry, who quickly came up with the canoe.

Waihoura was too much agitated to speak, or to tell them by whom she had been wounded. Still her countenance exhibited an expression rather of satisfaction than of alarm. Harry having secured the canoe, ran on before his father and brother to prepare Lucy for the arrival of her friend. Waihoura was carried into the house, and placed on the bed she had formerly occupied, while Harry ran on to get Mrs Greening to assist in taking care of her.

Left with Lucy and Betsy, Waihoura soon recovered her composure.

“I have escaped from him,” she said, in her broken English. “I have done what I long intended. Hemipo came for me to my father’s pah, and I was delivered in due form to him, and so my father’s honour was satisfied. I went quietly for some distance, as if I was no longer unwilling to accompany him, and then, watching my opportunity, I ran off, hoping to make my escape without being discovered. He saw me, however, and followed, though I was already a long way off. I hoped to reach the river and swim across to you, when he was nearly overtaking me. Just then, as he caught sight of your father and brother, in his rage and disappointment he fired at me, and would have killed me had they not come up to prevent him.”

Such was the meaning of the account Waihoura gave Lucy, as she and Betsy were endeavouring to staunch the blood which continued to flow from the wound. As soon as Mrs Greening arrived, she advised Val to set off and obtain Dr Fraser’s assistance.

“We may be able to stop the blood, but the hurt is a bad one, and if the bullet is still in the wound, will need a surgeon to take it out,” she observed.

Valentine required no second bidding. Harry, indeed, had already got a horse ready. He galloped away, taking the shortest cut across the country to the fort. Valentine had to spend some time in searching for Dr Fraser, who had gone off to a distance, and when he returned he had a patient to whom it was absolutely necessary he should attend.

“I’ll not be a moment longer than I can help,” exclaimed the doctor. “I felt great interest in that pretty little native girl. There’s one comfort, that the natives seldom suffer from fever through injuries. You ride back and say I am coming.”

“I would rather wait for you,” answered Valentine. Though he was sorely annoyed at the delay, it enabled him to give his horse a feed, and to rest the animal, so that there was not so much time lost as he supposed.

At length the doctor was ready, and they set off to take the way by which Valentine had come. They had gone rather more than half the distance, and were approaching a defile between two high hills, covered thickly with trees, and wild rugged rocks on either side. They were just about to enter it when a Maori, who, by the way he was dressed, appeared to be a chief, was seen hurrying down the side of the hill towards them, and beckoning to them to stop.

“He wishes to speak to us,” said Valentine, “shall we wait for him?”

“I hope that his intentions are friendly,” observed the doctor. “These fellows have been playing some treacherous tricks to the settlers in the north, and it is as well to be prepared.”

“His manner does not appear to be hostile,” observed Valentine. “I will ride forward to speak to him.”

Valentine had not gone many paces before he met the native, who hurriedly addressed him in broken English.

“Go back and take another path,” he exclaimed. “If you go forward you will be killed, there’s a bad chief, with several men, lying in wait to shoot you. I have only just discovered their intentions, and hurried forward to give you warning.”

“Can you tell us who the chief is?” asked Valentine, not feeling very willing to believe the stranger’s statement.

“His name does not matter,” answered the young stranger. “He supposes me to be his friend, and begged me to assist him, so that I do not wish further to betray him, but I could not allow you to suffer.”

“There may be some truth in what the young man says, and we should be unwise not to take his advice,” observed the doctor.

Valentine warmly thanked the stranger, who offered to lead them by a path he was acquainted with, which would enable them to escape the ambush and reach the river side with little loss of time. He accordingly led them back for some distance, and then striking off to the right over the hills, conducted them through another valley, which in time took them out on to the open plain.

“You are safe now,” he said. “Ride on as fast as you can, so that your enemy may not overtake you.”

“I should like to know who you are, that we may thank you properly for the benefit you have done us,” said Valentine, “and I am sure Ihaka’s daughter, on whose account Dr Fraser is going to our settlement, will desire to express her gratitude. She is sorely wounded, and I fear in much danger.”

“Wounded and in danger,” exclaimed the young stranger. “How has she received an injury?”

“She was basely shot at by a Maori,” answered Val.

“The chief told me that it was your sister who was ill, and that you having grossly insulted him, he was determined to revenge himself on you.” He stopped for a few moments as if for consideration. “I will accompany you,” he said. “If I go back I shall not be able to resist accusing him of his treachery, and bloodshed may be the consequence.”

“Come along then, my friend,” said the doctor, “you are fleet of foot, and will keep up with our horses.”

The stranger, a fine young man, one of the handsomest natives Valentine had as yet seen—his face being, moreover, undisfigured by tattoo marks,—on this ran forward, and showed by the pace he moved at, that he was not likely to detain them.

It was dark when they reached Riverside, but Lucy had heard the sound of their horses’ feet, and came out to meet them.

“I am so thankful you have come, doctor,” she exclaimed. “Waihoura is, I fear, suffering much pain, and we have been able to do little to relieve her.”

The doctor hurried into the house. His report was more favourable than Lucy had expected. He quickly extracted the bullet, and promised, with the good constitution the young girl evidently possessed, that she would soon recover.

Valentine invited the young stranger to remain, and he evidently showed no desire to take his departure.

“I wish to stay for your sakes as well as my own,” he said, “and I would advise you to keep a vigilant watch round the house during the night. The man who has committed so foul a deed as to shoot Ihaka’s daughter, must from henceforth be Rahana’s foe, and I now confess that it was Hemipo who intended to waylay and murder you. I am myself a Rangatira, chief of a numerous tribe. My father ever lived on friendly terms with the English, and seeing the folly of war, wished also to be at peace with his neighbours, and I have desired to follow his example. Among our nearest neighbours was Hemipo, who, though one I could never regard with esteem, has always appeared anxious to retain my friendship. Hitherto I have, therefore, frequently associated with him, but from henceforth he must be to me as a stranger. He is capable, I am convinced, of any treachery, and when he finds that you have escaped him on this occasion, will seek another opportunity of revenging himself.”

This was said partly in English and partly in Maori.

Mr Pemberton, following the advice he received, sent to farmer Greening and several other neighbours, asking their assistance in guarding Waihoura, thinking it possible that Hemipo might attack the place and attempt to carry her off. Among others who came up was Mr Spears, with a cartouche-box hanging by a belt to his waist, and a musket in his hand.

“Neighbours should help each other, Mr Pemberton,” he said as he made his appearance, “and so I have locked up the shop, and shall be happy to stand sentry during the night at any post you may assign me. Place me inside the house or outside, or in a cow-shed, it’s all the same to me. I’ll shoot the first man I see coming up the hill.”

Valentine suggested that Mr Spears was as likely to shoot a friend as a foe, and therefore placed him, with a companion, in one of the sheds, strictly enjoining him not to fire unless he received an order to do so.

From the precautions taken by Mr Pemberton, it was not likely that Hemipo would succeed even should he venture on an attack, especially as every one in the settlement was on the alert.

The night passed off quietly, and in the morning Dr Fraser gave a favourable report of Waihoura. A messenger was then despatched to Ihaka, to inform him of what had occurred. He arrived before sunset with several of his followers, well-armed, and at once requested to have an interview with his daughter. On coming out of her room he met Mr Pemberton, and warmly thanked him for having again preserved her life.

“From henceforth she is free to choose whom she will for a husband,” he observed. “I gave her, as I was bound to do by my promise, to Hemipo; but she escaped from him, and as he has proved himself unworthy of her, though war between us be the result, I will not again deliver her to him.”

Lucy, who overheard this, was greatly relieved. Not knowing the customs of the Maoris, she was afraid that the chief might still consider himself bound to restore Waihoura to her intended husband.

“I must go at once and tell her,” she said. “I am sure that this will greatly assist her recovery.”

“She knows it. I have already promised her,” said Ihaka. “And I will remain here and defend her and you, my friends, from Hemipo,—though boastful as he is, I do not believe that he will venture to attack a pakeha settlement.”

Rahana, who had hitherto remained at a distance, now came forward, and the two chiefs greeted each other according to their national custom, by rubbing their noses together for a minute or more. They then sat down, and the young chief gave Ihaka an account of the part he had taken in the affair.

“We have ever been friends,” answered Ihaka, “and this will cement our friendship closer than ever.”

They sat for some time talking over the matter, and Rahana agreed to send for a band of his people to assist in protecting their friends, and afterwards to escort Waihoura to her home.

Till this time, the only natives who frequented the settlement were the labourers employed on the farm, but now a number of warriors might be seen, with rifles in their hands, some seated on the hillside, others stalking about among the cottages. They all, however, behaved with the greatest propriety, declining even to receive provisions from the inhabitants, both Ihaka’s and Rahana’s people having brought an abundant supply. Though scouts were sent out in every direction, nothing was heard of Hemipo, and it was supposed that he had returned to his own village—either being afraid of meeting those he had injured, or to hatch some plan of revenge.

Dr Fraser, who had gone home when he considered Waihoura out of danger, returned, at the end of a fortnight, and pronounced her sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey home, to which Ihaka was anxious to convey her, as she would be there safer from any design Hemipo might entertain, than in the unprotected cottage at Riverside. Lucy, although she would gladly have had her remain longer, felt that this was the case. The Maori girl warmly embraced her before taking her seat on the covered litter constructed for her conveyance, and willingly gave a promise to return to Riverside as soon as her father considered it safe for her to do so. The young chief had constituted himself her chief attendant, and when they set out placed himself by her side, which he showed no intention of quitting. It appeared that they had hitherto been strangers to each other, but Lucy, having observed the admiration with which he had regarded Waihoura the first time they met, pleased with his manners, could not help hoping that he might become a Christian, and a successful suitor of her friend. She watched the party as they took their way along the road, till they were lost to sight among the trees; and from the judicious precautions they took of throwing out scouts, she trusted that they would, escape being surprised even should Hemipo be on the watch for them, and would reach their destination in safety.

As soon as they were gone the settlement returned to its usual quiet state.

After the character they had heard of Hemipo, Mr Pemberton considered it prudent to keep a watch at night, and to advise the Greenings, as well as his own sons, to carry arms in their hands, and never to go singly to a distance from the house.

Day after day passed by, till at length they began to feel that such precautions were unnecessary, and by degrees they abandoned the habit, only occasionally taking their guns when they went out to shoot birds, or when the traces of a wild pig, which happened to stray from the mountains, were discovered in the neighbourhood. Few countries in the world are so destitute of game or animals of any description, or of noxious reptiles, as New Zealand; the only reptile, indeed, being a harmless lizard, while the only wild beasts are the descendants of pigs originally introduced by Europeans, which having escaped from their owners to the forests where they roam at large.

Unhappily, although many of the natives lived on the most friendly terms with the English, and had made considerable advancement in civilisation, a large number still, at that period, retained much of their former savage character, and, instigated perhaps by evilly-disposed persons, from time to time rose in aims against the English, and though inferior in numbers to the settlers, were enabled, in their mountain fastnesses, to resist the attacks of well-trained troops sent against them. They sometimes descended on the unprepared settlements, murdered the inhabitants, and committed many fearful atrocities. Of late years, however, finding resistance vain, they have submitted to the English Government, and as they possess equal rights and privileges with the settlers, and are treated in every respect as British subjects, it may be hoped that they will become, ere long, thoroughly civilised and contented with their lot, so infinitely superior to that of their former savage state. At the time, however, that the occurrences which have been described took place, although cannibalism and their more barbarous customs were almost abandoned, still a number of the tribes were hostile to the English, and also carried on a fierce warfare among themselves. Our friends at Riverside were destined shortly to feel the ill effects of this state of things.

Chapter Eight.

Carried Off.

Disturbance among the natives.—Volunteers from the settlement.—Mr Pemberton and Val called away.—The settlers, to their dismay, discover that the young Pembertons have been carried off.

Lucy had made tea, and her father and brother, who had come in from their work, had just taken their seats, when Mr Spears, announced by Betsy, popped his head in at the door.

“Beg pardon, Mr Pemberton, for intruding, but I thought you would like to have this letter at once,” he said, handing an official-looking envelope. “I have sent several others of similar appearance to a number of gentlemen in our neighbourhood, and I suspect they mean something.”

Lucy observed that her father’s countenance assumed a grave expression as he read the document; after requesting the bearer to sit down and take a cup of tea.

“More disturbances among the natives?” asked Mr Spears. “I hope, though, that they will keep quiet in these parts.”

“Yes, I am sorry to say that they have risen in much greater numbers than heretofore, and matters look very serious,” answered Mr Pemberton. “The Governor has requested me to assist in organising a body of volunteers to co-operate with the loyal natives in this district, and to keep in check any of the Maoris who may be inclined to rebel, while the troops are engaged with the main body of the insurgents. I am afraid this will compel me to be absent from home for some time.”

“May I go with you?” exclaimed Harry. “I should so like to have some soldiering.”

“No, you must stay at home to take care of Lucy and the farm,” answered Mr Pemberton. “Val, you are named, and though I would rather have left you in charge, we must obey the calls of public duty. Farmer Greening will assist Harry; Paul and James will probably accompany me.”

“Put my name down as a volunteer,” exclaimed Mr Spears. “I’ll have my musket and cartouche-box ready in a trice. I shall be proud to go out and fight my country’s battles.”

“Take my advice, Mr Spears, and stay at home to look after your shop and the settlement—some must remain behind to guard it,” said Mr Pemberton.

“I am ready for the field, or for garrison duty,” answered the little man, rising, and drawing himself up. “I must go back with the news to the village; the people are suspecting that there is something in the wind.”

Mr Pemberton and Valentine soon made the necessary preparations for their departure, and early the next morning, in company with several other settlers, set out on their expedition. As the natives in their immediate neighbourhood had always appeared very friendly, they had no anxiety about the safety of Riverside.

Time passed on; news reached the settlement that the volunteers had on several occasions been engaged, and that the insurgents still made head against them. Lucy could not help feeling anxious at the prolonged absence of her father and brother; but as they wrote word that they were well, she kept up her spirits, hoping that the natives would soon be convinced of the uselessness and folly of their rebellion, and that peace would be established. She also received visits from Mary Osburn and other friends, and Mrs Greening never failed to look in on her two or three times in the day, while her husband kept his eye on the farm, and assisted Harry in managing affairs. Lucy had hoped that by this time it would be safe for Waihoura to pay her a visit, and she had sent a message inviting her to come to Riverside. In reply, Waihoura expressed her thanks for the invitation, but stated that as her father was absent with many of his people, taking a part in the war, she could not venture to quit home. She also mentioned that Hemipo was supposed to have joined the rebels, as he had not for some time been seen in the neighbourhood.

A short time after this, as Harry was standing on the bank of the river, near which his sheep were feeding, he observed a small canoe gliding down the stream. A single native was in it, who, as soon as he saw him, paddled up to where he stood. The stranger leaped on shore, and asked Harry, in Maori, pointing to the hill, whether he did not belong to that place. As Harry understood very little Maori, he could but imperfectly comprehend what the man, who appeared to be delivering a message, was saying. The stranger, perceiving this, tried to help his meaning by dumb show, and Harry heard him repeat the name of Hemipo several times. The man placed himself on the ground, and shut his eyes, as if he was asleep, then he jumped up, and, moving away, ran up to the spot, and pretended to be lifting up a person whom he carried to the canoe. He did this several times then he flourished his arms as if engaged with a foe, leaping fiercely about from side to side, and then jumped into his canoe and began to shove it off, as if he was going to paddle up the stream. He returned, however, again coming up to Harry, and, with an inquiring look, seemed to ask whether he was understood? Harry asked him to repeat what he had said, and at length made out, as he thought, that the stranger wished to warn him that the settlement would be attacked at night, while the inhabitants were asleep, by Hemipo, whose object was to carry them off as prisoners, but when this was likely to take place he could not discover. The stranger, who was evidently in a great hurry to be off again, seemed satisfied that he was understood, and, getting into his canoe, paddled rapidly up the river.

“I wish that I understood the Maori better,” thought Harry, “I should not then be in doubt about the matter; however, it will be as well to be prepared. We will fortify our house, and keep a bright look out, and I’ll tell the other people to be on the watch.”

He soon after met Toby, and telling him to look to the sheep, hurried homewards. Lucy listened calmly to his account.

“There is, I fear, no doubt that some harm is intended us,” she observed. “But we must pray that it may be averted, and do what we can to guard against it. I think our six native labourers are faithful, and we must place three of them in the house, and send the other three out as scouts to give us notice of the approach of an enemy. I propose also that we have a large pile of firewood made above the house, that, as soon as danger threatens it may be lighted as a signal to our friends in the neighbourhood. You must tell them of our intention, and ask them to come to our assistance as soon as they see the fire blazing up.”

“You ought to have been a man, and you would have made a first-rate soldier,” exclaimed Harry, delighted at Lucy’s idea. “It is the wisest thing that could be done; I’ll tell everybody you thought of it, and I am sure they will be ready to help us.”

“But perhaps they will think that the whole place is to be attacked, and if so, the men will not be willing to leave their own homes and families,” observed Lucy.

“Oh, but I am sure the Maori intended to warn us especially, for he pointed to our hill while he was speaking,” said Harry. “Then he mentioned Hemipo, who probably has a spite against us for rescuing Waihoura from him. However, there’s no time to be lost. I’ll tell the men to cut the wood for the bonfire, and go on to let Mr Osburn and our other friends know about the matter.”

Having charged Lucy and Betsy to close the doors and windows, and not to go out of the house, he went to tell the other people. The farmer was out, but he told Mrs Greening what he had heard.

“Oh, it would be terrible if any harm was to happen to Miss Lucy, and the Squire and Master Val away,” exclaimed the good woman; “I’d sooner our place were all burned down than that—I’ll go round to her and persuade her to come here—then, if the savages go to your house they will not find her, and if they come here, the farmer and Tobias, I’ll warrant, will fight for her as long as they have got a bullet or a charge of powder remaining.”

Harry warmly thanked Mrs Greening for her generous intentions, though he doubted very much whether Lucy would consent to leave the house. He then hurried on to the village.

Mr Spears, at whose house he first called, was thrown into a great state of agitation on hearing of his apprehensions.

“I’ll go round and tell all the other people, and we will see what can be done,” he exclaimed, getting down his musket. “We will fight bravely for our homes and hearths; but dear me, I wish all the people who are away would come back. These savages are terrible fellows, and if they were to come suddenly upon us at night, as you fancy they will, we may find ourselves in a very unpleasant predicament.”

While Mr Spears went off in one direction, Harry continued on to the house of their friend Mr Osburn, which was at no great distance. He, though expressing a hope that the stranger had been amusing himself at Harry’s expense, undertook to collect the rest of the neighbours, and to make preparations to go to his assistance should the signal-fire give them notice that the house had been attacked.

“I would offer at once to go up and assist in guarding you,” he said. “But I am afraid that our other friends will not be willing to leave their own cottages undefended; indeed, I think we shall more effectually assist you by following the plan you propose. Still, I would advise you not to be over anxious about the matter, though you will do wisely to take the precautions you propose.”

Harry, feeling somewhat proud of himself, and tolerably well satisfied with the arrangements he had made, returned home. He found the farmer and Mr Greening at the house. They had in vain attempted to persuade Lucy to pass the night at their house—she would not leave Harry, who said that, as he had charge of the place, nothing would induce him to desert his post, and they hoped, with the precautions taken, they might escape the threatened danger.

“Depend upon it, if the savages really come and find us prepared they will not venture to attack the house,” said Harry.

“Well, well, I like your spirit, Master Harry,” said the farmer. “I’ll be on the watch, and if I hear the sound of a musket I shall know what it means, and will be quickly round with my four natives.”

At length the farmer and Mrs Greening took their departure. Harry had spoken to the native servants, who seemed fully to understand what was expected of them, and promised to be vigilant. Betsy had undertaken to keep a lantern burning, and to run out at the back-door at the first signal of danger, and light the bonfire. Harry tried to persuade Lucy to go to bed.

“Of course I shall sit up myself and keep watch for anything that happens,” he said; “and if you fall asleep, Lucy, I’ll awaken you if necessary.”

After commending themselves to the care of God, and reading together, as usual, a chapter in the Bible, the two young people sat down with their books before them to wait the issue of events, Harry, however, every now and then got up and ran to the door to listen, fancying he heard some sounds in the distance. Hour after hour passed by, and neither foe nor friend appeared. The night seemed very long, but at length the morning light streamed through the openings above the shutters. Harry opened the door, the air was pure and fresh, and the scene before him appeared so calm and peaceful, that he felt much inclined to laugh at his own fears. The native servants, who had been on the watch, came in also, and declared that they had seen no one, nor heard the slightest sound during the night to alarm them. In a short time farmer Greening arrived, and expressed his satisfaction at finding that they had had no cause for alarm.

“Perhaps after all, Master Harry, the man was only passing a joke on you, though it was as well to be on the safe side, and to be prepared.”

Lucy had several visitors during the day, who appeared much inclined to consider they had been unnecessarily alarmed.

“We may or may not have been,” observed Harry, “but I intend to keep the same look out tonight as before.”

The second night passed over like the former, and Harry himself now owned that unless the stranger purposely intended to deceive him, he must have misunderstood his meaning.

The evening came on, the cows had been milked, the pigs and poultry fed, and other duties attended to. They were in their sitting-room reading, when Betsy came in and announced Mr Spears.

“I hope I don’t intrude, Miss Lucy,” he said, putting his head in at the doorway in his usual half-hesitating manner, “but I could not shut up my house for the night without coming to inquire how you are getting on. Well, Master Harry, the Maoris who were to attack us have turned out to be phantoms after all, pleasanter foes to fight with than real savages. However, you behaved very well, my young friend, and I hope you will get a quiet night’s rest, and sleep free from alarm.”

“Thank you for your kind wishes,” answered Lucy, “but still I hope that you and our other friends will be on the watch, for I cannot feel altogether secure till our father and brother return.”

“Never fear, Miss Lucy, we will be ready if your phantom foes come. Pardon me, Master Harry, for calling them phantom foes, but such they are, I suspect. Ah! ah! ah!” and Mr Spears laughed at his own conceit. As Lucy did not wish to encourage the little man, she did not invite him to sit down, and, somewhat to her relief, he soon went away.

Mr Spears had reached home, and was shutting up his cottage, when, looking towards the hill, he saw the beacon fire blazing up. He rushed back for his musket, and began to load it in great haste; but in vain he pulled the trigger, it would not go off—no wonder, for he had forgotten to put on a cap. Not discovering this, having knocked at the doors of his immediate neighbours, and told them that the settlement was attacked, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to Mr Osburn. Though that gentleman turned out immediately, it was sometime before he could collect the rest of the inhabitants, when some with firearms, and others with pitchforks, or any weapons they could lay hands on, rushed up the hill towards Mr Pemberton’s farm. They were joined on the way by farmer Greening and Tobias. All round the house seemed quiet, and not a sign of a Maori could be discovered.

“There’s been some trick played,” said farmer Greening, “for all my servants went off this evening, and I should not be surprised that Mr Pemberton’s have done the same; but I hope Master Harry has kept the door shut, and not let the enemy inside.”

As may be supposed, on reaching the house, their consternation and grief was very great when they discovered that the inmates had gone; and from the overturned chairs, and the back and front doors being open, their alarm for the safety of their young friends was greatly increased.

“The savages have undoubtedly come and carried them off, but we may yet be in time to overtake them, if we can ascertain in what direction they have gone,” said Mr Osburn.

“See, the orchard gate is open,” said farmer Greening. “They must have gone this way, by the path which leads to the river.” They went on a little farther, when Tobias picked up a handkerchief.

“That must be Miss Lucy’s,” he exclaimed, “and probably dropped on purpose,” observed Mr Osburn.

On reaching the river, no signs, however, of the savages nor their captives were to be seen; and though they hurried along the bank for some distance, they were at length compelled to return, in a state of increased anxiety for their young friends, to the settlement.

Chapter Nine.

The Rescue.

Lucy and Harry carried off by Hemipo, who takes them to his pah.—Lucy explains the truth to a native girl who attends her.—Waihoura appears, and assists them to escape.—Encounter Hemipo, who is conquered by Rahana.—Hemipo allowed to go free.—Happy return to Riverside with Waihoura and her party.—Great rejoicings.—Hemipo becomes a Christian.—Waihoura marries Rahana, and the settlement flourishes.

Lucy and Harry were spending their evening, as was their usual custom, Harry reading aloud while his sister sat by his side working.

Mr Spears had not long gone away, when a slight knock was heard at the door.

“I do believe it must be that Mr Spears come back again,” observed Betsy, getting up to open it. As she did so, what was her horror to see the figure of a tall Maori warrior, his face painted red, with his merai or axe in his hand.

“Run, Miss Lucy! run, Master Harry, and hide yourselves!” she exclaimed, attempting to push back the door. Her efforts were vain, the savage dashed it open and stalked in, followed by a dozen or more Maoris.

“Light the bonfire!” exclaimed Lucy,—and Betsy, springing by her, made her escape at the back-door. Harry tried to drag off Lucy in the same direction, but they were both instantly seized by the Maoris, two of whom sprang after Betsy. Scarcely a word was spoken by any of the natives, and Lucy had been too much agitated and alarmed to shriek out. The leader, in whom, by his sinister features and fierce looks, Lucy recognised Hemipo, had raised his weapon as if to strike Harry, but he restrained himself on finding that there was no opposition. He and one of his companions now bound Harry’s arms, making signs to him that if he made any noise his brains would be dashed out. Two others then lifted up Lucy, and taking a cloak which hung on the wall, threw it round her. Plunder did not appear to be their object; for, although numerous articles were lying about which would have been of value to them, none were taken. The savages now lifted up Lucy and Harry in their arms and carried them out of the house. Harry looked round, hoping to see some of the native servants. No one appeared.

“I hope, at all events, that Betsy may have set light to the signal-fire, that if we are carried away our friends will come in pursuit of us,” he said to himself.

Great was his disappointment when directly afterwards he saw Betsy brought along in the arms of two of the savages.

“I have done it though, Master Harry,” she exclaimed, loud enough for him to hear. “I had just time to throw the candle in among the sticks and paper before they caught me,—I do not think they saw what I had been about, or they would have stopped and put it out.”

A savage growl, and the hand of one of her captors placed over her mouth, prevented Betsy from saying any more.

The whole party now moved down the hill at a rapid rate towards the river. On reaching the bank the young captives were placed on board a canoe, several of which were collected at the spot. Harry felt a little relieved when his arms were unbound, and he was allowed to sit at his ease beside Lucy. The savages evidently supposed that he would not attempt to leap out and swim on shore.

The flotilla shoved off. The night was very dark, but the Maoris, well acquainted with the river, navigated dexterously amid the rocks and occasional rapids in their course. Now and then the water could be seen bubbling up on either side, and sometimes leaping over the gunwale, and once or twice so much came in that Harry feared the canoe would be swamped.

“If we are upset, stick to me, Lucy,” he whispered. “I’ll swim with you to the shore, and we will then run off and try and make our escape.” Lucy felt confident of her young brother’s courage, but feared that there was little prospect of his succeeding in the attempt. Poor Betsy shrieked out with alarm. A threatening sound from the man who steered the canoe warned her to keep silence.

There had been for sometime a strong wind, it now increased, and blowing directly against them, greatly impeded the progress of the canoes. Still the Maoris persevered. At length a loud clap of thunder burst from the sky. It was succeeded by several terrific peals, while vivid flashes of forked lightning darting forth showed that they were passing between high rugged cliffs which rose on either side of the stream, overhung with trees, amid which the wind roared and whistled as they waved to and fro above their heads, threatening every instant, torn up by the roots, to fall over and crush them. The thunder rattled louder than ever, reverberating among the cliffs. Just then a flash, brighter than its predecessors, which came hissing along close to the canoe, showed Harry the savage features of Hemipo, who was sitting in the stern steering. Still the canoe went on, indeed, as far as Harry could see there was no place on either side where they could have landed, and he earnestly prayed that, should any accident happen, it might be further on, where there would be a hope of reaching the shore. Lucy sat with her hands clasped in his, and her calmness and self-possession gave him courage.

“Oh, what a dear brave little sister mine is,” he thought to himself. “I would willingly give up my life to save her’s. I wonder what these savages will do with us. They surely cannot be so barbarous as to intend to kill her,—they may knock me on the head very likely, and I only wonder they did not do so at first, it would have been more like their usual custom.”

The rain was now falling in torrents. Harry drew the cloaks which had been thrown over Lucy and Betsy closer round them. He was himself quickly wet through, but for that he cared little.

Though it was evident that the paddlers were straining every nerve to urge the canoe onwards, he could judge by the appearance of the cliffs that they were making but slow progress, sometimes, indeed, they were almost brought to a standstill, then again they would redouble their efforts, and the wind lulling for a short time, they would stem the rapid current and get into calmer water. It was difficult to judge, under the circumstances, how time went by, but it seemed to Harry that the whole night was thus spent. Still the darkness continued, and hour after hour passed.

At length the banks came more clearly into view, and he could distinguish the other canoes in company. Suddenly the cliffs on either side ceased, and he found that they had entered a lake. Covered, however, as it was with foaming waves stirred up by the storm, it seemed scarcely possible for the canoes to make their way across it. After they had in vain attempted to do so, and several of them had been nearly swamped, Harry perceived that they were steering towards the shore. They made their way up a small inlet, where, sheltered from the gale, the canoes at length floated quietly, and their crews set to work to bail them out. This being done, Harry observed that they were examining their muskets, and fresh priming them, lest they should have become damp with the rain. He hoped from this that they had not yet reached Hemipo’s district, and were still in that of some friendly tribe. Meantime a man was sent on shore, who ran to the summit of a neighbouring height, where Harry saw him looking round, as if to ascertain whether any one was approaching.

On his return, after he had given his report, Hemipo landed, and with scant ceremony dragged his prisoners out of the canoe, and signed to them that they were to accompany him. Eight of the savages immediately landed and closed round them. Having issued orders to the remainder, he led the way towards the entrance of a valley which extended up from the water. Lucy and Betsy could with difficulty walk after having been so long cramped up in the canoe. Harry begged his sister to lean on him, that he might help her along, and poor Betsy did her best to keep up with them, for the savages showed no inclination to slacken their pace. Every now and then, indeed, one of them gave her a rough push to make her move faster. Harry felt very indignant, but knew that it would be useless to expostulate, and dreaded lest Lucy might be treated in the same way. The valley through which they were proceeding he found ran parallel with the lake, and concluded, as was the case, that it would at length conduct them to an upper part of the stream, which, had it not been for the storm, Hemipo intended to have reached in the canoes. The chief stalked on ahead, every now and then turning round to order his followers to move faster. The valley, as they proceeded, narrowed considerably; the sides, composed of wild rugged rocks with overhanging trees crowning their summits, rising precipitously on either hand. Harry observed that the chief, as they advanced, looked cautiously ahead, as if he thought it possible that an enemy might appear to intercept him. Suddenly he stopped altogether, and addressed a few words to his followers, while he pointed up the valley. What he said Harry could not understand, but several of the savages directly afterwards drew their merais from their belts, and cast fierce looks at their captives, which too clearly indicated their cruel designs.

“Oh, our dear father, my poor brother,” murmured Lucy, as her eye glanced at the savages’ weapons, and she clung closer to Harry, thinking of those she loved more than of herself. “Yet they cannot be so cruel.”

“Are they going to kill us?” cried Betsy. “Dear, dear Miss Lucy,” and she stretched out her arms as if to protect her young mistress.

After waiting a short time Hemipo ordered two of his men to go ahead, apparently to ascertain if the road was clear. They seemed satisfied that such was the case, for at a sign from them he and the rest proceeded as before. Harry, as they advanced, could not help looking up frequently at the cliffs on either side, and more than once he fancied he saw some person moving among the rocks as if observing them, while at the same time endeavouring to remain concealed. If such was the case, the person managed to escape the keen eyes of the Maoris, for Hemipo went on, evidently not supposing that he was watched. At length they emerged from the defile, and proceeding over a more open, though still a hilly and picturesque country, till they again came in sight of the river. By this time Lucy and Betsy were nearly dropping with fatigue, and even Harry, though accustomed to exercise, felt very tired, but the savages still urged them on, regardless of their weary legs. Harry felt very indignant, but Lucy entreated him not to show his resentment.

At last a hill, round the base of which the river made its way, rose directly before them, with a stockade on its summit, similar to that surrounding Ihaka’s village. Hemipo led the way towards it, and ascended a narrow path, at the top of which appeared a gateway, with a huge hideous figure above it. As he approached a number of women and children and old men issued forth eyeing his captives with no pleasant looks. Scarcely a word, however, was exchanged between the inhabitants and him till they entered the pah, when the whole party seated themselves on the ground, each of them singling out one of the new comers, and began rubbing their noses together, howling and weeping, while the tears, in copious torrents, flowed down their brown cheeks. Under other circumstances, Harry, who with his sister and Betsy, were left standing alone, would have felt inclined to laugh heartily at the odd scene, but matters were too serious to allow him to do so now.

After the savages had rubbed their noses, howled, and shed a sufficiency of tears to satisfy their feelings, they got up with dry eyes and unconcerned looks, as if nothing of the sort had occurred. They then came round their captives, who were allowed to stand unmolested, while Hemipo was apparently giving an account of his adventures. Lucy and Betsy trembled as they saw the fierce glances cast at them during the chief’s address; their lives seemed to hang on a thread, for any moment his auditors, whom he appeared to be working into a fury, might rush forward and cut them down with the merais, which, ever and anon, they clutched as if eager to use them. At length he ceased, when another orator got up, and appeared to be endeavouring to calm the angry feelings of the assembly. Others spoke in the same strain, and at last the orator, who had opposed Hemipo, having gained his object, so it seemed, came up to the captives and signed to them to accompany him. Leading them to a large wahré on one side of the pah, he told them to enter. Lucy, overcome with fatigue, sank on a heap of fern, which covered part of the floor.

“Cheer up,” said Harry, “they do not intend to kill us, and I hope that chief, who looks more good-natured than Hemipo, will think of bringing us some food. I’ll let him know that we want it.” Harry went back to the door at which the chief was still standing, and made signs that they were very hungry. The chief evidently understood him, and in a short time a girl appeared with a basket of sweet potatoes, some baked fish, and a bowl of water. Lucy thanked her warmly in Maori, saying that she might some day have the opportunity of rewarding her, adding—

“Our people will be grateful for any kindness shown us, and though we have been most cruelly carried away from our home, yet they will not revenge themselves on the innocent.” The girl, whom Lucy supposed from her appearance to be a slave, looked very much surprised.

“Our religion teaches us that we should forgive our enemies, and do good to those who injure us, and therefore still more should we be grateful to all who do us good,” she continued. “Do you understand that?” The girl shook her head, and made signs to Lucy and her companions to eat while the food was hot; they needed, indeed, no second bidding, the girl standing by while they discussed the meal.

Lucy feeling the importance of gaining the good-will of any person in the village, again spoke to the girl, much to the same effect as before. The latter evidently understood her, and made a sign that if discovered in helping them to escape she would be killed. Lucy’s words had, however, it seemed, made an impression on her mind, for when she stooped down to take up the basket and bowl, she whispered that she would do what she could to be of use to them.

They were now left alone. Harry entreated his companions to go to sleep, declaring that he was able to sit up and keep watch; and in spite of their anxiety, they were so weary, that in a few minutes their eyes closed, and they happily forgot all that had occurred. Harry kept awake as well as he could, and every now and then he observed women and children, and sometimes men, peering at them through the open door of the hut. Discovering, however, a chick mat spread on a framework leaning against the side of the hut, he conjectured that it was intended to use as a door, and, accordingly, placing it across the entrance, shut out the intruders. Having now nothing to distract his attention, he very soon dropped off to sleep. It was dark when he awoke, and as there were no sounds in the village he concluded that it was night, and he hoped that they might therefore be allowed to rest in quiet. He went to the door of the hut and looked out. No one was stirring, the storm had ceased, and the stars were shining brightly overhead. He again carefully closed the entrance, securing it with some poles, so that it could not be opened from the outside, and throwing himself on the fern at Lucy’s feet, was soon fast asleep.

He was awakened by hearing some one attempting to open the door—the daylight was streaming in through the crevices—on pulling it aside the slave girl, who had brought their supper, appeared with a basket of food and a bowl of water, as before. The light awoke Lucy and Betsy, who seemed refreshed by their slumbers, though their faces were still pale and anxious. The girl pointed to the food and bade them eat, but seemed unwilling to stay.

“Let us say our prayers, Harry, as we should do at home, before breakfast,” said Lucy, “though we have not a Bible to read.”

They knelt down, and Lucy offered up a prayer of thanksgiving to God for having preserved them, and for further protection, while the Maori girl stood by wondering what they were about. She then hurried away, as they supposed, from having received orders not to remain with them. They were left alone all the morning, and at noon the girl brought them a further supply of food.

“This looks as if the Maoris did not intend to do us any harm, perhaps they expect to get a ransom for us,” observed Harry.

“I trust so,” said Lucy, “and I am sure our friends would pay it should our father and Val be still absent from home; but, perhaps, Hemipo has some other object in carrying us off.”

“What can that be?” asked Harry. “The idea came into my mind, and I fear it is too likely that he has done so, in order to get Waihoura into his power. If she believes that our lives are in danger, she will, I am sure, be ready to do anything to save them,” answered Lucy.

“How should she know that we have been carried away,” asked Harry.

“She will suspect something when our labourers suddenly return to her village, and will send to ascertain what has occurred,” observed Lucy.

“If it was not for your sake, Lucy, I would run every risk rather than let the poor girl fall into the power of the savage,” exclaimed Harry. “I hope that our father and Val, and the volunteers, will find out where we have been carried to, and will come to attack the pah and rescue us.”

“That would cause great loss of life, and, perhaps, seal our fate,” answered Lucy. “I have been praying, and He who does not allow a sparrow to fall to the ground without knowing it, will arrange matters for the best. The knowledge that He does take care of us should give us confidence and hope.”

“I am sure you are right,” observed Harry, after a few minutes reflection. “Still we cannot help talking of what we wish.”

In the afternoon, Harry going to the door of the hut, heard voices as if in loud discussion at a distance, and observing no one about, he crept on among the huts till he came in sight of a number of people seated on the ground, apparently holding a debate, for one after the other got up and addressed the rest. Keeping himself concealed behind the hut, he watched them for some time, at length he saw Hemipo and a body of armed men issue out by the gate. He crept back to the hut with this information. As far as he could ascertain, only the old men, and women, and children, were left in the pah.

Late in the evening the slave girl again visited them, and, as she appeared less anxious than before to hurry away, Lucy spoke to her. At last she answered—

“What Manima can do she will do for the pakehas, but they must wait—perhaps something will happen.” She said this in a very low voice, and taking up the basket and bowl, hurried away. Harry found that no one interfered with him as he walked about outside the hut; but he did not like to go far from Lucy and Betsy, and darkness coming on, he returned. After he had closed the door, they offered up their prayers as usual, and lying down, soon fell asleep.

Lucy was awakened by feeling a hand pressed on her shoulder. She was inclined to cry out, when she heard a low voice saying in Maori—

“Don’t be afraid, call your brother and Betsy.” Lucy, to her astonishment, recognised the voice of Waihoura, and without waiting to ask questions, awakened Harry and Betsy. A few words served to explain what she had heard, and they at once got up and followed Waihoura out of the hut. She led the way among the wahrés the inmates of which, they knew from the sounds which issued forth, were fast asleep. They soon reached the inner end of the pah, behind the public store-house, the largest building in the village, when Waihoura pointed to an opening in the stockade. It was so narrow that only slight people could have passed through it. Waihoura, taking Lucy’s hand, led her through it, but Betsy almost stuck as she made the attempt. With some assistance from Harry, she however succeeded in getting on the other side, when he following, found that they were standing on the top of a cliff. Waihoura again taking Lucy’s hand, showed them a narrow and zigzag path which led down it. They followed her, as she cautiously descended towards the river, which Harry saw flowing below them.

On reaching the edge of the water Waihoura stepped into a canoe, which had hitherto been hidden by a rock. The rest of the party entering it, two men who were sitting with their paddles ready, immediately urged the canoe out into the stream, down which they impelled it with rapid strokes, while Waihoura, taking another paddle, guided its course. Not a word was spoken, for all seemed to know exactly what was to be done. They had entirely lost sight of the hills on which the pah stood, before Waihoura uttered a word. She then, in a whisper, addressed Lucy, who was sitting close to her, apparently considering, even then, that great caution was necessary. They were passing between high cliffs, amid which the slightest sound, Harry rightly guessed, might be carried, and heard by any one posted on them. The paddlers redoubled their efforts, till at length they got into a broader part of the river. Lucy then, in a low voice, told Harry that Waihoura had heard of their capture from the labourers, who had returned home, and had immediately formed a plan for their rescue. She had friends in Hemipo’s pah, for all were not as bad as he was, and among them was Manima, who belonged to a friendly tribe, and had been carried off some time before by Hemipo, with others, as a slave. She had herself, with a party of her people, immediately set out, and knowing the route they would have to take, had remained in ambush with the intention of rescuing them; but fearing that Hemipo would put them to death should he find himself attacked, she resolved to employ stratagem to set them at liberty. She had at once sent a message to Manima, and on finding that Hemipo had set out on another expedition, she had herself that very night entered the pah in disguise, and arranged the plan which had thus far been carried out.

“She tells us,” added Lucy, “that her only fear arises from the possibility of meeting Hemipo, who has gone down the river in his war canoes, though for what object she could not ascertain. She advises us to keep very silent, as should he be anywhere near, he is certain to have scouts on the watch, though we may hope to escape them in the darkness of night.”

“As I said of you, Lucy, she would make a first-rate General,” observed Harry, “and I hope for her sake, as well as ours, that she will prove herself a successful leader.”

Scarcely had Harry spoken when a loud voice hailed them from the shore, and a bullet whistled close to them.

“Don’t cry out,” whispered Waihoura. “The man will take some time to load again, and we may get beyond his reach.” Her hopes were, however, vain, for directly afterwards several canoes darted from behind some rocks, and surrounding them, their canoe was towed to the shore.

“They are Hemipo’s people,” said Waihoura. “But keep silence, he is not among them, and they will merely keep us prisoners till he comes, and something may happen in the meantime.”

The country was tolerably level beyond the bank where the canoes lay. There was sufficient light from the stars to enable Harry to see for some distance inland, and he recognised the spot as the same place at which they had been taken on shore on their way up the river. After waiting a considerable time, he observed a party of men moving along from the direction of the valley, and coming towards the canoes. He was afraid that they were Hemipo and his band.

“How will the savage treat us, and those who have been trying to aid our escape?” he thought. Just then he caught sight of another and very much larger party coming from nearly the opposite direction. The first stopped and seemed trying to hide themselves behind some rocks and bushes, but the others had seen them, and uttering loud cries, rushed forward, then came the flashes and rattle of musketry, with reiterated cries for a few minutes, when the smaller party giving way, attempted to fly, but were quickly surrounded. The people in the canoes, on seeing this, shoved off from the bank, and endeavoured to drag Waihoura’s canoe with them. The crew resisted; a blow on his head, however, struck down one of the men, and it appeared too probable that their enemies would succeed in their object.

They had got out into the middle of the stream, when several more canoes were seen rounding a point below them. Waihoura uttered a loud cry, and the canoes came rapidly paddling towards them. Their captors, on seeing this, allowed her to go free, and began making their way as fast as they could up the river.

“Who are you?” asked Waihoura, as the strangers’ canoes approached.

“We are Rahana’s people, and he ordered us to come here to stop Hemipo from descending the river, while he proceeded on by land,” was the answer.

“Then it is Rahana who has gained the victory,” exclaimed Waihoura, and, escorted by her friends, she guided her canoe towards the shore, Harry taking the paddle of the poor man who had been struck down. They quickly landed, when a messenger despatched to Rahana brought him to where Waihoura and her English companions were seated on some rocks by the bank of the river. He spoke earnestly for a few minutes to Waihoura. Lucy, from what he said, learned that she had sent to ask his assistance, and that ascertaining the proceedings of Hemipo, he had set out with all his followers to meet him and compel him to restore the prisoners he had carried off.

“He and many of his people are now in my hands, for before they could escape we surrounded them and captured them all,” he said, addressing Lucy and Harry. “They deserve death,—do you wish that we should kill them, or give them into the hands of your countrymen?”

“Oh no, no, spare their lives,” exclaimed Lucy. “We should do good to our enemies, and we would far rather let them go free. We are thankful to have been rescued from their power, but more than that we do not desire.”

“That is a strange thing the pakeha girl says,” remarked Rahana to Waihoura. “Is it according to the religion you desire to teach me?”

“Oh yes, yes,” exclaimed Waihoura. “I know that Lucy is right. She has told me that He who came to die and be punished that men might enjoy happiness hereafter, blessed His enemies, and did good to those who injured Him.”

“Then they shall live,” said Rahana. “I will set Hemipo free, and tell him that it is by the wish of the pakehas, and that he must henceforth be their friend and ally, and abandoning the cruel customs of our people, learn the good religion, which has made them act thus towards him.”

Lucy and Harry knowing the alarm their disappearance must have caused to Mrs Greening and their other friends, were anxious to return home immediately. Waihoura offered to accompany them, and begged Rahana that he would allow one of his canoes to convey them down the river.

“I will myself take charge of them, and I shall be proud to deliver them in safety to their friends,” he answered. “I will, however, first obey their wish, and set Hemipo and his followers free, after I have deprived them of their arms, which belong to my warriors.”

While the canoes were getting ready for the voyage down the river, fires were lighted, and fish and other provisions were cooked, some of which were presented to Waihoura and her friends, greatly to Harry’s satisfaction, who declared that he had seldom felt so hungry in his life; though Lucy and Betsy, still scarcely recovered from their agitation, partook of the repast but sparingly. Meantime Rahana had gone back to where he had left his warriors and their prisoners. He shortly returned, accompanied by another person. As they approached the spot where Waihoura and her friends sat, the light of the fire showed that Rahana’s companion was Hemipo. He looked greatly crestfallen, but recovering himself, he addressed Waihoura. Neither Lucy nor Harry could clearly understand him; but they gathered from what he said that he desired to express his gratitude for having his life spared, and sorrow for his conduct towards her, as also for having carried off her friends, and that if they would send a missionary to him he would gladly listen to his instruction. It evidently cost him much to speak as he did. She was glad when the interview was over, and Rahana told him that he might now depart in peace.

Waihoura and her friends were now conducted to the largest canoe, in which Rahana also took his seat. They had not proceeded far down the river when day broke, and the neighbouring woods burst forth with a chorus of joyful song, the sky overhead was blue and pure, the waters bright and clear, and the grass and shrubs, which grew on the banks, sparkled with bright dewdrops.

“See, see,” exclaimed Harry. “There’s a whole fleet of boats coming up the river.” Rahana, on observing them, went ahead of his flotilla with a flag waving at the bow of his canoe.

“There is our father, there is Val,” exclaimed Harry. The canoe was soon alongside one of the largest boats. A few words explained all that had occurred. Mr Pemberton and his companions had returned home the day after his children and servant had been carried off, when an expedition had immediately been organised to sail up the river and attack Hemipo’s pah, it being at once suspected that he had committed the outrage.

As there was now no necessity to proceed further, the boats’ bows were turned down the stream, Harry, with his sister and Betsy, having gone on board Mr Pemberton’s. Accompanied by the canoes, a strong current being in their favour, they soon reached “Riverside,” where the safe return of the young people caused almost as much satisfaction as the news which had just before arrived of the termination of the war.

Waihoura soon afterwards became the wife of Rahana, who built a house after the English model, on some land which he owned in the neighbourhood near the river, and receiving instruction from their friends, both became true and earnest Christians. They had the satisfaction also of hearing that Hemipo, who had gladly received Mr Marlow and other missionaries, had, with all his people, become Christians, and he showed by his changed life and peaceable conduct, that he was one in reality as well as in name.

“Riverside” continued to increase and prosper, and protected by the friendly natives who surrounded it, escaped the disasters from which many other places in subsequent years suffered. Honest Mr Spears must not be forgotten. Though still showing a readiness to help everybody, having learned the necessity of attending to his own affairs, he became one of the leading tradesmen in the place. Both Mr Pemberton and farmer Greening had, in course of time, the satisfaction of seeing their children married, and settled happily around them.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Wanderers"

Chapter One.

Our Old Home in Pennsylvania—Reverse of Fortune—Arrival in Trinidad—Uncle Paul and Arthur follow us—Settled on an Estate—Suspected of Heresy—Our Mother’s Illness—Don Antonio’s Warning—Our Mother’s Death—The Priest’s Indignation—We leave Home—Arthur’s Narrow Escape.

We lived very happily at the dear old home in the State of Pennsylvania, where my sister Marian and I were born. Our father, Mr Dennis Macnamara, who was a prosperous merchant, had settled there soon after his marriage with our mother, and we had been brought up with every comfort we could desire. Uncle Paul Netherclift, our mother’s brother, who was employed in our father’s house of business, resided with us; as did our cousin Arthur Tuffnel, who had lately come over from England to find employment in the colony.

Our father was generally in good spirits, and never appeared to think that a reverse of fortune could happen to him. One day, however, he received a visit from a person who was closeted with him for some hours. After the stranger had gone, he appeared suddenly to have become an altered man, his vivacity and high spirits having completely deserted him—while both Uncle Paul and Arthur looked unusually grave; and young as I was, I could not help seeing that something disastrous had happened. My fears were confirmed on overhearing a conversation between my father and mother when they were not aware that I was listening.

“We must start without delay. I must not allow this opportunity of retrieving my fallen fortunes to pass by,” I heard my father observe, as he pointed to a paragraph in a newspaper which he held in his hand. “The Spanish Government have passed an edict, permitting all foreigners of the Roman Catholic religion to establish themselves in the beautiful and fertile island of Trinidad, where they are to be protected for five years from being pursued for debts incurred in the places they have quitted. Now, if we can manage to get there in safety, my creditors will be unable to touch me, and I shall soon have the means of paying my debts and recovering the position I have lost.”

“But, my dear husband, it would soon be discovered that we are not Roman Catholics; and we should be placed in an embarrassing, if not in a dangerous position, were we to do as you propose,” observed my mother in a tone of expostulation. “You would not, surely, have us conform, even outwardly, to a religion in which we have no faith?”

“Depend on it, no questions will be asked, as it will be taken for granted that all persons settling in the island belong to the ordinary form of religion sanctioned by the Government,” answered my father.

My mother sighed, for she saw that my father was wrong, and that, blinded like Lot of old by his desire to obtain worldly advantages, he was ready to sacrifice the religious principles he professed. I am compelled, though with much pain, to write this.

It was settled that we should start at once for Baltimore, to embark on board a vessel bound from that place to Trinidad. Uncle Paul and Arthur were to remain behind to arrange my father’s affairs, and to follow us as soon as possible.

The only other person to whom my father made known his intentions, was Timothy Nolan, who had come out with him from Old Ireland, when quite a boy, as his servant.

“I must leave you behind, Tim; but you will easily find a far better situation than mine, though I shall be sorry to lose you,” said my father, after telling him of his intentions.

“Shure your honour won’t be after thinking that I would consent to lave you, and the dear young lady and Master Guy, with no one at all at all to take care of them,” answered Tim. “It’s myself would be miserable entirely, if I did that same. It isn’t the wages I’d be after asking, for to make your honour doubt about the matter. The pleasure of serving you in the days of trouble will be pay enough; only just say I may go, master dear, and shure I’ll be grateful to ye from the bottom of my heart.”

My father could not resist Tim’s earnest entreaties, and so it was agreed that he should form one of the party.

It was a sad day for us all when we set out on that rapid journey southward in the waggon, without wishing goodbye to any one. Baltimore, however, was safely reached, and without delay we got on board the good ship the Loyal Briton, which immediately set sail.

My father seemed to breathe more freely when we were clear of the harbour. Our chief consolation was, that Uncle Paul and Arthur would soon rejoin us, as they expected to be ready for the next ship—to sail in about a month—and they would not have the difficulty in getting off which my father had experienced. It is a satisfaction to me to believe that, had they not been able to remain behind to make arrangements with his creditors, my father would not have left the country in the secret way he did; but the laws in those days were very severe, and had he not escaped, he might have been shut up in prison without the means being allowed him of paying his debts, while we all should have been well-nigh reduced to penury. Had such, however, been the case, I am very sure that Uncle Paul and Arthur would have done their utmost to support my mother and Marian, while I might soon have been able to obtain employment. This is a subject, however, I would rather not dwell upon. Whether my father acted wrongly or rightly, it is not for me to decide; but I hold to the opinion that a man under such circumstances should remain, and boldly face all difficulties.

We had a prosperous voyage, and my father and mother appeared to recover their spirits. Marian and I enjoyed it excessively, as it was the first time we had been on the sea. We took delight in watching the strange fish which came swimming round the ship, or which gambolled on the waves, or the birds which circled overhead; or in gazing by night at the countless stars in the clear heavens, or at the phosphorescence which at times covered the ocean, making it appear as if it had been changed into a sea of fire.

At length we sighted the northern shore of the island which for a time was to be our home. As we drew near we gazed at it with deep interest, but were sadly disappointed on seeing only a lofty ridge of barren rocks rising out of the water, and extending from east to west.

“Shure it would be a hard matter to grow sugar or coffee on that sort of ground!” exclaimed Tim, pointing towards the unattractive-looking coast.

“Stay till we pass through the ‘Dragons’ Mouths’ and enter the Gulf of Paria,” observed the captain. “You will have reason to alter your opinion then, my lad.”

We stood on with a fair and fresh breeze through the “Boca Grande,” one of the entrances into the gulf, when a scene more beautiful than I had ever before beheld burst on our view. On our right hand appeared the mountains of Cumana, on the mainland of South America, their summits towering to the clouds; on our left rose up the lofty precipices of Trinidad, covered to their topmost height with numerous trees, their green foliage contrasting with the intense blue of the sky. The shore, as far as the eye could reach, was fringed with mangrove-trees, their branches dipping into the sea. Astern were the four entrances to the bay, called by Columbus the ‘Dragons’ Mouths,’ with verdant craggy isles between them; while on our larboard bow, the western shore of the island extended as far as the eye could reach, with ranges of green hills intersected by valleys with glittering streams like chains of silver running down their sides, towards the azure waters of the gulf.

We brought up in Chagaramus Bay, the then chief port of Trinidad, and the next morning we went on shore at Port Royal; for Port of Spain, the present capital, was at that time but a small fishing-village. Several other vessels having arrived about the same time, there was much bustle in the place; and although numerous monks were moving about, no questions were asked at my father as to the religion he professed. It was, as he had supposed would be the case, taken for granted that we were, like the rest of the people, Roman Catholics.

He lost no time in selecting an estate at the northern end of the island, near the foot of the mountains, well watered by several streams, which descended from the heights above. A mere nominal rent was asked, and he had the privilege of paying for it by instalments whenever he should have obtained the means of doing so. Considering this a great advantage, he had sanguine hopes of success. He at once commenced a cacao plantation, of which some already existed in the island. It is a tree somewhat resembling the English cherry-tree, and is about fifteen feet in height, flourishing best in new soil near the margin of a river. It requires, however, shelter from strong sunshine or violent winds. For this purpose “plantain” or coral-bean trees are planted between every second row; and these, quickly shooting up above the cacao-trees, afford the most luxuriant appearance to a plantation, their long bare stems being contrasted strongly with the rich green of the cacao below. Nutmeg, cinnamon, and clove plantations were also formed; indeed, the utmost pains were taken to make the ground productive.

Some progress had been made in the work before the arrival of Uncle Paul and our cousin Arthur. They had been delayed longer than we had expected, and we were for some time anxiously looking out for them. We were consequently delighted when at length they appeared. Marian threw her arms round Arthur’s neck, and gave him the welcome of a sister, for she loved him dearly.

Uncle Paul complimented our father on the energy he had displayed, and expressed his wonder that so much had been done.

“My success is mainly owing to the way in which I treat those whom I employ,” he answered. “The natives especially flock here in numbers, and are more ready to labour for me than for anybody else in the neighbourhood.”

With the assistance of Uncle Paul and Arthur, still greater progress was made. They also established a house of business in Port Royal, of which Uncle Paul took the chief management, while Arthur and I assisted. We exported numerous articles, and among other produce we shipped a considerable quantity of timber; for magnificent trees, fit for shipbuilding and other purposes, grew in the island—the red cedar and several species of palms being especially magnificent. Altogether, our house was looked upon as the most flourishing in the island, and, as might have been expected, we somewhat excited the jealousy of several of the native merchants. Our father, however, cared nothing for this, and dared the Spaniards to do their worst.

Necessity made Uncle Paul, Arthur, and me live, during the weekdays, in the town, but we returned home every Saturday, where we received an affectionate welcome from my mother and Marian. It was, consequently, not remarked in the town that we did not attend mass; and as our house was at some distance from any church, we had a sufficient excuse for not going to one on the Sunday. We were aware, however, that the Inquisition existed in the island, though we could not ascertain who were the persons immediately connected with it. There were, we observed, in proportion to the population, a very large number of priests and friars, some of whom were constantly visiting the houses in the town and neighbourhood; but as we left our lodging at an early hour every day for the counting-house, and seldom returned till late in the evening, we had not hitherto been interfered with.

One Saturday evening we were returning homeward, when we overtook a friar ambling along on his mule. We saluted him in the customary fashion, and were passing on, when he stopped Uncle Paul by asking a question which took some time to answer. The friar then, urging on his beast, kept pace with us. Arthur and I had dropped a little behind, so that we could only partly hear what was said, but enough of the conversation reached us to let us know that the friar was talking about religious matters, and was apparently endeavouring to draw out our uncle’s opinions. He was always frank and truthful, so we knew that he would find it a difficult task to parry the friar’s questions.

“I feel almost certain that the friar knew we should pass this way, and came on purpose to fall in with us,” observed Arthur. “I wish that Uncle Paul had galloped on without answering him. I don’t like the tone of his voice, though he smiles, and speaks so softly.”

“Nor do I,” I replied. “I only hope that he won’t come and talk with us.”

“If he does, we must give him short answers, and say that the matter is too deep for us,” observed Arthur. “We may perhaps puzzle him slightly, and at the worst make him suppose that we are very ill informed on religious matters; but we must be cautious what we say.”

Uncle Paul had from the first been endeavouring in vain to get ahead of the friar without appearing rude, but he did not succeed till the latter had got out of him all the information he wanted. The friar then allowed his mule to drop in between us, and at once addressed Arthur in a friendly way—inquiring of him how often he had attended mass since his arrival, and who was his father confessor. Arthur replied that, as he spent every Sunday in the country, and was occupied the whole of each weekday in business, he had to confess that he had not paid due attention to such matters.

“And you,” said the friar to me,—“are you equally careless?”

“I hope that I am not careless,” I answered; “but we Englishmen are not brought up exactly like Spaniards, and consequently you may not understand us clearly.”

“All true Catholics are the same,” remarked the friar. “You may expect a visit before long from the Superior of my Order to inquire into your religious condition, which appears to me unsatisfactory. Good-day, young gentlemen; I cannot give you my blessing till I know more about you.”

Bowing to the friar, who, having gained all the information he required, now reined in his mule, we rode on to rejoin Uncle Paul. Arthur laughed. “I think we have somewhat puzzled the old fellow,” he observed.

“Depend upon it, though, that we shall before long receive the visit he promises from his Superior, who may manage by some means or other to find out the truth,” I remarked.

Though Uncle Paul made light of the matter, too, I saw that he was not altogether comfortable about it.

As soon as we arrived, I told my father and mother and Marian, that they might be prepared.

“We must not be entrapped by him,” said my father; “and I will show my zeal by offering to assist in building a chapel in the neighbourhood.”

“I will not deny the truth,” said my mother, with tears in her eyes.

“Nor will I,” exclaimed Marian.

My father looked annoyed. “You must try then and keep out of the way of the man,” he said. “I will manage him, should he come.”

I afterwards had a conversation with my young sister.

“It will be cowardly and disgraceful to deny our faith,” she said. “Let me entreat you, Guy, not to do so, whatever may be the consequences. Our father is still unhappily blinded by the hope of securing worldly advantages, or he would not think of acting as he proposes. He may thus secure his own safety, and perhaps, for his sake, the inquisitors may not interfere with us; but if they do, let us pray that we may be firm. It is very, very, very sad, and will break our poor mother’s heart, for she already feels dreadfully the position in which we are placed. Oh, what shall we do?”

“Trust in God,” said Arthur, who just then came into the room, and had overheard Marian’s last remark. “My uncle is undoubtedly wrong, and had I known before we left home the state of affairs in this island, and what we were to encounter, I would have implored him not to come to Trinidad; however, as we are here, we must seek for guidance how to act should we, as I fear we shall, be questioned as to our religious belief.”

We three talked the matter over, and determined, if questioned, to acknowledge ourselves Protestants, and refuse to attend the Roman Catholic Church. We felt sure that Uncle Paul would agree with us, and we proposed to get him to speak to our mother.

We were not disappointed in Uncle Paul’s reply. He blamed himself greatly for having yielded to our father’s persuasions, and consented to urge on our mother the duty of adhering firmly to her religious convictions.

On Monday morning, Uncle Paul, Arthur, and I set off to return to the city. On the way our uncle told us that our mother had solemnly promised him not to change her religion, and to suffer anything rather than be induced to do so. He had also spoken to our father, who seemed very anxious, but who declared that, rather than abandon his estate and the prospect of retrieving his fortunes, he would conform outwardly, if necessary, to the religion of the country; but that he would allow us, if we desired it, to quit the island.

We reached the town, and carried on business as usual, without any interference from the officials of the Inquisition.

We were about to leave our place of business on Wednesday evening, when Tim arrived with a message from my father, summoning us home on account of the dangerous illness of my mother. We immediately ordered our horses and rode off, accompanied by Don Antonio, a physician of great repute, to whom our uncle, on receiving the intelligence, forthwith sent requesting his assistance.

We found, on our arrival, that our father, unhappily, had not been alarmed without reason. Our poor mother was dangerously ill, and the physician gave us but slight hopes of her recovery. He was necessitated to return at once to the town, but he promised to be back the next day.

Our mother rallied greatly, and when Don Antonio again appeared she seemed to be much better. He, however, looked so grave, that on his following Arthur and me into the sitting-room, we expected to hear him express an unfavourable opinion of her case. But after looking about to see that none of the servants were within hearing, he closed the door, and said in a low voice:—

“It is not on account of your mother’s health that I am anxious, but for your sakes, my friends. You are supposed to be rank heretics; and I have received information that unless you forthwith attend mass, go to confession, and in all respects conform to the obligations of the Catholic faith, the Inquisition intends to lay hands on you, and to punish you severely as a warning to others. Even should your father conform, he will be unable to shield you, and you will be equally liable to punishment. If you will be advised by me, unless you are prepared to adopt the religion of the country, you will, without delay, make your escape to some part of the sea-coast remote from the capital, where you may get on board a vessel bound to one of the neighbouring islands or elsewhere. You know not the fearful punishment to which you may be subjected, should you once fall into the hands of the Inquisition; and though I myself run the risk of losing my liberty, not to speak of other consequences, by thus warning you, I could not find it in my heart to leave without doing so.”

We warmly thanked our kind friend for the advice he had given us, and he repeated what he had said to our father, who shortly afterwards came into the room; but at the time he made no remark, though he was evidently greatly agitated.

Scarcely had Don Antonio gone when my mother appeared to grow much worse; and Arthur, throwing himself on horseback, galloped off as hard as his horse could go to bring him back. We anxiously waited his return with the physician, for every moment my mother grew worse and worse. How thankful we were when Don Antonio arrived; but no sooner had he felt her pulse, than, calling my father out of the room, he told him that she was dying, and that he could do nothing for her. His words proved too true. As we all stood round her bed, she entreated us to adhere firmly to the faith in which we had been brought up; then, desiring us to go out of the room, she had a conversation with my father on the same subject, I suspect, for he seemed much moved when we again entered. As daylight streamed into the room, she breathed her last.

We all felt her loss greatly, and poor Marian was so overwhelmed with grief that we were in serious anxiety on her account.

In that latitude, burial rapidly follows death. It was a sore trial to us to see her carried to her grave, which had been prepared in a picturesque spot on the side of a hill not far from the house. Scarcely had the coffin been lowered into it, when two priests arrived to perform the burial-service. They appeared to be highly indignant that the funeral should have taken place without their presence, and, from expressions which they let drop, it was very evident that they looked upon us all as a family of heretics. My father tried to pacify them, however, and fancied that he had sent them away satisfied.

“Remember the warning I have given you,” observed Don Antonio, as he bade us goodbye. “Do not be deceived, even should the friars who may come here appear to be on friendly terms; their object will be to betray you.”

It had been arranged that Uncle Paul and Arthur should return to the town and attend to business next morning, while I was to remain with poor Marian to try and comfort her.

Some time after dark, while we were all assembled in the sitting-room, there was a knock at the door, and Arthur went out to see who had come to visit us. He quickly returned with a note for my father in his hand, which he said Don Antonio had sent by his black servant. It contained merely the words, “Follow the advice I gave. It should on no account be put off till to-morrow.”

The negro having been sent back with a verbal message to the effect that the prescription should be strictly followed, my father sat down, with Uncle Paul and Arthur, to consider what was to be done.

“For myself,” he said, “I have resolved to remain. I cannot throw away the advantages I have gained; and circumstances, not my fault, will compel me to conform to the religion of the country. But you and Arthur may do as you think fit; and if you resolve to make your escape from the island, I will send Guy and Marian with you—and Tim also, if he wishes to go.”

Uncle Paul expressed his sorrow at having to leave our father; but as he had determined not to change his faith, he said he was ready to set off with us immediately, and to try to carry out the plan Don Antonio had proposed.

Poor Tim, when he heard of our resolution, was sorely troubled what to do.

“If you remain, you must become a Roman Catholic with me,” said my father.

“Then, your honour, with all respect to you, I’ll be after going wherever Master Guy and Miss Marian go; though it will be a sad day that we have to leave you.”

“It must be done, however,” said my father. “Now go and get the horses ready. We will have such things as may be required packed up forthwith.”

We had horses enough to mount the whole party, so arrangements were speedily made; and within half an hour after we had received Don Antonio’s warning we were in the saddle, and, under the guidance of natives well acquainted with the country, were making our way along a narrow path up the side of the mountains which rose between our house and the sea.

Uncle Paul and the guides went first. Marian rode next, mounted on a small pony, and attended by Arthur. I followed them; and Tim brought up the rear. Our great object was to get to the seaside, where we might remain concealed, in case the officials of the Inquisition should pursue us.

The narrow and steep path on which we were travelling wound its way up the side of the hill till the summit was reached, when we began to descend towards the sea. It was generally too rugged to allow us to move out of a walk, for our horses might have fallen and sent us down a precipice either on one side or the other; still, whenever the ground allowed it, we pushed on as fast as we could venture.

At length, after descending some distance, we found ourselves travelling along with the ocean on our left and the rugged sides of the hill rising on our right. The pathway seldom allowed two to ride abreast. Now it ran along scarcely eight or ten feet above the level of the water; now it ascended to the height of eighty or a hundred feet, with a steep precipice below us.

Daylight had just broken, when, glancing over the ocean, I caught sight of a couple of vessels, which appeared to be standing in for the coast. I could not help crying out to Uncle Paul, in case he might not have observed them. My voice, unfortunately, startled Arthur’s horse, which began to sidle and prance; when what was my horror to see its hinder feet slipping over the precipice! Marian shrieked out with alarm, and I expected the next moment that Arthur would be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such would have been his fate, had he not sprung from his saddle just as the animal went over the precipice. In vain the creature instinctively attempted to spring up again, desperately clinging to the rock with its feet. Arthur tried to seize its bridle to help it; but in another instant we saw it fall on the rocks below with a force which must have broken every bone in its body.

So thankful did we feel that Arthur had been preserved, that we scarcely thought about the poor horse.

“Go forward! go forward!” cried out Arthur. “I’ll run on by Marian’s side. You must not be delayed on my account.”

We accordingly pushed on, and at length came to a part of the coast where the road ceased, and it was impossible to proceed further with our horses. Our chief guide—who, knowing that we had strong reasons for wishing to escape, was anxious to assist us—advised that we should send the horses back over the mountains by a different road from that by which we had come, while we continued along the coast till we reached a place of concealment, which he said we should find some way further on; he himself proposing to accompany the horses, and to rejoin us when he had conveyed them to a place of safety, where the officials of the Inquisition were not likely to find them.

Chapter Two.

Our Journey—The Passage of the Stream—Our Flight Discovered—Arrival at the Retreat—Our First Night in the Wilds—Camo’s Arrival—The Spider-Monkeys—A Curious Scene—The Monkeys crossing a River.

We had now a toilsome journey to perform, partly along the coast and partly inland, where the rocks which jutted into the sea, were so precipitous that we were unable to climb over them. Still, though Marian was already much fatigued, we pushed forward, as it was of the greatest importance that we should reach a place of concealment before the officials of the dreaded Inquisition had discovered our flight. Even should they pursue us, and take natives with them as guides, we hoped that they might be deceived by our having sent the horses into the interior, and would follow their footsteps, supposing that we were still upon them, instead of continuing along the shore in the direction we were taking. The rocky character of the ground over which we passed after dismounting would, we believed, prevent any traces which even the keen eyes of Indians could discover, and we were careful not to break any branches or twigs as we passed along. When on the seashore, we kept either in the water or on the hard sand, which the tide, as it rose, would soon cover. But as we thus proceeded along the shore, or climbed over the rocks, where we could obtain no shelter from the sun’s rays, we found the heat at times almost overpowering.

To relieve Marian, Uncle Paul and Arthur joined their hands and insisted on carrying her between them. She soon begged to be put down, however, as she saw that the task much increased their fatigue.

Having reached the north-eastern end of the island, the rocky range of mountains which extends along the northern shore terminated, and we entered a region covered with a dense and tangled forest. Uncle Paul and Tim had brought their guns and some ammunition with them, that we might kill game when the small stock of provisions we had been able to carry was exhausted. The larger portion of these provisions, with some cooking utensils, had been placed on the backs of the horses, and our native guides had promised to bring it on to us as soon as they had left the steeds in a place of safety. We were, however, likely to be somewhat badly off in the meantime; and as a considerable period might elapse before we could get on board a vessel, we should probably have to depend on our own exertions for obtaining a fresh supply. The two vessels we had seen when we were on the side of the mountain had tacked and stood away from the island, so that we had to abandon the expectation of getting on board either of them.

I could not help expressing my doubts about the fidelity of the Indians; but Uncle Paul, who knew them better than I did, was convinced that they were honest, and would follow us as soon as they had secured the horses in a place of safety.

We were now travelling southward along the coast, and at some little distance from the shore. We had the mountains rising above us on the right, while the lower ground was covered with a dense vegetation, through which it was often difficult to force our way. At length we reached a small river, the most northern of several which ran into the ocean on the eastern side of the island. Our guides had told us that we should find a secure place of concealment on the banks of another stream about a couple of miles beyond this, but without their assistance we had little hope of discovering it. However, we were unwilling to wait, and accordingly prepared to cross the river; Tim volunteering to go first, in order to ascertain the depth. We watched him anxiously. He sank deeper and deeper, till the water reached his armpits, and we began to fear that we should be unable to carry Marian over without wetting her. Still Tim went bravely on, feeling his way with a long stick which he carried, till once more he began to get higher and higher out of the water, and soon reached the opposite bank in safety. Unable, however, to divest myself of the idea that there might be sharks, or even alligators, in the river, I, imitating Tim’s example, cut a long pole, which would enable me to defend my companions while they were crossing. Uncle Paul and Arthur then took up Marian and placed her on their shoulders, putting their arms round each other’s necks to support her. Tim then waded back to meet them; while I went behind, beating the water furiously with my stick, so that no alligator or shark would have ventured near us. My uncle and Arthur, being both of good height, were able to keep Marian out of the water, and we happily got across without any accident. She then insisted on being put down, declaring that she was not tired, and could walk as well as any of us.

Nearly the whole day had been spent on the journey, and we were anxious to find a place where we could rest. Had it not been for the somewhat exposed position, we would gladly have stopped on the banks of the river; but Uncle Paul thought it wiser to continue on till the natives should overtake us.

Evening was approaching, and it would soon be dark, when, looking back along the forest glade through which we had come, we saw a person running towards us; we quickly made him out to be Camo, one of the native guides. He signed to us not to stop, and as he ran much faster than we could, he soon overtook us.

“Hasten on,” he exclaimed; “we are not far from the place to which I wish to lead you. Already your flight has been discovered, and the alguazils are searching for us.”

“If they come, I will be after giving them a taste of my shillelagh,” exclaimed Tim, flourishing the thick stick he carried.

“It will be far better to hide ourselves than to oppose them,” observed the guide, in his peculiar dialect, which I cannot attempt to imitate.

He went ahead, while Uncle Paul and Arthur helped on Marian between them, Tim and I bringing up the rear; Tim every now and then looking back and flourishing his stick, as if he already saw our pursuers, and was resolved to give them a warm reception. Though very tired, we made rapid progress; Camo guiding us through a part of the forest which we should have been unable to discover by ourselves.

Just as the shades of evening were stealing amid the trees, we caught sight of the glimmer of water before us, and Camo led the way up a steep ascent to the right, amid the trunks of trees, through between which often only one person could pass at a time; and we soon found ourselves in a small open space, so closely surrounded by dense underwood that it would have been impossible for anyone to discover us, unless acquainted with the spot. Above us a precipitous hill rose to a considerable height; while the branches of the trees, joining overhead, would completely shut us out from the sight of any person looking down from the hill.

“Here you will be perfectly safe, for there is no other path besides the one by which we have come,” said Camo. “I will go back, however, and so arrange the branches and creepers that the sharpest eyes among our pursuers will be unable to discover that anyone has passed this way.”

An opening towards the east admitted the only light which reached the spot. Through it we could see the sea, from which we were not far distant. Uncle Paul expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the place of concealment which Camo had selected, and declared that he had little fear of our being discovered.

Weary as we were, we were thankful to throw ourselves on the ground; and after we had eaten some of the provisions we had brought with us, we sought that rest we so much required. The wind being completely excluded from the place, it was almost as warm as inside a house, and we had no need of any covering. As our shoes and stockings were wet, however, we took them off and hung them up on the trees to dry, rather than sleep in them.

Uncle Paul had placed Marian by his side, and allowed his arm to serve as her pillow. Poor girl, it was only now that, all cause for exertion being for the present over, she seemed to feel her sad bereavement, and the dangerous position in which we were placed. Her grief for a time prevented her from closing her eyes; but at length, overcome by fatigue, she dropped into a peaceful sleep. I sat for some time talking to Arthur; while Tim insisted on standing sentry at the entrance of the passage till the return of Camo, who had gone to look after his companions. We had great difficulty in keeping awake, and even Tim found it a hard matter not to drop down on the ground; but a sense of duty triumphed over his natural desire for rest, and he kept pacing up and down with his stout shillelagh in his hand, ready to do battle with any foes, either human or four-footed, which might approach our retreat. We also kept the guns ready, not to defend ourselves against our pursuers, for that would have been madness, but to shoot any wild beast which might approach us.

“It’s as well to be prepared,” observed Arthur. “But though there are jaguars and pumas on the mainland, I am doubtful whether they exist in Trinidad.”

“I have heard that most of the animals on the opposite shore of South America are to be found in this island,” I answered. “Both the jaguar and puma steal silently on their prey; and if one of them were to find us out, it might pounce down into our midst before we were prepared to defend ourselves. It will not do to risk the chance of there being no such animals in the island. Should we arrive at the conclusion that there are none, I should be very sorry to find, by positive proof, that we were wrong!”

“Well, at all events, we will act on the safe side,” observed Arthur. “It is wise to be prepared, even though we may find that our care has been unnecessary.”

An hour or more might have passed, when we heard a rustling in the neighbouring bushes. Arthur and I started to our feet, and Tim clutched his shillelagh more firmly. We listened. The sound came from the bottom of the path leading up to our hiding-place. We waited in perfect silence, for it was too dark to observe anything; but presently our ears caught the sound of light footsteps approaching, and, much to our relief, we heard Camo’s voice.

“All right!” he exclaimed. “The alguazils have turned back, afraid of trusting themselves to this part of the country in the dark. We may now all rest in quiet, for no one is likely to come near us—for some hours, at all events.”

This was satisfactory, and honest Camo and his two followers assured us that they would keep the necessary watch while we rested. Scarcely had a minute elapsed after this when Arthur and I were fast asleep; and I suspect that Tim was not long in following our example.

Daylight streaming through the opening in our woody bower towards the east, aroused us from our slumbers. We were all very hungry, for we had taken but a small amount of food the previous evening; but we were afraid of lighting a fire, lest the smoke might betray us, should our enemies by any chance be in the neighbourhood. We were obliged to content ourselves, therefore, with our cold provisions, and a draught of water, which Camo brought from the neighbouring stream. Marian somewhat recovered her spirits, but we all felt very anxious about my father, and wondered how he might be treated when the inquisitors found that we had made our escape.

The district we had reached was wild in the extreme; the footsteps of civilised men appeared never to have reached it, and the natives who once had their quiet homes in this part of the country had long since been carried off to labour for the ruthless Spaniards, who had already destroyed nearly nine-tenths of the original population. Our native attendants, from the kind way in which my father had treated them, were warmly attached to us, and proportionately hated the Spaniards, and we knew that we were perfectly safe under their care.

We were afraid of moving out during the day, though Camo and the other natives made several exploring expeditions, and at length came back with the satisfactory intelligence that our pursuers were nowhere in the neighbourhood. They brought also a couple of ducks which they had killed with their arrows; and they assured us that there would be no danger in lighting a fire to cook them. We soon gathered a sufficient supply of broken branches and twigs to begin with; and while the natives were collecting more fuel from the neighbouring trees, and blowing up the fire, I sat down to pluck one of the ducks—Uncle Paul, with Arthur and Marian kneeling by his side, watching the process. We quickly had the ducks roasting on spits before the fire, supported by two forked sticks stuck in the ground. With these, when cooked, and some hot tea which was made in a tin kettle Tim had brought with him, with a small quantity of sugar which he had put up, as he said, for the young mistress—though we had no milk to drink with it—we made an excellent supper. It was a scene which to our eyes, unaccustomed to anything of the sort, was wild in the extreme; but we were destined to become acquainted with many even wilder and more romantic. That night was passed much as the preceding one had been, except that we were able to keep up a fire without the fear of betraying our retreat.

Next morning, having left Marian in her bower, with Tim, armed with one of the guns, to keep guard, I accompanied Arthur—who carried the other gun—into the woods in search of game. Uncle Paul meanwhile went down to the seashore to look out for any vessel which might be approaching the coast; intending, should she prove to be English, to make a signal, in the hope that a boat might be sent on shore to take us off. We caught sight of him in the distance during our ramble, but as we looked seaward we could make out no vessel on any part of the ocean over which our eyes ranged.

“Not much chance of getting off today,” I observed.

“Nor for many days, probably,” answered Arthur. “The chances are against any vessel coming near enough to this exact spot to see us; so we must make up our minds, I suspect, to remain here for some weeks, or perhaps months, to come. However, the life may not prove an unpleasant one; and, at all events, it will be far better than being shut up in the dungeons of the Inquisition.”

“I should think so, indeed,” I said. “And if I knew that my poor father was safe, I should not care, but rather enjoy it; and so, I am sure, would Marian.”

We made our way down to the bank of the river, which appeared to be broad and deep, and thickly shaded on both sides by trees. Knowing that all the rivers in Trinidad abound with fish, we regretted that we had neither spears, nor rods and lines, with which we might: easily have caught an ample supply. Arthur, however, made good use of his gun, and soon shot a number of birds; among which were several parrots with flaming scarlet bodies, and a lovely variety of red, blue, and green on their wings. Loaded with the results of our sport, we returned to the encampment, which by this time afforded us more comfort than at first.

Uncle Paul, with the aid of the natives, had been busy at work erecting a small hut, or rather an arbour, for Marian; and they had also formed a bed-place for each of us, raised off the ground, and roofed over with palm-leaves. Uncle confessed that he could not tell when we might get off, and that it would be wise, for the sake of our health, to make ourselves as comfortable as we could. We might indeed remain where we were in safety, for if the inquisitors had given up the search for us, they had probably done so under the belief that we had already made our escape from the island.

Camo and the other natives had during the day made a wide circuit without meeting with anyone, and they were more than ever convinced that our enemies were not likely to search for us in that neighbourhood. Uncle Paul was much inclined to send back to ascertain the fate of our father; but Camo declared that the risk would be very great, as in all probability a watch would have been set on the house, and whoever went would be traced back to our hiding-place. So the idea was accordingly abandoned.

We sat round our campfire in the evening, and discussed all sorts of plans. Arthur proposed that we should move further to the south; Camo recommended that we should remain where we were. The district was thinly populated, and we might range for miles through the woods without meeting with anyone.

“But how are we to procure provisions?” asked Arthur.

“Our guns, as you have proved, will furnish us with an abundance of game,” I answered. “The woods will afford us fruit, and we can do very well without bread or any luxuries. I shall always be ready to act as sportsman for the camp.”

“And I should like to accompany you,” said Marian. “My eyes are very sharp; and I might be able to see the birds and animals, which you could then shoot.”

From the report given to us by our faithful Indians, we had no longer much fear of being discovered. We felt sure, also, that should we be seen by any of the natives, they would not betray us to the hated Spaniards. We agreed that we would go out the next morning, Arthur taking one gun and I the other, while Marian was to accompany me. Uncle Paul was too eager in watching for a vessel, willingly to leave the coast. Tim was to keep watch at the camp; and the natives were to act the part of scouts, so that we might have timely notice should the Spaniards approach the wood—in which case we were to hurry back to our place of concealment, where we had no fear of being discovered.

The night passed away much as the former ones had done. On the following morning, Arthur, Marian, and I set out after breakfast, with the expectation of amply replenishing our larder; but as our supply of ammunition was small, we determined not to fire unless we could make sure of our game. I had not gone far, when I caught sight of a large parrot with beautiful plumage. I fired, and brought it to the ground. Though badly wounded and unable to fly, it pecked fiercely at Marian when she ran forward to pick it up. However, a blow which I gave it with the butt of my fowling-piece soon brought its struggles to an end. I afterwards killed three others in the same manner.

We made our way on till we caught sight of the river below us; but, hoping to meet with more birds near it, we descended to the bank, and were making our way in silence through the thick jungle, which greatly impeded our progress, when Marian exclaimed—

“O Guy! what can that creature be, hanging to yonder bough?”

We both stopped, peering ahead, when I caught sight of the animal of which Marian spoke. It looked like an exaggerated spider, with its enormously long arms, its equally long hinder legs, and its still longer tail, by which it was swinging from a branch overhanging the river. Suddenly it threw itself round, and caught the branch by its fore paws. Just then turning its head, it caught sight of us. Probably this was the first time it had ever seen any human beings,—or, at all events, civilised people with white skins. Uttering loud shrieks, the monkey—for a monkey it was—sprang to the end of the branch, when, in its terror, it let go its hold, and plunged into the water. I should, I confess, have shot the creature; for I knew that the natives, and indeed many of the white inhabitants, of Trinidad, eat monkey flesh, though we had never had any on our table. Away the creature went, floating down the stream, and shrieking loudly for help. Its cries were answered by a number of its kind, of whom we caught sight in the branches directly above our heads. Without noticing us, they ran to the end of a long bough, which extended far over the water. Immediately one of them threw itself off, and caught with its fore paws a long sepo, or vine, which hung from the branch; another descended, hanging on with its tail twisted round the tail of the first; a third sprang nimbly down the living rope, and allowed the second to catch hold of its tail; while a fourth came down, immediately afterwards, almost as quick as lightning, the third catching hold of its tail and one of its arms, while its other arm reached down to the surface of the water, so that when its drowning companion came by it was able to grasp it and hold it tightly. The first now, with wonderful power of limb, hauled itself up, dragging the four monkeys hanging to it, till the second was able to grasp the vine. They then hauled away till the other monkeys in succession were drawn up, and the one which had been in the water was placed safely on the bough. The whole operation was carried on amid the most terrible howlings and cries, as if the creatures, all the time that they were performing this really heroic act, were suffering the greatest possible pain. The chatterings, shrieks, and cries continued after they were all seated on the bough, convincing us that the monkey which had tumbled into the water was telling its companions about the strange creatures it had seen; for they all cast eager glances around and below them, peering through the foliage, evidently endeavouring to catch a sight of us. Though I could have shot one of them, I could not bring myself to do so after seeing the way they had behaved. Presently they saw us, and one glance was sufficient; for, renewing their shrieks and cries, they sprang up the vines, like sailors swarming up ropes, and quickly disappeared amid the dense foliage. Still, we could hear them chattering away in the distance, and I have no doubt that they were communicating their ideas about us to each other, and all the monkeys they met.

Having remained perfectly silent, we presently saw a little dark head, with bright eyes, looking out at us from among the boughs; then another, and another came; and as we did not move they gained courage, and crept nearer and nearer. They looked so comical that Marian could not help bursting into a fit of laughter, in which I joined; but no sooner did the monkeys hear our voices than off they scampered to the end of a bough which stretched a considerable way across the stream. They now, almost with the rapidity of lightning, formed a chain similar to the one they had made to drag up their companion, and began swinging backwards and forwards, each time approaching nearer the opposite shore. At last the monkey at the end of the chain caught, with his outstretched arms, a bough extending from that side, and then climbed up the trunk, dragging his companions after him, till the whole hung like a festoon across the river, or rather like a rope-bridge, for a bridge it was. A whole tribe of monkeys now appeared upon the bough on our side, and began to cross by the living bridge thus formed, chattering and shrieking as they ran till they reached the opposite bank. There were old monkeys, and mother monkeys with little ones on their backs, and young monkeys of all sizes. I observed that some of the latter gave a slight pinch, as they went along, to the backs of the big fellows, who could not, of course, retaliate. Probably the rascals took this opportunity of revenging themselves for the sundry beatings they had received for their misconduct on various occasions.

When the whole tribe had passed over, with the exception of the living chain, the monkey holding on to the upper bough on our side let go, while those who had hitherto been holding on by the opposite lower branch began rapidly to scramble up the tree, so that the brave old fellow who had borne for the whole time the weight of his companions was for a minute in the water. Once safe, the whole of them scampered away amid the boughs, uttering loud shrieks, and apparently well-satisfied at having placed the river between themselves and us. We stood watching them, laughing heartily at their strange proceedings. Curiosity, however, soon again gained the victory over their fears, and they came back, peering at us amid the foliage; while we could see the young ones running up and down the vines, and playing all sorts of antics. We forgot, for the moment, our grief, and the dangerous position in which we were placed.

These monkeys are known by the name of “ateles,” or “spider-monkeys;” and certainly their long thin arms and legs, and longer tails, greatly resemble the legs of spiders.

They continued to watch us, but did not recross the river, being evidently satisfied that they were safe on the further side; though, had I been anxious, I might easily have brought down one or two of them. Marian, however, charged me not to fire; indeed, it would have been almost like murder to have killed such apparently intelligent creatures.

After watching them for some time, we turned our steps towards our retreat; and as we made our way through the forest, I added several more birds to stock of provisions.

Chapter Three.

José appears—Intelligence of our Father—His Arrival—Catching the Manatee—Search for a Boat—José’s Treacherous Design Frustrated by an Anaconda.

We had already spent a week at our retreat, and no opportunity had as yet occurred of making our escape. So far as we could tell, we might live on where we were for many months without being discovered, if we could provide ourselves with food. That, of course, was a very important point. We might kill animals enough to supply ourselves with meat; but we required flour and vegetables, and our small stock of tea and sugar was diminishing. We had also made Marian’s hut tolerably comfortable, and the rest of the party were content to sleep in the open air. Thoroughly trusting our faithful Camo, we consulted him as to the possibility of obtaining fresh supplies from home, especially of such things as Marian chiefly required. He answered that he would do everything we wished, but he again warned us of the danger we might incur of being discovered.

“Oh, do not let any risk be run for me!” exclaimed Marian. “I would infinitely rather go without any luxuries, than feel that our friends had to incur any danger to obtain them. All I wish to ascertain is, how poor papa is getting on.”

“We will wait, at all events,” said Uncle Paul. “If we find that no vessel approaches the coast, we must try and obtain a boat from the shore. It will not be safe, however, to go off in her without an ample stock of provisions and water, as some days may pass before we succeed in getting on board a vessel to carry us to the mainland or to one of the islands.”

Our chief object for the present was, therefore, according to Uncle Paul’s advice, to obtain the provisions he thought necessary; while every day, as before, Camo and the other natives went out to watch for the approach of those who might be sent in search of us.

One evening one of the two men came back reporting that all was safe, but Camo had not returned. Arthur and I had gone some little distance from our retreat, with our guns, when we caught sight of a person among the trees stealing towards us. We were convinced, by the cautious way in which he approached, that it was not Camo. We accordingly concealed ourselves; for had we retreated, the stranger would probably have observed us. As he drew nearer to us, we were convinced, by the way he looked about in every direction, that he by some means or other knew we had taken refuge in the neighbourhood. When he stopped at length, a short distance off, we recognised one of my father’s servants—a half-caste named José. He was not a man in whom we had ever placed much confidence, though he was an industrious, hardworking fellow; and we were, therefore, doubtful whether we should speak to him, or endeavour to keep concealed. Still, we were both anxious to gain tidings from home; and we thought it probable that my father had sent him with a message for us. It was evident, indeed, that he must have known whereabouts to find us, or he would not have come so directly towards our hiding-place. Arthur put his mouth to my ear, and whispered—

“It will be better to show ourselves; and we must afterwards keep a watch on the man, to prevent him from going off and giving information to our enemies.”

I, of course, agreed to this proposal; so, stepping out from behind the tree where we had been hidden, we faced José, and asked him whether he had brought any message from my father. He seemed in no way astonished at seeing us, but replied that he was glad to find we had not left the island, as he had been sent expressly by my father to try and meet with us. He had been, he said, searching for us for some days; and at length catching sight of Camo, he knew that we were not likely to be far off. My father himself, he said, was in considerable apprehension of being denounced to the Inquisition, as he had received it warning from Doctor Antonio, and had thought it prudent in consequence to hide himself.

“Will he not join us?” asked Arthur eagerly. “He will be safer where we are than anywhere else.”

“He does not know where to find you, señors; but if you will show me your place of concealment, I will try and find him, and bring him to you.”

Arthur looked at me, on hearing this, with an expression that showed he doubted the truth of what José said. “It will be better not to show any distrust,” he whispered; “at the same time, it might be hazardous to lead José to our retreat.”

“What are we to do, then?” I asked.

“We will tell him to go and find your father, and conduct him to this spot: if he comes, we need no longer have any doubts about José’s fidelity.”

I thought Arthur’s idea a good one, though we should have liked to consult Uncle Paul on the subject.

Arthur asked José how long it would take to bring our father to the spot where we then were. He replied, “Certainly not before noon of next day;” and we accordingly agreed to meet him at that hour.

“But will you not take me to your hiding-place?” he asked. “I am hungry and weary, and require rest and refreshment.”

I was much disposed to do as the man requested, but I waited to hear what Arthur would say before replying.

“We regret that we cannot take you there at present,” said Arthur; “others are concerned as well as ourselves. Do you go back and find your master, and tell him that we are well, and shall be rejoiced to see him.”

José looked somewhat disappointed.

“Come,” said Arthur, “we will accompany you a part of the way. Here are two birds which we have shot; they will help to support you and Señor Dennis till you reach this to-morrow.”

Still José lingered, evidently wishing to learn the way to our retreat; but Arthur had a determined manner about him, and José was at length compelled to turn back, whereupon we accompanied him.

We walked on for about half a mile through the forest, but were unwilling to go further, for fear of losing our way. At length we bade José goodbye, and hurried back, occasionally looking behind us to ascertain whether he was following. It was dark by the time we reached our retreat. Camo had just before come in, and, strange to say, had not seen anything of José. Uncle Paul approved of what we had done, but expressed his doubts as to whether José was honest.

“We shall know to-morrow,” he observed. “If he is accompanied by your father, all may be right; but if not, we must take care that he does not discover our retreat. Having themselves failed to find us, the officers of the Inquisition are very likely to have bribed him; and they may possibly have let your father escape their clutches, for the sake of catching us all in one net.”

So impressed was Uncle Paul with this idea, that he proposed we should move further south, to some other safe place of concealment. Consulting Camo on the subject, the Indian replied that we could not hope to find a safer retreat than our present one, and suggested that he and his companions should be on the watch, some distance in advance of the spot to which we had told José to bring my father; promising that, should he be accompanied by strangers, they would immediately hasten to inform us, so that we might have time to escape.

I earnestly hoped that my father would come; for, though he might run the risk of sacrificing his property, that would be far better than having to act the part of a hypocrite, or being shut up in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

The night seemed very long; and I could scarcely go to sleep for thinking of what might happen on the morrow. At the hour appointed, Arthur and I went to the spot agreed on; Camo and the other natives having some time before set out to watch for José’s approach. We waited anxiously; the hour for the meeting had arrived. At length we caught sight of two persons coming through the forest. My heart bounded with joy; my father was one of them, and José was his companion. Arthur and I hurried towards them, and were soon welcoming my father. He looked pale and ill, but expressed his thankfulness at having escaped; so we at once accompanied him to our retreat, followed by José.

He was, as might be expected, very much cast down, and anxious about the future; but Uncle Paul did his utmost to raise his spirits, bidding him trust in God, and reminding him that everything would be ordered for the best. Our plans for the future were then discussed, as our father was eager to get off as soon as possible. As we spoke in English, José could not understand what was said; but he observed everything that took place with a look which I did not like—indeed, neither Arthur nor I were yet satisfied that he was acting an honest part.

The means of obtaining provisions for the voyage next occupied our attention. Camo suggested that we should try and catch a cowfish, the flesh of which, when cut up into strips and dried in the sun, could be preserved for a considerable time, and would prove more serviceable than any other food we were likely to obtain. He offered at once to go down to the river and look out for one. Arthur, Tim, and I accompanied him and the two other natives. Tim had an axe, while we had our guns, and the natives had provided themselves with lances, to which long lines were attached. Camo took his post on the lower branch of a tree which projected over the water, while we stationed ourselves at some little distance, ready to render him assistance, if required; and we waited thus for some time, looking up and down the stream in the hope of seeing a cowfish come within reach of his lance.

The creature of which we were in search is amphibious, and suckles its young like the whale. It is frequently found in pairs with its young, browsing on the marine plants, and sometimes on shore in the cocoanut groves. It is properly called the “manatee,” or seacow; measures fifteen feet in length, has two fin-like arms, is covered with hair, and often weighs twelve hundred pounds. I had never seen one, but Camo had described it to us as we were on our way to the river.

At length we caught sight of a dark object coming slowly up the stream; its head, as it approached, greatly resembling that of a cow, while its hairy body was raised considerably above the water. We knew from Camo’s movements that he also had observed it. The question was whether or not it would pass near enough to him to allow him to strike it with his lance. As it drew nearer, we saw that it had a young one by its side. Now, greatly to our disappointment, it floated off to the opposite side of the stream, and we feared that it would be lost. It suddenly turned again, however, while its young one disappeared beneath it. For some time it remained almost stationary, then, unconscious of its danger, floated directly under where Camo stood. At that instant his long lance flew from his hand, and buried itself deep in the animal’s back. The other natives, who had been watching eagerly, now sprang forward and hurled their lances, fixing them firmly, one in its neck, and another towards its tail. The creature, finding itself wounded, began to plunge violently, but made no other effort to escape. It seemed, however, as if the light lances would be unable to hold it. Arthur and I on this made our way as close to the water as we could; and when we got the creature clearly in sight, Arthur fired, and sent a bullet through its head. Its struggles instantly ceased, and without much difficulty we drew it up to the only part of the bank in the neighbourhood where we could land it. It was quite dead, but even then it required our united strength to drag it on shore. The young one followed, and tried to climb up the bank, when Tim despatched it with a blow of his axe. It seemed a cruel deed, but necessity, in such a case, has no law, and we were thankful to have obtained such an ample supply of meat.

We at once set to work to cut up the creature, under Camo’s directions, and soon had loaded ourselves with as much meat as we could carry. Leaving one of the natives to guard the carcass from the birds of prey, or any animals which might come to feed on it, we hastened back to our retreat, and then returned for a further quantity. Uncle Paul was delighted at our success; and we immediately set to work to cut the meat into thin strips, which we hung up in the sun. In the evening we cooked a portion of the young manatee for supper, and we all agreed that it tasted like the most delicate pork.

We had now a supply of meat sufficient to last us for several days; and we hoped, with the aid of some cocoanuts, yams, plantains, bananas, and other fruits, to secure an ample supply of provisions for the longest voyage we were likely to take. Our hope was that we should quickly get on board a vessel. If not, Uncle Paul proposed that we should steer for Tobago, which we might expect to reach in a couple of days. Our chief difficulty was to obtain a boat; and Uncle Paul and Arthur agreed to set out to the south in search of one. Dressed in duck trousers, and with broad-brimmed hats on their heads, they would probably be taken for English sailors, and would not be interfered with. They hoped to hire a boat without difficulty; if not, they intended to run off with one, and to send back more than her value to the owner. Under the circumstances, they considered that they would be justified in so doing; though I am very sure that we must never do what is wrong for the sake of gaining an advantage of any sort.

I may be excused, however, from discussing here the morality of their intended act. The world certainly would not have blamed them; but, as I now write in my old age, I have learned that there is a rule far above the world’s laws, and that says, “Do no wrong, or be guilty of any appearance of wrong, however important may seem the object to be gained.” But this is a digression.

Camo and the two other natives agreed to accompany our uncle and Arthur. The latter took his gun with him, but I retained mine.

They had been gone for some hours, when Tim and I agreed to go out into the woods and kill some birds for supper, whilst our father—who had not yet recovered from the fatigue of his journey, and was, besides, sorely distressed at the thought of all his hopes being destroyed—remained in the retreat with Marian. José undertook to stop and prepare the meat, which was to be packed up tightly in small bundles, and covered over with leaves.

Tim and I took our way westward. I scarcely know what made us go in that direction; for before we left the camp we had intended to proceed to the river, and had said so in José’s hearing. We had gone some distance, however, when we caught sight of a small deer known as the “mangrove stag.” The creature did not perceive us, and we followed it for a considerable distance before I could get a favourable shot. At length, when we were little more than fifty yards off, I fired, and, greatly to my satisfaction, brought it to the ground. Tim having quickly despatched it, next skinned and cut it up; then loading ourselves with as much of the flesh as we could carry, we set off to return to the camp.

We had made some progress on our way home, though with our load we moved but slowly—when we caught sight of José in the distance, running rapidly among the trees of the forest. At the same moment an object appeared directly in front of José sufficient to fill us with horror. It was a huge snake. José apparently had not seen it; for the next instant the creature seized him, and began to wind its folds around his body. He uttered a dreadful shriek of terror, not knowing that anyone was near. Tim and I rushed forward; he with his axe in his hand, I with a stick I had picked up—for I was afraid, should I fire, of killing the man. José had never been a favourite with Tim; indeed, he had suspected him from the first; and the man’s appearance at that spot showed pretty clearly that Tim was right in his opinion. He now, however, dashed up to the huge snake in the most gallant way, and struck it a violent blow on the tail, almost severing the end. Still the monster kept firm hold of the terrified José, whose fearful shrieks were each instant becoming fainter as the creature pressed his body tighter and tighter in its encircling folds.

“Do you, Master Guy, batter away at its tail, while I take its head,” cried Tim; and springing towards the neck of the monster, just as it was on the point of seizing José’s head in its mouth, he struck it a blow with his axe which well-nigh cut it through. Still it kept hold of the wretched man; till Tim repeating his blow, it rolled over to the ground with its victim, who, covered with its blood, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay gasping for breath. The blows had paralysed the serpent; and now, seizing José by the shoulders, we dragged him out from between its relaxed folds. We had expected to find every bone in his body broken, but, except that his breath had nearly been squeezed out of him, he did not appear to have suffered much. The anaconda, however, we saw from the movements of its body, still retained sufficient vitality to be mischievous.

“We must finish off this gentleman before we attend to Master José,” cried Tim. “If he comes to life again, he will be after taking us all three down his ugly mouth, like so many pills, at a gulp.”

“I suspect the gash you gave him must have somewhat spoiled his digestion, though, Tim,” I observed.

“Arrah, then, I will be after giving him another, to make sure,” exclaimed my companion, severing the snake’s head at a blow. “There! now I’ve done for him!” he cried, triumphantly holding up its head.

We measured the anaconda, which was fully thirty feet long; and Tim having cut it open with his axe, we found the body of a young deer, and three pacas, each larger than a hare, perfectly entire, showing that the creature had only just swallowed them. Its appearance was most hideous, the creature being very broad in the middle, and tapering abruptly at both ends. It had probably come up a small stream which ran into the main river, and which passed at no great distance from the spot where it had attacked José.

I was not before aware that anacondas of any size were to be found in Trinidad; indeed, Camo had told us that he had never seen one, and that at all events they were very rare.

We now turned our attention to José, who had not yet recovered from his terror. He sat moaning on the ground, and feeling his limbs, as if still uncertain whether or not they were broken. We at length got him on his legs, and taking him to the water, washed off the serpent’s blood, which abundantly besprinkled his face and shoulders.

“And now, José, tell me, where were you going when the serpent stopped you?” I asked, when he had recovered sufficiently to speak.

“Oh, don’t ask me, Señor Guy! I will go back with you, and remain faithful to the end of my days.”

I thought it best not to put further questions to the man, intending to leave it to my father to do so; but I strongly suspected that had not the anaconda put a stop to his proceedings, we should not have seen him again. Indeed, I may say that I was certain he was on his way to give information to the Inquisition of our place of concealment.

Assisting him along, we reached our sylvan home just as darkness set in. My father looked sternly at José, and asked where he had been going. The wretched man, falling on his knees, then acknowledged his intended treachery, and, begging my father to forgive him, said he would be faithful in future.

“I will trust you thus far,” said my father: “you must never leave this retreat while we remain here.”

José made no answer, but, sitting down on the ground, groaned as if in great pain. Indeed, the anaconda had given him a greater squeeze than we had at first supposed.

“You may depend on it, your honour, that I will keep an eye on our friend here,” said Tim, glancing at José. “If it had not been for the big serpent, he would have been after getting those ‘Inquisitive’ gentlemen down upon us. I will make my shillelagh and his head wonderfully well acquainted, however, if I catch him trying to bolt again.”

After this discovery of the intended treachery of our servant, we felt more anxious than ever to escape from the island; and we eagerly looked for the return of Uncle Paul and Arthur, with the boat we hoped they would find.

Chapter Four.

Uncle Paul’s Return—We embark—Overtaken by a Furious Gale—Our Provisions washed away—José’s Death—Burial at Sea—Our Sufferings—A Breeze—A Sail—Disappointment—Catching Fish.

Another day passed, and we became more and more anxious for the return of our uncle and cousin. Sometimes our father talked of going back and braving the worst; and sometimes he seemed eager to embark, to get clear away from the island in which his once bright hopes had been so completely destroyed. Frequently he spoke as if all happiness in life for him was over, and seemed only to wish for death as an end to his sorrows. He felt greatly the loss of our mother; and that alone would have been sufficient to cast him down. But he was also, it was evident, dissatisfied with himself. How could it be otherwise, when he reflected that he had, by his own act, brought his present misfortunes upon himself? We, however, did not and could not complain; and dear Marian did her utmost to soothe and comfort him, telling him in a quiet way to trust in God, and that all would be well.

“But I have not trusted in God; I have only trusted in myself,” answered our father bitterly, “and I have, in consequence, been terribly deceived.”

Though neither Marian nor I could offer sufficient consolation, we did all we could to keep him from going back, and were thus, at all events, of use.

Several times during the day I went down to the beach and looked along the shore, in the hope of seeing the boat coming; but neither did she appear, nor was any sail in sight. Tim would not leave his post, even for the sake of getting some birds for our larder, but kept guard upon José; who, it was evident, he thought would run off should he find an opportunity.

“If once we get on salt water, the spalpeen may go and give all the information he chooses; though it would be a pity to let him show this snug little hiding-place, in case some other honest folks might wish to take possession of it,” he said to me. “I should just like to take him with us, if I wouldn’t rather be without his company.”

We had been for some time shut up in our retreat that night, with the entrance carefully closed. Marian had retired to her hut, and our father to one we had built for him; José was lying asleep, or pretending to be so; while Tim sat up with me, it being my watch,—when we heard a slight sound, as of persons approaching the spot. The fire was burning brightly, so that we could easily have been seen by those who might find their way to the entrance. My anxiety was relieved, however, by the voice of Uncle Paul; and he soon appeared, followed by Arthur and Camo.

“We have no time to lose,” he said, after he had inquired if all had gone well. “We have been able to purchase a boat; and though she is not so large as I could wish, she will carry us all. We have brought her down to the mouth of the river, where she is moored in safety; also some casks of water, and all the provisions we have been able to procure. We should embark at once, so as to be away from the land before morning dawns.”

Our father, who had been sleeping lightly, awoke on hearing Uncle Paul’s voice, and he seemed well-satisfied with the arrangements which had been made. “I am perfectly ready to start, and shall rejoice to get away from this unhappy country,” he added.

I awoke Marian, who was equally ready to start; and we at once set to work to pack up all the provisions we had collected. With these we loaded ourselves, José taking one of the heaviest packages.

“You will accompany us,” said my father to him. “If you have the regard for me you profess, you will willingly go; and should we hear favourable accounts of the progress of events in the island, you will be able to return, should you wish it.”

“It is my wish to obey you, señor,” answered José. “Had it not been for Señor Guy and Tim, I should have been killed by that dreadful serpent; and I am thankful to them for saving my life.”

“Notwithstanding all he says, I will keep an eye on him,” whispered Tim to me. “If he tries to give us leg-bail, I will be after him, and show him that I have as good a pair of heels as he has.”

We were quickly ready; and having extinguished the fire, to prevent the risk of it spreading to the forest, we all set out,—Camo leading the way, Arthur assisting Marion, while Tim and I brought up the rear.

“Stop a moment,” said Camo, when we all got outside. “I will close the entrance, so that no strangers may find it.” Putting down his load, he drew together the bushes amid which we had passed, as had been our custom from the first.

We walked in silence through the wood till we got down to the seashore, when, continuing along it for nearly a mile, we at length reached a little harbour formed by a bay at the mouth of the river. Here we found the boat, with the two natives guarding her. She appeared, indeed, very small for the long voyage we contemplated, though sufficiently large to hold all our party. Uncle Paul was the only seafaring person among us, for in his early days he had been a sailor; but my cousin and I, as well as Tim and José, could row, so that should the weather prove calm we might still be able to make good way.

Camo and the other two natives would willingly have accompanied us; but it not being necessary for them to leave the island, as there was but little danger of their being captured provided they kept concealed, my father and uncle had agreed that it would be better to leave them behind. They shed tears as they assisted us to load the boat and bade us farewell.

The oars were got out, and Uncle Paul gave the order to shove off; then, getting her head round, we pulled down the river. There was but little wind, and that was off the shore, so that the water at its mouth was perfectly smooth. Bending to our oars, we pulled out to sea; and as we left the shore astern, we all breathed more freely than we had done for many a day. We had, at all events, escaped from the dreaded Inquisition, and we thought, in comparison, but little of the dangers before us. Having got some distance from the shore we felt the breeze come stronger, and Uncle Paul desired us to step the mast and hoist the sail, when we glided much more rapidly through the water than we had done when rowing. The weather, too, promised to be fine, and Uncle Paul cheered us up by saying that he hoped we should fall in with a vessel during the morning; if not, he proposed steering a course for Tobago.

The boat was pretty well loaded with provisions and water, so that there was not much space for lying down. We managed, however, to fit a small cabin for Marian in the afterpart with a spare sail, into which she could retire to rest. The task of navigating the boat fell most heavily on Uncle Paul, as neither Arthur nor I were accustomed to steer, while Tim and José knew nothing about the matter. Uncle, therefore, did not like us to take the helm.

We glided on till the shores of the island could scarcely be perceived,—the weather having been remarkably fine ever since we had left home. Just before dawn, however, there were signs of it changing; and as the sun rose from its ocean-bed it looked like a huge globe of fire, diffusing a ruddy glow throughout the sky, and tingeing with a lurid hue the edges of the rapidly gathering clouds. The wind came in fitful gusts for some time from the westward; but soon after Uncle Paul had put the boat’s head to the north, it suddenly shifted, and began to blow with considerable violence from that quarter. We had then, under his directions, to close-reef the sail; but even thus it was more than the boat could bear. In vain did we try to beat to windward.

“We shall make no way in the direction we wish to go,” said Uncle Paul at length. “We must either run before it, or stand back to the coast we have left, and try to enter some river or harbour where we can find shelter till the gale has passed.”

My father was very unwilling to return to the island, fearing that we should be suspected by the authorities of any place where we might land, and be delivered into the hands of the government.

We were now steering to the southward, in a direction exactly opposite to what we wished, but the sea had got up so much, and the wind blew so violently, that it was the only one in which the boat could be steered with safety. The more the sea got up, the more necessary it became to carry sail, to avoid being swamped by the heavy waves which rolled up astern.

Poor Uncle Paul had now been steering for some hours, but he could not trust the helm to anyone else. The wind continuing to increase, a stronger gust than we had before felt struck the sail. In an instant both it and the mast, which had given way, were carried overboard; and before we could secure them, they were lost. On this, Uncle Paul ordered us to get out the oars, and to pull for our lives. We did as he directed; but notwithstanding our efforts several seas which rolled up broke into the boat, carrying away all our water-casks and the larger portion of our provisions. While Arthur and Tim rowed, my father, José, and I, aided by Marian, set to work to bail out the boat, and it was with the greatest difficulty we could keep her clear.

Our position had now become extremely critical. Uncle Paul kept as calm as at first, directing us what to do; but I knew by the tone of his voice that he had great fears for our safety. Indeed, had the gale continued to increase, no human power could have saved us. Providentially, after the last violent blast it began to subside; but the sea was still too high to allow us to make headway against it. As soon as we had somewhat cleared the boat of water, José and I resumed our oars; but, notwithstanding all our efforts, the summits of the foaming waves occasionally broke aboard, and we had to recommence bailing.

We were thus employed when Uncle Paul cried out,—“Take to your oars! Pull—pull away for your lives!” We did our utmost, but the top of another heavy sea, like a mountain, which rolled up astern, broke aboard and carried away nearly the whole of our remaining stock of provisions; and had not Uncle Paul at the moment grasped hold of Marian, she also would, I believe, have been washed away. Another such sea would speedily have swamped us. We, of course, had again to bail away with all our might; but it took some time before the boat could be cleared of water. When we at length got her to rights, and looked round for our oars, we found, to our dismay, that both José’s and mine had been carried overboard, thus leaving only two with which to pull on the boat; while we had only the small sail which had formed the covering to Marian’s cabin.

The gale continued for two days longer; and it seemed surprising that my young sister, poor girl, should have survived the hardships she had to endure. One small cask, only partly full of water, remained, with two packages of dried manatee flesh, and a few oranges and other fruits,—which were, besides, fast spoiling. Uncle Paul served them out with the greatest care; giving Marian, however, a larger portion than the rest of us—though he did not tell her so, lest she should refuse to take it. Our poor father lay in the bottom of the boat, so prostrated, that had we not propped him up and fed him, he would soon have succumbed. José was in even a worse condition. He evidently had not recovered from the injuries he had received in the coils of the anaconda; and when I asked Uncle Paul if he thought he would recover, he shook his head.

“He will be the first among us to go,” he answered in a most dispirited way. José was groaning, crouched down in the bows of the boat. Tim’s compassionate heart was moved; he went and placed himself by his side.

“Cheer up,” he said. “We may fall in with a vessel before long, when we shall have plenty of grub, and you will soon get all to rights.”

“No, no!” groaned José; “my doom is fixed; it serves me right, for I intended to betray you for the sake of the reward I expected to receive. I am dying—I know it; but I wish that I had a priest to whom I might confess my sins, and die in peace.”

“Confess them, my friend, to One who is ready to hear the sinner who comes to Him—our great High Priest in heaven,” answered Tim, who, like most Irish Protestants, was well instructed in the truths of Christianity. “Depend on it, all here are ready to forgive you the harm you intended them; and if so, our loving Father in heaven is a thousandfold more willing, if you will go to Him.”

José only groaned; I was afraid that he did not clearly understand what Tim said, so Arthur endeavoured to explain the matter.

“God allows all those who turn to Him, and place their faith in the all-perfect atonement of His blessed Son, to come boldly to the throne of grace, without the intervention of any human being,” he said.

“I see! I see!” said the dying man. “What a blessed truth is that! How dreadful would otherwise be our fate out here on the ocean, without the possibility of getting a priest to whom to confess our sins.”

I, of course, give a mere outline of what I heard, and cannot pretend to translate exactly what they said. José, however, appeared much comforted.

The wind had by this time entirely gone down, and the sea was becoming smoother and smoother. At length night came on. José still breathed; but he was speechless, though I think he understood what was said. Either Arthur or Tim sat by him, while Marian and I supported our father. Uncle Paul, overcome by fatigue, had gone to sleep. Just as the sun rose, José breathed his last. Our father, who had slept for some time, by this time appeared greatly refreshed; and after he had taken some food, a little water, and an orange, he was able to sit up, and we began to hope that he would recover. We did not tell him of José’s death, but soon his eye fell on the bow of the boat. “God is indeed merciful, to have spared me. I might have been like that poor man,” he observed.

We waited till Uncle Paul awoke, to learn what to do, and he at once said that we must bury poor José. I sat with Marian in the stern of the boat, while Uncle Paul and Tim lifted José’s body up to the side; and the latter fastened a piece of stone, which served as ballast, to his feet. Our uncle having uttered an earnest prayer that we might all be preserved, they then let the corpse drop gently into the water, where it quickly disappeared beneath the surface. It was a sad sight, and poor Marian looked on with horror in her countenance. I wished that she could have been spared the spectacle.

Our stock of provisions and water would now last us scarcely a couple of days, and no land was in sight. Uncle Paul calculated, however, that we must be some fifteen or twenty leagues to the south-east of Cape Galeota, the most southern point of Trinidad. The brown colour of the water also showed that we were off the mouth of the mighty Orinoco, though probably many leagues away from it. Had we possessed our full strength and four oars, we might in time have reached the shore; but, weak as we were, and with only a couple of oars, we could have but little hope of doing so. We still trusted to falling in with a vessel; but as we gazed round over the glittering surface of the ocean, not a sail appeared. While the calm lasted, none indeed could approach us; and too probably, before a breeze would spring up, our scanty stock of provisions might be exhausted.

“Cheer up, my friends; let us still trust in God,” said Uncle Paul at length. “It is wrong to give way to despair. There’s One above who watches over us, and orders all for the best.”

“Let us pray to Him, then,” exclaimed Marian, kneeling down; and following the example of the dear girl, we lifted up our voices together for safety and protection.

We all felt comforted, and even our poor father’s countenance looked less downcast than before. That which weighed most on his spirits was, I suspect, the thought that he had been the cause of our being placed in our present position. No one, however, uttered a word of reproach, and we all did our utmost to console him. Arthur tried to speak cheerfully: Tim attempted to sing one of the melodies of his native land, which he had learned in his boyhood; but his voice broke down, and he was well-nigh bursting into tears.

The calm, though very trying, enabled us to obtain the rest we so much required; and the next morning, though suffering from hunger, Uncle Paul was quite himself again.

After we had offered up our prayers, we took our scanty breakfast of water and a small piece of dried meat, with such parts of the rotten fruit as we could eat. Uncle Paul then stood up and looked about him. “We shall have a breeze, I think, before long,” he said, “and we must at once prepare the sail. I am sorry, Marian, to deprive you of the covering of your nest; but we have no other means of making the boat go along.”

“I shall be thankful to give it up, if it will help on the boat,” she answered, assisting to undo the lashing which secured the sail. It was old, and already torn, but with a strong breeze it would afford such canvas as the boat could carry. We had only an oar for a mast, and another for a yard. Uncle Paul stepped the first, and stayed it up carefully with such pieces of rope as could be found in the boat, while he joined two or three together to form a sheet.

“We are now all ready for the breeze when it comes,” he observed, having finished his work. “I cannot say much for the appearance of our sail, but we may be thankful if it enables us to reach a port in safety.” He went and sat down again in the sternsheets, resting his hand on the tiller, so that not a moment might be lost after the breeze should reach us.

“Here it comes!” he exclaimed at length. “But I wish it had been from any other quarter. We may, however, hope to beat up against it, if it proves light, as I expect.” He pointed to the north-west, where a dark blue line was seen extending across the horizon, and rapidly approaching, every instant becoming broader and broader. Now some cat’s-paws came blowing over the ocean, rippling it up into mimic waves; now they disappeared, now again came on, till the whole surface was crisped over by the breeze. Our small triangular sail bulged out, sending the boat along about a couple of miles an hour.

Uncle Paul was standing up, looking in the direction from which the wind came, when he exclaimed, “A sail! a sail! She is coming from the northward, and must be bound either up the Orinoco, or to some port in the northern part of the continent.”

Arthur and I looked eagerly out, but we could just see a small patch of white rising above the horizon, which the eye of a sailor alone could have declared to be the topmost sails of a vessel. We stood on in the direction we were going, hoping to cut her off before she passed to the southward of us. How eagerly we watched her!—now gazing at her, now at Uncle Paul’s countenance, which betrayed the anxiety he felt. By degrees her canvas rose above the horizon, and we saw that she was a schooner, under all sail, running rapidly through the water, and directly crossing our course. It soon became evident that we could not by any possibility cut her off, but we might be seen by those on board. At length she came almost ahead of us. Tim stood up and waved eagerly, and we all shouted at the top of our voices. We also attempted to fire our guns, but so wet were they that they would not go off.

“Oh, let us pray!” cried Marian; and she and I knelt down.

Still the schooner stood on. No eye on board was turned towards us. We must have presented, indeed, but a small speck on the wide ocean. Tim now waved violently, but all our shouting and waving was of no avail. Uncle Paul then kept the boat away, to obtain another chance of being seen; though, of course, there was no hope of overtaking the fast-sailing schooner.

“God’s will be done!” at length cried Uncle Paul. “We are only running further and further out of our course. We must hope that another vessel will come by, and that we may be seen by those on board. If not, while the wind holds as it now does we must endeavour to reach the northern part of Guiana.”

Though Uncle Paul said this, I could not help reflecting that our provisions would not hold out to keep us alive till then. For myself, I felt more hungry than I had ever before done in my life, and dreadfully thirsty; and I feared that Marian was suffering even more than I was, though she did not complain. I was careful, however, to say nothing to increase her alarm, though I mentioned my fears in a whisper to Arthur, as we were seated in the bows of the boat.

“I do not despair altogether,” he answered. “We may very likely, before long, be visited by birds, which, as we have our guns, we may be able to shoot; or, should a calm come on, possibly some flying-fish may leap on board, or we may be able to catch some other fish. Perhaps we may even be able to manufacture a hook and line.”

“What a fortunate idea!” I exclaimed. “I have got a file in my knife; and we may be able to find a nail, to which I can put a barb, and bend it into the proper shape.”

We lost no time in putting the idea just started, into execution. We hunted about, and fortunately discovered a long thin nail of tough iron, which I thought we could bend into the shape of a hook. I told no one what I was about, however, but at once began filing away so as to form the barb, the most difficult part of my task. Arthur, meantime, recollected that he had on a pair of strong thread socks; so, undoing the upper part, he produced a long line, which when doubled was of sufficient strength to bear a pretty strong pull. By the time I had prepared my hook, greatly to my satisfaction, his line was ready. It was not so long as we should have liked, but still long enough to allow the bait to sink sufficiently below the surface to attract the unwary fish. Tim, in the meantime, had been cleaning our guns, the locks of which, not having been covered up, had prevented their use at the moment they were so much required. We reloaded them, and put in fresh priming.

Uncle Paul having noticed what we were about,—“That is right,” he observed. “We are bound to make every effort to preserve our lives. While we put full trust in God, He will favour our efforts.”

The wind was again dropping, and the time, we thought, was favourable to commence fishing. We had to sacrifice a small piece of manatee flesh, but we trusted that it would give us a satisfactory return. So, having baited our hook, and put some lead on the line, we dropped it into the water, letting it tow astern. Never did fisherman hold a line with more anxious wish for success than did Arthur. He had not long to wait.

“I have a bite!” he exclaimed in a tone of eagerness. “Hurrah! it’s hooked!”

Carefully he drew in the line, while Tim and I leaned over the side, to lift up the expected prize, for fear that it might break away at the last moment. It was a fish nearly two feet long; and it fortunately struggled but little, or I believe that it would have carried away the hook. How eagerly we clutched it!—literally digging our fingers into its flesh—and then with a jerk brought it safely aboard. We none of us knew its name; but as it was of the ordinary fishlike shape, we hoped that it would prove to be of a species fit for human food.

“I wish we had a kitchen-fire at which to cook it,” cried Marian.

“We must manage to do without that,” observed Uncle Paul; “and we shall not be the first folks who have been thankful to obtain raw fish for dinner.”

It is my belief that that fish saved our lives. Even Marian managed to eat a small portion, which was beaten up fine to enable her to swallow it. Strange to say, it was the only one we caught, though we had the line out for several hours afterwards. We were afraid of allowing it to remain unless one of us held it, lest some large fish, catching hold of it, should carry away the hook. We therefore hauled it in at night; and, it being calm, Arthur took the helm, while Uncle Paul lay down to sleep.

Chapter Five.

Ship Ahoy!—Rescued—The Kind Skipper—Enter the Orinoco—The Hurricane—Two Men Overboard—Wrecked on a Tree—An Anxious Question—A Curious Scene—We obtain Food—Quacko, our New Friend.

Uncle Paul had charged Arthur and me to call him should there be the slightest change in the weather. The wind, however, continued very light, and the boat glided forward, as well as we could judge, steering by the stars, towards the point we desired to gain. I kept my eyes about me as long as they would consent to remain open, though it was often a difficult task.

Several times I was nodding, when Arthur aroused me with his voice. It must have been about midnight, when, looking astern, I saw a dark shadowy form gliding over the surface of the ocean. I rubbed my eyes, supposing it to be a thing of the imagination; but there it was, not many cable-lengths off, coming up towards us.

“See! see, Arthur! What can that be?” I cried out.

“A sloop or a small schooner!” he exclaimed.

We at once called up Uncle Paul.

“Can she be a vessel sent in chase of us?” I asked.

“No fear of that. It could never have been supposed that we had got so far south; and they would not know in which direction to look for us,” he answered.

Still I could not help having some doubts on the subject.

“We will hail the stranger, and learn what she is,” said Uncle Paul; so, uniting our voices, we shouted out, “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!”

A voice replied, in Dutch; and my father, who understood the language, at once cried out,—“Heave to, for the love of Heaven, and receive us on board!”

“Ya, ya,” was the answer; “we will be up with you presently.”

In a few minutes we were alongside the stranger, a small Dutch trading-sloop. As soon as we were all on board our boat was dropped astern, and sail was made. Her skipper, Mynheer Jan van Dunk, gave us a kind reception, exhibiting the greatest sympathy when he heard of the sufferings we had endured, and seeming especially moved at hearing of those Marian had gone through.

“I have one little maid just like her,” he said, taking her in his arms. “She must go into my berth and sleep while we get supper ready. Poor little dear, she has had no food for so many days.”

“Thank you, I am not so very hungry,” said Marian; “but I am very thirsty.”

“Well, well, then, we will get you some tea ready,” he answered. “Peter,” he cried to his mate, “get a fire lighted in the caboose. Quick, quick, now; they all want food—I see it in their looks.”

The skipper said this while we were seated round the table in his little cabin, pretty closely packed, as may be supposed.

“We want water more than anything else,” said Uncle Paul.

“Ya, ya; but we will put some schiedam into it. Water is bad for starving people.”

Peter quickly brought in a huge jug of water, but the skipper would not allow him to fill our tumblers till he himself had poured a portion of schiedam into each of them. “There now,” he said, “there will no harm come to you.”

Never had I taken so delicious a draught. It certainly had a very beneficial effect, and we set to with a will on some cold salt beef, sausages, and biscuits, which the kind skipper placed before us. By the time we had finished the viands we were quite ready for a fresh supply of liquid. Peter then brought in a large pot of hot tea, which perhaps really refreshed us more than anything else. Captain Jan had not forgotten Marian. All this time he had kept supplying her, till she assured him that she could eat and drink no more.

After we had taken all the food we required, the skipper and his mate arranged the cabin to enable us all to sleep with as much comfort as possible. My father was put into the mate’s berth, Uncle Paul slept on the after-locker, Tim and Arthur on either side, and I on the table. I should have said that Captain Jan’s crew consisted of his mate Peter, another Dutchman, a black, and two Indians. Worn-out with fatigue as we were, we all slept on for several hours, and when we awoke our first impulse was to ask for some food, which, thanks to the honest mate, was quickly supplied to us. As the cabin was on deck, and the door and scuppers were kept wide open, though small, it was tolerably cool; and we felt, after being so long cooped up in the boat, as if suddenly transported to a luxurious palace. Captain Jan looked in on us very frequently, and did not appear at all to mind being turned out of his cabin, but, on the contrary, exhibited a genuine pleasure in attending to our wants.

By the evening Marian was quite herself again, and wished to get up and go on deck; while our father was certainly very much better. He also wanted to get up, but the skipper insisted that he should remain quiet till his strength was perfectly restored. My father and Uncle Paul had been so prostrated mentally as well as physically, that it did not occur to them to ask where the vessel was bound to, nor had the captain asked us where we wished to go.

Captain Jan was exactly what I had pictured a Dutch skipper—short, fat, and fond of a drop of schnapps, and fonder still of his pipe. He was kind-hearted and good-natured in the extreme, and was evidently pleased with the thought that he had been the means of saving our lives. His mate Peter was in appearance very unlike him: tall and thin, with a melancholy expression of countenance; which, however, belied his natural disposition, for he was really as merry and kind-hearted as the skipper.

Arthur, Tim, and I went on deck for a short time, and found the sloop slipping pretty quickly through the water; but I cannot say that we took a “turn” on deck, for there was very little space to enjoy more than a fisherman’s walk, which is three steps and overboard. We soon returned to the cabin to have supper, which Sambo the black, under Peter’s supervision, had exerted all his skill to cook. It was not of a refined style of cookery, but we enjoyed it as much as if it had been the most magnificent banquet. We had not yet made up for our loss of sleep, so once more we all lay down in the little cabin, the kind skipper and his mate still refusing to occupy their own berths.

Next morning, when I went on deck, I found that it was a perfect calm. After breakfast the oars were got out; and as none of us wished to be idle, we offered to take our turn with the rest. I should have said that the vessel belonged to Stabroek, Guiana, then a Dutch settlement. After having visited Trinidad, she was on her way up the Orinoco to trade with the natives. Had my father and Uncle Paul known this, they would certainly have requested the skipper to carry us to Stabroek.

“I am afraid that we put you much out of your way, eat up your provisions, and keep you out of your cabin,” said Uncle Paul to Captain Jan.

“Oh no, no, my friends,” answered the honest skipper. “I am glad of your company, and that little girl has won my heart; so, if you are pleased to remain, we will just run up the river for a week or two, and when we have done some trading with the natives I will carry you to Stabroek, or wherever else you may wish to go. We shall have no difficulty in obtaining provisions and water, and I have still a good store of schiedam, so, my friends, you will not starve, you see.”

Although my father and Uncle Paul would much rather have landed at once, they could not insist on the skipper going out of his course, and they accordingly agreed to his proposal.

We had been rowing on for some time, the calm still continuing, when I saw Peter the mate eagerly looking out ahead. Springing up on heel of the bowsprit, he cried out, “Land ho! We shall soon be within the mouth of the river.”

“Faith, it’s curious land now,” exclaimed Tim. “My eyes can only make out a row of bushes floating on the top of the sea.”

“We shall find that they are pretty tall trees, by the time we get near them,” observed Peter.

All hands now took to the sweeps, and made the sloop walk through the water at the rate of three or four miles an hour. Still the current, which was running out pretty swiftly, would have prevented us from entering, had not a breeze sprung up. Sail was made immediately, and at length we found ourselves entering one of the many mouths of the mighty Orinoco, with mangrove-covered islands on either side. There was nothing either picturesque or imposing in the scenery, except the great width of the river. As we advanced, however, we caught faint glimpses of high mountains rising to the southward. Not a sail dotted the vast expanse, but now and then we saw native canoes paddling close to the wood-covered shore, though none of them came near us. The intention of our skipper was not to delay longer at the mouth of the river than to obtain provisions, but to proceed at once some hundred miles or so, to the district where the natives with whom he proposed trading resided. We had to keep the lead going, with a bright lookout ahead, to prevent the risk of running on any of the numerous shoals and sandbanks which impeded the navigation; and at length darkness compelled us to bring up and furl the sail, for it would have been dangerous to proceed on during the night without a pilot who was intimately acquainted with the channel.

I was awakened during the night by a loud rushing sound, and on going on deck I found the captain and mate anxiously watching the cable.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing as yet,” was the reply; “but we shall be fortunate if our anchor holds, and we are saved from being carried down the stream. The river has risen considerably since we entered, and a strong current is coming down from the interior.”

Happily our anchor did hold. The skipper and his mate kept watching it the whole night through, and had a second one ready to let go should the first yield; so I felt no inclination to turn in again, though I would not awake the rest of our party.

Next morning there was a strong breeze, and we were able to weigh anchor and run up against the current. When passing an island some way up, a couple of canoes came off with provisions to sell, when we readily became purchasers. Among other articles we bought a number of land-tortoises, which, when cooked, we found delicious. We had also a supply of very fine ripe plums, which grow wild in the forest on the banks of the stream. Altogether we fared sumptuously, and soon recovering our spirits, began to look more hopefully at the future. My father even talked of being able to return to Trinidad some day, should the Inquisition be got rid of. The people in the country generally detested it, and so especially did the new settlers, who had been accustomed to live in countries blessed with freer institutions.

For fully a week more we ran on, the wind favouring us—otherwise we should have made no progress. By the appearance of the banks we saw that the river had risen very considerably, and in many places the whole forest appeared to be growing out of the water, which extended amid the trees as far as the eye could reach. We had thus an advantage, as we could make a straight course and pass over sandbanks and shallows; whereas in the original state of the river we should have had to steer now on one side, now on the other, to avoid them.

The weather had hitherto been very fine; but at length one night, some hours after we had brought up, the wind began to increase, dark clouds gathered in the sky, the thunder roared, and vivid lightning darted through the air.

A cry arose, “The anchor has parted!” Sail was instantly made, and we drove before the blast. The broad river, hitherto so calm, was lashed into fierce waves, amid which the little sloop tumbled and tossed as if she was in mid-ocean. To anchor was impossible, and no harbour appeared on either side into which we could run for shelter. The trees bent beneath the fierce blast which swept over them. Our only course was to keep on in the centre of the stream. Our brave skipper went to the helm, and did his best to keep up our spirits by assuring us that his sloop had weathered many a fiercer gale. The seas, however, continually broke aboard, and the straining mast and shrouds threatened every instant to yield to the fury of the tempest. If there was danger where we were, it was still greater near the submerged forest on either side; for the lofty trees, their roots loosened by the rushing water, were continually falling, and one of them coming down upon our vessel would quickly have crushed her, and sent her helplessly to the bottom.

Marian behaved like a true heroine, and terrific as was the scene, she endeavoured to keep up her own courage and that of all on board.

Hour after hour the little vessel struggled on amid the waves, till at length a blast more furious than any of its predecessors struck her, heeling her over, so that it appeared as if she would never rise again. Her sails were blown to ribbons, and the sea carried away her rudder. Now utterly helpless, she drove before the gale; which, shifting to the northward, blew directly across the stream, bearing us towards the submerged forest, where the waves as they rolled along dashed up amid the tall trees, sending the spray high over their branches.

On and on the vessel drove. A heavy sea rolling up filled our boat, towing astern, and, for our own safety, we were compelled to cut her adrift. Before us arose out of the water a large tree with widespreading branches; and in a few minutes the vessel drove violently against it. Her bowsprit was carried away, and a huge rent made in her bows, when she bounded off; but it was only to drive helplessly further on. Every moment we expected to see the trees which were bending above our heads come down and crush us. Again the wind shifted, and we found ourselves drifting along by the edge of the forest. We endeavoured to get a rope round the trunk of one of the trees, but the effort was vain. Peter and another of the crew, in attempting to do so, were dragged overboard. We heard their cries, but we were unable to assist them, and they were quickly lost to sight in the darkness.

On and on we drove. The water was now rushing into the vessel, and every instant we expected that she would go down. All chance of saving her was abandoned; and our only hope was that she might be driven against some tree, into the branches of which we might clamber for temporary safety. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind amid the branches, the dashing waters, and the crashing of the boughs torn off by the tempest, created a deafening uproar which almost drowned the sound of our voices. Uncle Paul, however, still tried to make himself heard. “Trust still in God. I will endeavour to save Marian,” he said. “Be prepared, my friends, for whatever may occur; don’t lose your presence of mind.” Scarcely had he spoken when the sloop was dashed with great violence against the trunk of an enormous tree, which, with several others forming a group, stood out from the forest. The water rushed rapidly into her, and we felt that she was sinking.

Uncle Paul, taking Marian in his arms, now sprang to the bows, followed by Arthur, who grasped my hand. “Come along, Guy; I must do my best to save you,” he exclaimed, dragging me along. I did not at the moment see my father, who was in the after part of the vessel; but I knew that Tim would do his utmost to save him. Uncle Paul, in a manner a sailor alone could have accomplished, leaped on to a mass of hanging creepers which the sloop was at the moment touching; while Arthur and I found ourselves—I scarcely knew how we had got there—on another part of the vast trunk, when we instinctively began to climb up the tree. I saw that two other persons had reached the tree, when loud cries arose; and, to my dismay, as I looked down from the secure position I had gained, I could nowhere discover the vessel: she had disappeared. In vain I called to my father: no reply came. I now perceived the black man Sambo clinging to the upper part of a bough; and lower down, Kallolo the native holding on to a part above the water, out of which he had scrambled.

Just then the cry arose from amid the surging water of “Help!—help! I shall be after being drowned entirely, if somebody doesn’t pick me out of this!” I recognised Tim’s voice; and Arthur and I were about to clamber down to help him, when Kallolo the native stretched out his hand, and catching Tim’s as he floated by, dragged him out of the water. We went down to his assistance, and soon had him hauled up safe on the bough.

Tim had just expressed his gratitude to Kallolo, when he missed my father. “Ochone! what has become of the master?” he exclaimed. “Shure, he hasn’t been drowned? Ochone!—ahone! what will become of us?” None of us could answer Tim’s question. My father and the brave skipper had disappeared with the vessel, which, with too much reason, we feared had gone down. Tim only knew that he had found himself suddenly swept off the deck, and struggling in the water. Probably an overhanging bough, as the vessel swept by, had caught him. But, believing his master to be lost, he seemed scarcely to feel any satisfaction at having been saved himself.

With the fierce current rushing by the tree, and the heavy surges which dashed against it, we could not tell how long it might stand; indeed, every moment we expected to find it falling. Such must have been its fate, had not its roots been deeply planted in the ground.

We now turned our attention to Uncle Paul and Marian, who stood in a sort of network but a few feet above the waves, which threatened to reach them. Our object was to get them at once into a more secure position.

Day was just breaking, the light revealing a wild and fearful scene. On one side the broad river, lashed into fierce waves, foamed and leaped frantically; while on the other was the forest-region, the ground covered, as far as the eye could reach, with turbid waters, intermixed with fallen boughs and uprooted shrubs; while the trees sent down showers of leaves, fruit, and branches, rent off by the wind. But we had not much time to contemplate this scene. Arthur managed to reach a bough just above their heads, and then called to Uncle Paul, and begged him to climb up higher, so that he might get hold of Marian. It was no easy matter. But at last he succeeded; and with my help and her own exertions she was dragged up to the bough to which we clung. Uncle Paul soon followed; and we were now all able to rest and contemplate the future. Whether the waters would rise still higher, or how long they would cover the earth, we did not know. Of one thing we were certain, that they would not cover it altogether; but in other respects our position greatly resembled that of the inhabitants of the old world when the flood first began to rise, and they sought the hilltops and the highest branches of the trees for safety. With them the water continued to rise higher and higher, and they must have watched with horror and dismay their rapid progress. We knew, let the floodgates of heaven be opened ever so wide, that the waters must ere long be stayed.

“Where is papa?—oh! what has become of him?” exclaimed Marian, looking round and not seeing our father among us.

“I trust that he is still on board the sloop,” answered Uncle Paul, wishing not to alarm her. “Had she gone down, we should have seen her masts above the water. Probably, lightened of so many people, she floated on, and may be even now at no great distance. We must not despair; though our position, I own, is very critical.”

“Shure, I think the master must have escaped,” observed Tim. “He was at the other end of the vessel when the big bough knocked me overboard, and he and the skipper may even now be better off than we are; for if they get the craft in among the trees, they may stop without any trouble of anchoring; and they will have plenty of grub aboard, which is more than we are likely to find among these big trees, though we are much obliged to them for giving us shelter just now.”

Poor Marian seemed somewhat comforted by these assurances, and asked no further questions, but sat on the bough on which we had placed her, gazing down on the waters, which rolled in rapid eddies beneath us.

We were talking of what we should next try to do, when we heard a loud chattering above our heads; and looking up, we saw several monkeys, which had descended from the topmost boughs, gazing down on us,—some inspecting us with all the gravity of Turks, others swinging backwards and forwards on the pendent vines, as if they felt themselves at home, and were perfectly indifferent to our presence. While we remained quiet, they held their posts. One big fellow, especially, with a long tail and huge bushy whiskers, was unusually bold; and having crept along a bough, sat himself down not a dozen yards from the native Kallolo, of whom he appeared not to have the slightest dread. Kallolo began talking to him in his own language, and as soon as he ceased the monkey chattered a reply.

“He know me,” said Kallolo. “We soon be great friends. Quacko!—Quacko! Dat your name, I know. Come here, good Quacko. Tell me where you been since you ran away from your old master,” he continued.

“Quacko!—Quacko!” answered the monkey, imitating the Indian’s tone of voice.

Kallolo then began to work his way along the bough. The monkey, instead of retreating, came nearer and nearer; when Kallolo stopped, still speaking in the same soothing tone. Once more he moved on. It seemed as if the monkey were fascinated; for I could not suppose that the creature really understood the native, or that the native understood the meaning of the monkey’s chattering. At length Kallolo got within reach of Quacko, when, gently stretching out his hand, he began to tickle the monkey’s nose. Then he got a little nearer, till he could scratch its head and back. All this time the monkey sat perfectly still, although its companions were climbing here and there, some swinging backwards and forwards on the vines, others making all sorts of grimaces at us. At length, to our surprise, we saw Kallolo take Quacko in his arms, and quickly return with him into our midst. Quacko looked a little alarmed at us, but was speedily soothed, and in a few minutes he appeared quite at home.

“He has been among white men before this,” observed Kallolo, showing the monkey’s ears, which had small gold earrings in them. “I thought so when him first come to look at us. He and I great friends before long.”

Thus was the extraordinary way in which Kallolo had apparently fascinated the monkey accounted for. As the native had predicted, the creature was soon as much at home with us as if we had been friends all our lives. Strange as it may seem, under the perilous circumstances in which we were placed this incident afforded us much amusement and considerable relief. Our thoughts, however, were soon turned to a more important subject,—the means of finding support. We agreed that the monkeys could not live in the trees without food; and what assisted to sustain them would help to keep us alive, though too probably we should soon produce a scarcity.

Kallolo overheard us speaking on the subject. “We have plenty to eat, never fear,” he observed.

“I wish you could show us that same,” said Tim.

“Why, we catch the other monkeys, and eat them,” said Kallolo. “You take care of Quacko, while I go and look for food.”

As Kallolo spoke, he began to ascend the tree, and was soon lost to sight amid the dense foliage. As we looked up we could not see anywhere near the summits of the trees. We might, as far as we could judge, be at the foot of “Jack’s beanstalk.” Taking Kallolo’s hint, Tim tried to catch one of the other monkeys; but though Quacko remained quietly with us, they were far too cautious and nimble to allow him to get up with them, and I feared that in his eagerness he would tumble off into the foaming waters and be swept away. Uncle Paul at last called to him, and told him to give up the chase as utterly hopeless. Uncle Paul, however, advised us to search more carefully, in the hope that we might find either nuts or fruit of some sort or other, or bird’s eggs, or young birds, which might serve us as food, while he remained to take care of Marian.

I had not gone far when I heard a sound, coming from no great distance, of “Wow! wow! wow!” and looking along the bough, I caught sight of a bird rather smaller than the common pigeon, but of beautiful plumage. Its head and breast were blue, the neck and belly of a bright yellow; and, from the shortness of its legs, it appeared as if sitting, like a hen on her nest. It saw me, but made no attempt to move. I had little hope, however, of catching it with my hands, and suspected that it would fly away should I attempt to approach it nearer. I therefore retreated, and considered what was best to be done. Then, I bethought me that by cutting a long stiff sepo to serve as a wand, I might form a noose at the end of it, and thus catch not only the bird before me, but any others which might be in the trees. I immediately put my plan into execution; and a sepo suitable for the purpose being within my reach, I cut it. Fortunately I had a piece of string in my pocket, with which I manufactured a noose; and returning along the branch, I held my wand at an angle above me, so as to let the end drop down on the bird. I was more successful than I expected. Not till it actually felt the noose round its neck, did it attempt to fly; but it was then too late. As I jerked it towards me, a quantity of feathers fell from it. I got it speedily in my hands, and, influenced by feeling how acceptable it would be, immediately wrung its neck, and brought it down in triumph. Looking round, I saw several other birds of the same species, and was successful in catching three more; for they made not the slightest attempt to fly away till I was close upon them.

I at length returned with my game to the large branch where I had left Uncle Paul and Marian. Arthur and Tim came back about the same time; the one with some eggs, and the latter with a couple of tree-frogs of huge size.

“Faith, when a man’s hungry he mustn’t be particular,” observed Tim; “and it seemed to me that though these beasts are not over pretty to look at, they might serve to keep body and soul together till better times come round.”

“Very right,” said Uncle Paul. “I trust that these few trees will supply us with sufficient food if we search for it, and I am not very squeamish as to its character.”

Sambo brought in a very ugly-looking lizard; but he declared that it would prove as good to eat as anything else. We now somewhat anxiously awaited the return of Kallolo.

The only articles which could be eaten with satisfaction, unless cooked, were the eggs which Arthur had brought, and these he and Uncle Paul insisted should be given to Marian. It required some persuasion to induce her to take them, as she was unwilling to deprive us of them; and it was only by assuring her that when our appetites were a little sharper we should eat the frogs and lizards with satisfaction, that we could induce her to consume the eggs.

We now discussed the possibility of making a fire to cook our provisions. There was room enough in the fork of a large branch; but the danger was that we might set the whole tree alight, and burn it and ourselves. Still, we did not as yet feel inclined to eat the frogs and lizards, or even the birds, raw, though we knew that we might in the end be compelled to do so.

At length we heard Kallolo’s voice above us; and looking up, we saw him descending the tree. “Here, friends. See!” he exclaimed, “I have not made my trip up to the sky for nothing;” and he produced from a grass-formed pocket, which he always carried by his side, a supply of ripe figs. He parted them among us, offering Marian the largest share.

How delicious those figs tasted! They were both meat and drink to us; and we felt that while a bountiful Providence supplied us with such food, we need have no fear of starving.

I showed Kallolo the birds which I had caught. He called them bocloras, and observed that they were pretty good food, and he hoped that we might catch some others which would come to feed on the ripe figs.

Chapter Six.

We light a Fire—A Morning Scene—Description of “Grove Island”—Attacked by Macaws—the sloth—Kallolo tames a Parrot.

We had no fear of starving, even though we might not be able to quit our present abode for many days to come, but we were surrounded by dangers to which we could not shut our eyes. The trees, vast as they were, might be uprooted and hurled prostrate into the flood, should another storm come on; or the lightning might strike them, and every one of us be destroyed. Besides, many weeks might pass before we could descend and travel over the dry ground; and even then, in what direction should we go? Very probably we should fall into the hands of savages, who would keep us in slavery; at all events, we should have to encounter several wild beasts and venomous serpents,—the mighty boa, or anaconda, or the still more terrible bush-master, or labarri, so dreaded in this region.

What had become of our father and the brave skipper, Jan van Dunk, we could not tell. Uncle Paul did his utmost to keep up our spirits, setting us the example by his cheerfulness, and by showing his perfect confidence in Providence.

We had, as I have said, a supply of food; but how to cook it? was the question. Kallolo declared there would be no danger in lighting a fire in the fork of the tree, provided we did not allow it to burn longer than was necessary, and kept a watch to prevent its extending up the bark on either side. Uncle Paul always carried a small tinder-box and matches, so that we could at once obtain a light. We accordingly collected a supply of dry branches, of which there was an abundance attached to the various parts of the trees. Kallolo again set off, taking my wand and noose; and by the time the fire had been lighted and had burned up sufficiently, he returned with several birds, adding considerably to our stock of provisions. They were all quickly plucked and spitted, and we were soon busily engaged in cooking them. Tim insisted on dressing his frogs, and Sambo the lizard he had caught, both declaring that they would prove more tender than the birds. How they might have appeared had they been put into a pot and boiled, I cannot say; as it was, they certainly presented an unattractive appearance. Some large leaves served us as plates, and we had to use our fingers instead of knives and forks; but notwithstanding, we made a very hearty meal. I tasted part of the hind leg of one of the frogs, and I certainly should not have known it from a tender young chicken cooked in the same way. Kallolo in his last trip had brought down a few more figs, one of which he presented to each of us as a dessert. Tim declared that the banquet would have been perfect if we could have had a little of the “cratur,” or, in the absence of it, a cup of hot coffee. We had to quench our thirst with some of the very turbid water surrounding us, which we brought up in our hats.

The day passed far more rapidly than I could have supposed possible. The storm had completely subsided, but the waters in no way lessened; indeed, they were slightly higher than on the previous night. Uncle Paul advised that we should all look out for sleeping-places, where we might rest without the danger of tumbling off. Our first care was to find one for Marian. A mass of sepos hung down and formed a regular hammock close under a bough, and by carefully arranging a few more sepos, Uncle Paul and Arthur made it so secure that it was impossible for her to fall out. They told me to take a berth of a similar character close to her, while Uncle Paul formed one for himself on a bough, a little on one side. The rest of the party arranged themselves as they thought fit; Kallolo, with his new friend, climbing up to one of the higher boughs, on which he stretched himself, with the monkey crouching down close to him. The way in which he kept close to the native showed that he had long been accustomed to human society, and was delighted to find himself in it again.

Our first night in our tree-home was passed in perfect tranquillity. Scarcely a breath of air moved the leaves. The sky was clear, and the crescent moon overhead afforded just sufficient light to enable us to get into our respective berths. We were all weary with the exertions and anxiety we had gone through, and the want of sleep during the previous night, and scarcely had we got into our nests when the eyes of most of us, I suspect, were closed. I just kept awake long enough to see that Marian had gone off into a quiet slumber, and then quickly dropped into the land of dreams; and I don’t think I ever slept more soundly than I did in my strange resting-place.

I might possibly have slumbered on till the sun was high in the sky, but I was awakened, ere the light of early dawn had penetrated amid the thick foliage which surrounded us, by a strange concert of sounds. Monkeys were jabbering overhead; tree-frogs were quacking; parrots were chattering and macaws were screeching more loudly than all, as they flew over the topmost boughs. For some time I was too much confused to remember where I was, or what was producing the strange din in my ears. In vain I tried to go to sleep again, and at length I was completely aroused. My first impulse was to look out for Marian. She was still sleeping calmly, while the rest of the party, as far as I could discern by the uncertain light, were resting in the positions in which I had seen them at night. Gradually the dawn drew on, and on sitting up I caught sight of half a dozen ugly-looking faces peering down on us. I knew that they were those of monkeys which had descended from the topmost boughs, whither they had retreated when we took possession of their abode. Two or three of them then approached Quacko, and tried to induce him to rejoin them. He answered their invitations by indignant gestures, which seemed to say that he had no intention, after finding himself again in civilised society, of returning to savage life. The noise he made awoke his new friend Kallolo, however, who began to talk to him in the language which he seemed to understand, and presently the monkey came down from his perch and nestled in his arms.

The rays of the rising sun streaming amid the boughs awoke the rest of the party, who, getting out of their respective nests, scrambled on to the main bough. Uncle Paul suggested that we should set to work immediately to procure food for breakfast. My plan for noosing birds being generally adopted, Arthur, as well as Kallolo and Sambo, at once cut some wands and fitted them in a manner similar to mine.

We agreed to let Marian sleep on till breakfast was ready. Before the food could be eaten, however, it had to be hunted for and cooked, and as we were all hungry, we set off among the branches in search of whatever we could find. I climbed higher than I had before done, and reached a small fig-tree growing in the fork of a large branch. A number of birds were perched on it, some with black and red plumage, others with heads and necks of a bright red, while the wings and tails were of a dark green and black. They were employed in eating the ripe fruit. I determined to catch as many as I could before securing some of the latter. Carefully climbing on, I set to work, and succeeded in noosing four of each species. Having filled my pockets and cap with as many of the ripe figs as I could carry, after I had driven the birds away with loud shouts, hoping they would not return till I had made a second visit to the fig-tree, I began to descend, though not without difficulty; for, as every one knows, it is easier to climb up than to get down a tree, and a fall from a branch would have been a serious matter.

I reached our resting-place in safety, and found Marian seated by the side of Uncle Paul. The rest of the party came in soon after, all having had some success. Tim, however, had got only one bird, but he boasted of having collected half a dozen frogs; while Sambo had caught the same number of lizards. Arthur had secured a couple of good-sized parrots; and Kallolo had discovered a macaw’s nest, the young of which he had taken, with a good supply of figs. Altogether, we had reason to be satisfied with our morning’s hunt, as we had food enough to last us for the day. The birds I had caught were found to be manakins and tiger-birds. The latter were small, and though their bodies were ill-shaped, their flesh was tender and well-tasted.

Though our position was full of anxiety, we should not have been unhappy could we have known that our father had escaped. Uncle Paul told us that he had been to the end of a bough from which he could obtain a view both up and down the stream, but that he had failed to get a sight of the sloop; neither could he see anything of the mate and the Indian, who had been carried overboard when attempting to secure the vessel to the trunk of a tree.

We collected some more dried branches and withered leaves, sufficient to make a fire for cooking our provisions.

“I wish we had a pot for boiling water,” I remarked.

“It would be a mighty good thing, Mr Guy, if we had any tay to make in it, and some sugar to sweeten it,” observed Tim.

“In the meantime, we should be thankful that we have got so much wholesome food, and cold water to quench our thirst; though, for Marian’s sake, I should be glad to have had some tea,” said Uncle Paul.

“Oh, don’t think about me,” exclaimed Marian. “I am perfectly content to drink cold water, and do not wish for anything which it is impossible to obtain.”

“You are a sensible girl,” said Uncle Paul, patting her cheek. “The uncomplaining spirit you possess will greatly aid you in going through the dangers and hardships we may have to encounter.”

I must confess that we made a very hearty meal, though it would have been more palatable had we possessed some salt. That I knew, however, it would be impossible to obtain, situated where we were. Having partly roasted the remainder of the birds, as well as the frogs and lizards, to assist in preserving them we hung them up in a shady place which we called our larder, under a thick branch, where we hoped they would keep sweet till they were required for food. Marian felt her position more irksome than did any one else, as she was unable to climb about, though Arthur and I helped her to walk up and down the thick bough; but it was very much like a fisherman’s walk,—three steps and overboard. However, it was preferable to sitting still, and prevented her limbs from becoming cramped. She then went and sat down again, when Uncle Paul, Arthur, and I started off on an exploring expedition through our grove. There were not, altogether, more than seven main trunks; but numberless sepos interlaced the boughs, and striking downwards, where they had apparently taken root, had again sprung upwards, forming spiral stems, some considerably thicker than a man’s body, others as thin as the smallest ropes of a ship’s rigging. We had no great difficulty in making our way, but caution was necessary to save ourselves from tumbling down into the water. Among the trees was a beautiful cedar, three palm-trees of different species, and a cotton-tree of prodigious height, with widespreading top. Another was called the mulatto-tree; which had a tall, slim trunk, and leaves of a dark green, with branches spreading amid those of its neighbours, and covered with clusters of small white flowers. But I cannot attempt to describe either the trees or the numerous parasitic plants, some worthy to be called trees from their size, which formed this curious grove. Several besides the fig-trees bore fruit and nuts, affording food to monkeys and other animals, and to various species of birds.

One end of the grove was less closely united than the main portion, but still two projecting boughs interlaced, and were joined likewise by chains of sepos, forming an easy communication between the two parts. Arthur and I, wishing to explore the whole of this somewhat confined region of which we were for a time the inhabitants, made our way across this natural bridge I have described. When we got to the further end we heard a concert of gentle “caws,” far less sonorous than those made by the parrots we had seen passing near the grove on the previous day, the sounds now rising, now falling. Stopping to ascertain from what direction in the grove the noises proceeded, we soon discovered that they came from a tree which shot out several branches about a dozen or twenty feet from the surface of the water.

“Those noises must come from parrots, I am sure,” said Arthur, after we had listened a little time. “We shall be able to get a fine collection of young birds, which will be far more tender than the old ones. We will just take a few for supper to-night, and we can return when we want more.”

Accordingly, we climbed along among the branches.

“I see some old birds there too,” observed Arthur. “If they are parrots, they are very large ones. I suspect that they are macaws. We shall soon find out, however.”

We had stopped to rest, for that sort of climbing was somewhat fatiguing work; but again we went on, Arthur leading the way. He had a large sheath-knife, which Sambo the black had lent him, secured to his waist.

The tree we had reached was of great age, and was full of holes and numerous hollow stumps of boughs broken off by tempests or lightning. In each of these hollows was a large nest with a couple of fledgelings; but no sooner did Arthur and I stretch out our hands to seize some of the young birds, intending to transfer them to the bags which we carried at our backs, than the old birds sitting on the branches above us set up a deafening screaming and screeching, while others appeared from all quarters. Some flew across, as it seemed, from the opposite forest; others came forth from various parts of the surrounding foliage, by which they had been concealed, with the evident intention of doing battle for their young. Down they flew, screaming loudly, with open beaks and fierce eyes, and surrounded us on all sides; some assailing our heads, and some our bare legs and feet, while others got hold of our shirts and pulled lustily at them. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we could defend our eyes, which they seemed resolved to tear out.

“Leap, Guy—leap into the water; that is the only chance we have of saving ourselves!” exclaimed Arthur, drawing his knife and attempting to keep the savage birds at bay. I had no weapon to defend myself with, so, following his advice, I leaped down to a part of the tree whence I could spring into the water, and putting my hands above my head, plunged into the turbid flood, diving down some feet, regardless of the risk I ran of striking any concealed boughs beneath the surface. Escaping injury, I quickly rose again, in time to hear Arthur’s plunge as he followed me. The macaws darted down upon us; but as we again dived, they flew up—to ascertain, we supposed, whether we had plundered their nests. Happily, the current not being very strong, we were able to stem it, and make good way, till we reached the main part of the grove, where, getting hold of some sepos which hung down into the water, we clambered up again to a branch, on which we were glad to rest after our exertions, having escaped a danger which might have been of a very serious nature. We agreed, however, that should we be pressed for food, we would, notwithstanding, make another attack on the “macawery,” to coin a word, and carry off some of the young birds. We found that we had not escaped altogether free. I had received two or three ugly pecks from the birds’ beaks, which had torn my flesh, the wounds now smarting considerably; while Arthur had fared even worse, two of them having made rents in his shirt, and pecked out three or four pieces of his flesh.

Having rested, we now began to make our way back to our friends; but I had not gone far when I caught sight of a large hairy creature hanging on to a bough at no great distance, apparently watching us as we made our way amid the branches.

“O Arthur!” I exclaimed, “there’s a bear. He will be down upon us, and treat us much worse than the macaws have done.”

Arthur looked in the direction I pointed. “Don’t be afraid,” he answered. “It will not attack us. The animal is a sloth, as harmless as any living creature. We may consider him among the other beasts in our domain destined if necessary for our use. He cannot get away, so we will not attempt to interfere with him at present. He will not venture into the water; and even had we ground below us, he would not descend, as he would be sure to be caught if he did. We will climb nearer, so as to get a better view of him, for he seems to have no dread of us, and will not try to escape.”

We did as Arthur proposed, and found the creature had a short head, with a small round face, and was covered with coarse, shaggy hair, looking very much like withered grass. It had powerful claws and long arms, with which it clung to the branch; while its hinder legs, which were half the length of the others, had feet of peculiar formation, which enabled it to hold on to the bough. In truth, we discerned what we had before heard, that the sloth is especially formed to live in trees—though not on the branches, like the squirrel, but under them; indeed, it generally moves suspended from the branch, and at night, when sleeping, rests in the same attitude, under the branch, hanging on by its powerful arms and legs. Its arms being very long and powerful, with strong claws instead of fingers, it is enabled to defend itself against the large snakes which frequently attack it. We could only hope that it was not alone, and that should we require sloth-steaks we might be able to have an ample supply. We had no fears, indeed, about obtaining as much animal food as we might require, though it was possible that we might, before we could escape, eat up all the food to be found in our domain.

At length we got back to where we had left Uncle Paul and Marian. We recounted our adventures to them, when Marian was not a little agitated at hearing of our encounter with the macaws, and at our having been compelled to leap into the river.

“Oh, how dreadful it would have been had you been drowned,” she exclaimed; “or had a shark or alligator, or an anaconda, snapped you up!”

“There was very little danger of that,” answered Arthur. “We had not very far to swim before we got hold of a branch and drew ourselves out of the water.”

“I am not quite so certain about that as you are, Arthur,” observed Uncle Paul. “We all have reason to be thankful that you escaped the danger in which you were placed.”

When Kallolo returned, after another exploring expedition, and heard of our adventures, he said that he would go at night and capture the young macaws, when the parents would not attempt to defend them; and that he should probably, at the same time, be able to catch some of the older birds. He had brought with him an ara parrot, as he called it, which, young as it was, had already grown to a considerable size. Though it had not yet obtained its full plumage, its colours were very beautiful. Its body was of a flaming scarlet, while the wings were red, yellow, blue, and green; its tail, which was of great length, being scarlet and blue. He had caught the bird with a noose, just as it was about to leave the nest, and he said that he had hopes of being able to tame it. The creature seemed but little disconcerted, and finding that it was treated kindly, at once fed willingly out of his hand. He secured it by a piece of string to a small branch near us, where it could perch at its ease. Quacko the monkey looked at it with a somewhat jealous eye, but Kallolo made him understand that he must not interfere with the new favourite, and Ara and Quacko soon became friends.

The day passed away in our truly sylvan abode much faster than I could have expected; and could we but have been assured that my father was safe, we should, considering the circumstances, have been tolerably happy and contented. At night we all went to sleep in the positions we had before occupied.

Chapter Seven.

We make a Platform—A Sail!—The Missing Ones arrive—My Father describes their Adventures—Dutch Determination—Voyage of Discovery—A Calm—I catch a Large Fish—The Raft on Fire—About Ship.

Two days passed by, spent much as those I have before described. The calm continued; not a breath of air stirred the mud-tinted expanse of water stretching out to the northward. Up to this time the flood had not in the slightest degree decreased; indeed, the mark Uncle Paul had made on the first day showed that it had rather increased an inch or two. At all events, there was no present prospect, as far as we could see, of our getting away from our present abode. Arthur proposed that we should form a raft. This would not have been difficult, as we had several large knives among us, and with some labour we might have cut off branches from the trees and bound them together with sepos. But then the question arose, In what direction should we go, even supposing that we could form a raft to hold the whole party? We might have to paddle, for aught we knew to the contrary, for days and days together before we could reach dry land; and when there, were we likely to be better off than where we were at present? Taking all things into consideration, Uncle Paul decided, when his advice was asked, that it would be better to let well alone, and to remain in the grove. Vessels went occasionally up and down the river, and when the water subsided we might be seen by one of them, and be taken off. We should thus, however, run the risk of again falling into the hands of the Spaniards, and Uncle Paul especially was very unwilling to trust to their tender mercies.

“My opinion is that we should remain here till we are compelled to move, and then make our way up one of the many streams to the south, which rise in the Dutch territories, where we are sure to meet with a friendly reception,” he observed. Arthur agreed with him, and the rest of the party were willing to be guided by their decision.

It was proposed, as there was a probability of our spending some weeks in our present abode, that we should endeavour to render it more habitable than at present. Kallolo described to us how a tribe of natives in the neighbourhood make platforms, resting on the trunks of the palm-trees, where they and their families live in comparative comfort during the whole period of the inundation. The idea, being started, was highly approved of, and we all immediately set to work to get long poles for the purpose. A spot was selected, higher up the tree, where a number of branches ran out horizontally, almost level with each other. As soon as a pole was cut it was secured with sepos, Uncle Paul and Sambo exercising their nautical knowledge for the purpose. It required no small number of poles, but the little forest afforded an abundant supply. Before the end of the day the platform was completed. We then built a hut on it, devoted to Marian’s use. The only thing wanting was a quantity of clay to form a hearth; but clay, while the waters covered the earth, it was impossible to obtain. We had therefore to light our fire, as before, on the thick branch, on which it had as yet made no impression, beyond burning off the bark and blackening it. As soon as our platform was finished we moved on to it, though Kallolo and Sambo preferred sleeping among the boughs. I was very glad to get so comparatively comfortable a place for poor Marian; whose health, however, notwithstanding the hardships she had endured, remained unimpaired.

Our first work being finished, we erected a lookout place at the end of a long bough, clearing away the branches which intercepted our view up and down the stream. Here one of us took post during daylight, that we might watch for any craft navigating the river. Should a Spanish vessel appear, we agreed that we would let her pass without making a signal; but should a Dutch or English one come in sight, though it was not likely that any of our own countrymen would visit the river, we determined to do our best to attract the attention of those on board.

All this time there had been scarcely a breath of wind, and though our lookout place had been occupied, we knew that no vessel could pass up, and it was very unlikely that any would venture down the stream at the mercy of the current. Two days after the lookout post had been established, as I took my watch at daybreak, the bright sun rising above the distant horizon, I felt the breeze fan my cheeks. Every instant it increased, rippling the hitherto calm surface of the broad river into mimic waves. As I watched, now turning my eyes up, now down the stream, I saw, emerging from behind a projecting point of the forest, a white sail. From the progress it made towards me, it appeared to be that of a large boat, and was certainly not such as was likely to be used by Indians. At first I had hoped that it might be the sloop, but I soon saw, from the cut of the sail, and its size, that it was not such as she would carry. If the people on board were Spaniards, I was not to make a signal to them. How tantalising it would be to see her pass by, and yet I had no doubt that Uncle Paul was right in not wishing again to fall into their hands. I would not call to my friends till I had some more certain information to communicate, so I sat eagerly watching the sail. At length I saw that it was positively coming nearer. From its height out of the water, I again began to hope that it might after all be that of the sloop, which might have rigged a jury-mast. Nearer and nearer it came, and at length I saw that it was certainly not the sloop, but the oddest build of vessel I had ever set eyes on. As I gazed, I at last discovered that it was not a vessel at all, but part of the trunk of a huge tree, with a mast, to which a sail was spread, stepped on it. No wonder that it approached slowly!

I now began to hope that my father and the skipper had escaped, and that it might be bringing them to us, so I could no longer resist shouting out to Uncle Paul, who quickly joined me. After examining it narrowly, he exclaimed: “I have no doubt about it; I am nearly certain that I can make out your father and Captain van Dunk, as well as the mate and the native. Most thankful am I that they have all been preserved, for I confess I did not expect to see them again.”

The breeze increasing, the log approached somewhat faster than at first, and all our doubts were soon set at rest. Uncle Paul and I, standing up, waved our handkerchiefs and shouted, to draw their attention. We were at length seen, and the course of the log, which was impelled by paddles as well as a sail, was directed towards us. Having communicated the joyful intelligence to the rest of the party, we all descended to the lowest branch, the only accessible part of the tree from the water. I need scarcely picture our delight when at length the log glided up, and we were able to welcome my poor father. He looked thin and careworn, as if he had gone through great hardships; and even the honest skipper was considerably pulled down. Having secured the log, which was of a peculiarly light and buoyant character, we invited my father and his companions up to our platform, where breakfast had just been prepared. They were greatly surprised to find that we had cooked food; and they were ready to do ample justice to it, as they had been living all the time on raw provisions. As soon as my father and the rest of us had satisfied our hunger, he described what had occurred to them.

After we had escaped from the sloop, she had been driven down the stream for some miles along the forest; but at length, striking against a projecting point of a log, she had gone down in shallow water, my father and the skipper being providentially able to make their way to a large tree, a branch of which projected from the stem only a few feet above the surface. Here they rested till daylight. The skipper then managed to reach the vessel, which had sunk close below them, and got hold of some spars and one of the sails; which they hoisted up to their resting-place. The second trip he made he managed to get hold of a small cask of biscuits and a bottle of schiedam. This nourishment greatly revived them, and they began to consider how they could come to our assistance; for of course, not being aware that we should be able to obtain an abundant supply of provisions, they feared that we should perish from hunger. In vain, however, the skipper endeavoured to recover a sufficient number of spars to form a raft. On the third trip he made to the vessel he was nearly washed away, so my father entreated him not again to venture. He did so, however, and getting hold of a coil of rope, fastened one end of it to the branch and the other round his waist. He made several more trips, and recovered a cask of herrings, another of biscuits, and three more bottles of schiedam. The current, however, driving against the vessel, already fearfully damaged by the blows she had received, began to break her up; and although the brave skipper made several attempts to recover more articles, they were mostly unsuccessful. He had, however, got hold of Marian’s small box of clothing, which had been saved when so many things were washed out of the boat. He had also saved a saucepan, some hooks and lines, an axe, a saw, a small auger, a few nails, and some other articles, which had been thrown into an empty cask. They had now no longer any dread of immediate starvation for themselves, but their anxiety about us was by no means lessened; and having sufficient provisions to last them for several days, they felt more eager than ever to reach us.

They had seen several logs floating down the stream at a distance. At length it struck them that if they could obtain one of these, they might, with the aid of the sail and the spars they had saved, accomplish their object. It would have been madness to get upon one of them unless they could manage to secure it to their branch. At length an enormous log came floating by, evidently of very light wood, as it rose high out of the water, with a branch projecting from one end. Their anxiety was intense lest an eddy might turn it off and drift it from them. The gallant skipper stood, rope in hand, anxiously watching it. At length it came directly under them; so he leapt upon it, and with a sailor’s dexterity immediately fastened the end of the rope round the branch. It was brought up, and they thus obtained what they so much desired.

The wind, however, was contrary, and still blowing so strong that it might have been dangerous even had it been favourable for them to commence their voyage. The time, however, was spent by the skipper, aided by my father, in cutting a step in the log for the mast, which was at length fixed securely with wedges driven down on either side, and stayed up with a portion of the rope which could be spared. They had now a vessel of sufficient size not only to carry them, but to convey the whole of the party, should they find us. Still they had several days to wait before they could commence their voyage. They also formed a rudder with one of the spars; and out of a piece of plank which had been secured, along with two other spars, they constructed two oars to assist in impelling their unwieldy craft. At last a light breeze sprang up. There was no little difficulty in getting clear of the branch; but after all their stores had been placed on it, the skipper, by his good management, at last succeeded. The sail was hoisted, and to their great satisfaction the log went ahead. They had, of course, to keep close in by the forest, to avoid the strength of the current; but although a back eddy helped them now and then, their progress was very slow. Still they did go ahead. They had almost abandoned all hopes of finding the mate and the Indian, as the skipper fancied they had both been drowned.

They had been coasting along for some hours, sometimes scarcely going ahead, at others not making more than half a knot or so an hour, when a voice, which seemed to come out of the forest, reached them; and, looking in the direction from which the sound came, they saw two men sitting on a projecting branch of a high tree, whom the skipper recognised as his mate Peter, and Maco the Indian. They being alive proved that they must have obtained food, and this raised their hopes that we also had not died of starvation. How the two men could get down and reach the log was now the question. Captain van Dunk and my father stood in as close as they could venture. Their fear was that the mast might be caught by some of the overhanging branches, or that some submerged bough might strike the log and upset it. Both dangers had to be guarded against. The log was moving very slowly. The skipper therefore hailed the men, telling them to come down and that he would pick them up. The Indian, Maco, was the first to follow his advice. Descending to the lowest branch, which was nearly thirty feet above the surface, he plunged headlong in; and though he disappeared for nearly a minute, he rose again, and soon reached the log. The skipper then told him to take the remaining piece of the rope, and, if possible, carry it up to the branch, so that Peter might have the means of descending. He willingly undertook the task, but expressed his fear that he would not succeed. Suddenly his eye fell on the axe.

“I will do it now,” he said, “without fear.” Taking the implement in his hand, and the rope, which he fastened round his waist, he swam back to the tree. He was soon seen cutting notches in the trunk, one above the other, and clinging to them with his toes and one hand. He quickly ascended, dragging the rope up with him. Peter had, meantime, descended to the lowest branch, and by stooping down helped him up the last few feet. The rope was secured; then the Indian, giving the axe to Peter, told him to swim off with it to the log. Peter quickly descended, having only a few feet to drop into the water; and as he was a fair swimmer, though not a diver, he soon reached the log, and my father and the skipper hauled him up. The gallant Indian then casting off the rope plunged with it into the stream, towing it off to the log. He was not a minute behind Peter, and was hauled up somewhat exhausted by his exertions.

The two men told my father and the skipper that, on being left behind, they had swum to a branch at some distance from where they had been left, and having climbed the tree to which it belonged, had wandered, by means of the sepos interlacing the boughs, some way through the forest, till they reached the tree on which my father and the skipper saw them. They had obtained an abundance of food; but having no means of lighting a fire, they had been compelled to eat it raw. Their animal food consisted chiefly of young birds, lizards, tree-frogs, and grubs; and their vegetable food, of some plums and other fruits, and the inside leaves of the assai palm, and various nuts.

The sail, which had been lowered, was again hoisted, and the voyage was continued. Darkness came on, but the crew of the log was now sufficiently strong to be divided into two watches, and the skipper and my father were able to lie down and rest, while Peter took the helm, and Maco, the Indian, kept a lookout ahead, and stood ready to lower the sail if necessary. Thus all night long they continued gliding on, but very slowly. This, however, enabled them to keep a bright lookout in the forest. Great was their satisfaction when, the next morning, they caught sight of me,—their anxiety about us was relieved.

So great was our joy on finding our poor father, that all the dangers in prospect were overlooked; and had we not still been mourning the loss of our dear mother, we should have been, I believe, perfectly happy.

Our father was astonished at the comfortable abode we had erected, and at the ample supply of provisions we had obtained. The skipper and Peter were, however, anxious to continue the voyage; and Uncle Paul also wished to go with them, in the hope that the mouth of some stream might be found near at hand, up which they might proceed till they could get on dry land. The grand idea of the skipper was to reach firm ground, and then to build a vessel in which to return to Guiana. He felt confident that it could be accomplished.

“Where there is a will there is a way. It can be done, and it shall be done, if health and strength be allowed us!” he exclaimed, with Dutch determination, which an enemy would have called obstinacy. My father, however, was unwilling to allow Marian to undertake the fatigue to which she would have been subjected. It was necessary, therefore, even though the log could have carried us all, that some should remain with her. He naturally resolved to do so. Tim, having found his master, was not willing to leave him; and Arthur decided also to stop and help my father in taking care of Marian. The skipper consented to leave Sambo to assist in hunting for food. I was eager for the adventure, and my father, after some little hesitation, allowed me to go.

Kallolo had consented to leave the monkey for the amusement of Marian; but no sooner did Quacko see his master on the log, than he sprang off and took up his post on the further end, showing very clearly that he had no intention of being left behind. “Pray let him go,” said Marian. “I would on no account detain him, for he probably would be very unhappy if separated from Kallolo.” Quacko, therefore, became one of our crew, or rather a passenger, for it was not to be expected that he would do much towards the navigation of the log.

The day was spent in making some preparations for the voyage and in exchanging provisions, the skipper generously offering to leave the cask of biscuits, some herrings, and a couple of bottles of his beloved schiedam with my father. “If we find the mouth of a river, and believe that we can easily sail up it, we will return for you, as it might take us some weeks to complete our craft, and you would not wish to live up the tree all that time,” he said.

At daybreak the next morning we commenced our voyage. A strong breeze filled our sail, and we glided on with greater speed than the log had before moved through the water. Among other articles which had been put on board were a number of large nuts from the cuja-tree, with which Uncle Paul proposed forming floats or lifebuoys for each of the party. “We might,” he observed, “have to swim on shore, or they might help on some other occasion to save our lives.” Kallolo had manufactured a quantity of line from the fibres of a tree of the palm species in our grove, so that we had an abundance of cordage. After we were afloat and on our voyage, I could not help thinking that we might have built a canoe, which would certainly have been more manageable than the unwieldy log; but Mynheer van Dunk preferred the more stable conveyance.

As the wind continued fresh and favourable, we made pretty fair way, and were in good spirits. As we went along we kept a watchful eye for any indications of an opening on our larboard side; but mile after mile was accomplished, and only a long line of forest met our sight. We sailed on by night as well as by day, to take advantage of the favourable breeze; and by keeping close in, sometimes even between islands of trees, if I may so describe them, we escaped the strength of the current.

The natives, I should have said, had brought a number of thin straight branches, with which to manufacture bows, and arrows, and lances, that we might have the means of killing game when our provisions should be expended. Kallolo, indeed, understood how to make the celebrated zabatana, or blowpipe, though he had not been able to obtain the wood he required. How could he, indeed, he observed, find the materials for concocting the woorali poison into which to dip the point of his darts? He hoped, however, when we reached the shore, to obtain the necessary ingredients, and to form a blowpipe, with which he promised to kill as much game as we should require.

We had sailed on four days, when we reached a point, on rounding which we saw a wide expanse of water before us, with another point in the far distance. We knew therefore that we were at the mouth of a considerable river. It was what we were looking for, and the wind, which had changed to the northward, would enable us to sail up it. The current, however, was setting down the river, and just as we had eased off the sheet, intending to run up it, the wind failed and we were speedily drifted out again. We could not reach a tree to which to make fast, and there we lay, floating helplessly on the calm surface. After drifting for half a mile along the edge of the forest, we found ourselves in slack water, in which we lay, neither advancing nor receding. Our food was running somewhat short, but, fortunately, we had our hooks and lines, and taking some dried herrings as bait, we set to work to fish. We had not long to wait before we caught several somewhat curiously shaped creatures, which we should from their appearance have hesitated to eat; had not Kallolo, who knew most of them, told us which were wholesome and which poisonous. Some he immediately knocked on the head and threw overboard. As we were unwilling to light a fire on the raft, we cut them up and dried them in the sun. Though not very palatable, they enabled us to economise the rest of our provisions; and the natives, and even Peter, had no objection to eat them raw.

For three days we lay totally becalmed. Fortunately we most of us had some occupation. Uncle Paul, the skipper, and I were engaged in making floats from the large nuts I spoke of. Having bored a hole, we scraped out the kernel, and then stopped up the orifice again with some resinous substance which Uncle Paul had brought for the purpose. The natives, assisted by the mate, were manufacturing spears and bows and arrows. When not thus occupied, we were engaged in fishing. Most of our hooks were small, and we could only venture to haul up moderately-sized fish with them. We had, however, one big hook with a strong line, and we hoped with it to catch a proportionately large fish. We were not disappointed. I had the line in my hand. Before long I felt a strong pull. I gave a jerk, and when I fancied that the unwary creature was firmly hooked, I began to haul away. I had, however, to call to my friends for assistance; for I thought it far more likely that the fish would pull me in, than that I should succeed in pulling him out. Uncle Paul and the skipper then took hold of the line. Our fear was that the fish would break away, for there was not line enough to play him, and our only way of securing him was by main force. At length we got his head out of the water, when the Indians exclaimed, “Periecu! periecu!” and stooping down, and putting their fingers in the fish’s gills, they hauled it up. He was upwards of three feet in length, and covered with beautiful scales—indeed, I have never seen a finer fish. Some blows on the head finally secured him. The Indians said that his flesh might be preserved by drying, but thought some days would be required for the operation. We preferred eating some of it fresh, but not raw; so we began to think of lighting a fire.

For some time we had been drifting much closer in with the forest, and we agreed that by a little exertion in rowing we might get up to some of the trees, from which we could obtain a supply of fuel. This we accomplished, and lowering our sail, and unstepping our mast, we got close in under the trees. With our axe and knives we soon got a supply of dry branches. As no place presented itself on any of the lower branches where we could light a fire, we resolved to do so on the log. Having piled up our fuel, we paddled out again into the open water. Uncle Paul had his tinder-box, and a few cherished matches—not that we were entirely dependent on them, as the natives could always, by a little exertion, kindle a flame. We did not step our mast, which, with the sail and yard, lay alongside. Our fire was soon lighted, and a portion of our periecu was spitted and placed over it to roast. The fish appeared to be cooking famously, as we sat on the log, some at one end and some at the other. Suddenly a light wind got up, and in an instant what was our dismay to see the whole centre part of the log on fire! Up it blazed, spreading so rapidly that we had scarcely time, some seizing one article and some another, to spring overboard with our floats round our waists. Quacko in a great fright clung to Kallolo’s back, where he sat chattering away, loudly expressing his annoyance at what had occurred. Maco made a dash on the half-roasted periecu, which would otherwise have run a great risk of being overdone, and leaped after us. Happily nothing of value was left behind, while our mast and sail, being in the water, were also safe. There we were, floating about round the log, which, from the fierce way the flames blazed up, would, we feared, be soon burned to the water’s edge. “This must not be!” cried the skipper and Uncle Paul almost at the same time. “Pipe all hands to extinguish the fire!” Suiting the action to the word, they setting the example, we all, as we floated about on our lifebuoys, began to throw water on the flames with our hands.

“Heave away, my lads! heave away, and put out the flames!” cried Uncle Paul. Fortunately the fire had not got any real hold on the log, having fed chiefly on the dry mass of parasitic plants which thickly covered it, so that, by throwing water over it merely with the palms of our hands, we managed in a short time to put it out. Maco, who was the first to climb on to the deck, uttering a loud cry jumped off again still more rapidly, it being as yet far too hot to make a comfortable resting-place. We therefore continued for some time longer to throw up the water to cool it.

At length we again ventured on board. It looked something like the bottom of a coal barge in a rainy day; it was covered with saturated cinders, which it took us a considerable time before we could sweep off into the water. Quacko looked with much suspicion at the burned embers, as if he thought they would blaze up again, and declined leaving Kallolo’s shoulders, where alone he considered himself secure. Having put our craft right, we sat down to feast on the portion of the periecu we had been cooking, and very satisfactory food it proved. We then stepped our mast, and set up the rigging, so as to be ready to proceed on our voyage as soon as the wind should again spring up. It came sooner than we expected, but instead of blowing up the stream, it came directly down, and both the skipper and Uncle Paul agreed that it was likely to continue in the same quarter for several days.

We had now run somewhat short of provisions, and had made but inconsiderable progress on our voyage of discovery. Uncle Paul therefore proposed that we should go back to our friends, and wait till the wind should again shift to its old quarter. Unless, indeed, we could secure the log to a tree, we should be drifted back several miles. We might obtain food by climbing the trees, but we were not likely to catch any fish while we remained close to them, and we should probably, after all, have to put back in want of provisions. These arguments prevailed with the skipper. The head of the log was got round, sail was made, and we glided back at a much faster rate than we had come up against the current.

Chapter Eight.

Arrival at Grove Island—Search for Provisions—Capture of the Sloth—Smoked Sloth—Departure from Grove Island—A Fearful Attack—Up an Igarape—The Indian Encampment.

The sun was just setting when we reached the clump of trees where we had left our friends, and lowering our mast, we paddled on to the landing-place. As might be supposed, they were very much surprised at seeing us return, and naturally fancied that some accident had happened.

“What is the matter?” asked Arthur, who hurried down to meet us.

“Nothing the matter, my friends, only a foul wind has driven us back into port,” answered the skipper, laughing. “Ya, ya! we shall sail again soon with a fair breeze, and we mean to complete our voyage the next time.”

We found that everything had been going on quietly during our absence. My father had gradually recovered his strength, and Marian felt much better from being able to take a walk on the platform. A hut had been constructed for her of palm-leaves, at Arthur’s suggestion. Arthur, Tim, and the black had been successful in their hunting expeditions. They had, wisely, not ventured again into the macawery, but had caught in various parts of the grove several parrots and other birds. They had again seen the sloth; but, as they did not require the creature for food, they allowed it to enjoy its existence. Its chance of life, however, with the increased numbers in the settlement, was very small; for Kallolo and Maco undertook to capture the poor animal before dawn, if they could find it. They said they could do so at that time much more easily than in daylight, when it would be awake, and could scramble off much faster than they could follow. Kallolo observed, that with a blowpipe he could send a small dart into the body of the animal which would deprive it of life in the course of a few minutes; but having only spears and arrows, the business of catching it would take them a much longer time. The danger of shooting the sloth was, that it might fall into the water and be lost, should it be found on a bough overhanging the river. Arthur suggested that we should try to get a rope round the animal.

“We kill him first, and then make him fast,” observed Kallolo. “He will hold on with his claws till him quite dead.”

As the skipper was especially anxious to have a good supply of food in readiness for the voyage, it was finally decided that the sloth should die before daylight. Arthur and I told Kallolo that we wished to assist in its capture, and he promised to call us when it was time to set out to look for the beast.

We all lay down as usual on the platform, our pillows consisting of bundles of sticks, with no other covering than the roof overhead. I was still sleeping soundly when I felt Kallolo’s hand on my shoulder. “Get up, now! Time to be off!” He had previously awaked Arthur. We were immediately on our feet, and, led by the two natives, commenced our scramble among the boughs and interlacing sepos. Arthur carried one piece of rope, and I another. It was necessary to move with the greatest caution, else we might easily have had an ugly fall. Our guides moved noiselessly, for fear, as they said, of awaking their intended victim. It would certainly have gone to the furthest extremity of the grove—as far away as possible from the invaders of its native domain. I should have supposed that they would have had great difficulty in ascertaining in what direction it was to be found, had I not observed that they stopped every now and then and examined the leaves of some of the trees. At length we arrived at a large cecropia tree. We observed that some of the branches were almost stripped of their leaves, while those of others, a little further on, were only partly nibbled.

“Him not far off,” whispered Kallolo. “Stay here, me go see. Come when I call.” And he and his companion silently made their way along an outspreading branch, holding their lances in their hands. The branch could not be reached from below, but I saw that another of smaller dimensions extended at no great distance above it. The Indians crept along the larger branch. I knew that the sloth was to be found under, not above, the branch, and therefore supposed that he was clinging to the smaller of the two, though I could not make him out. Presently I saw one of the natives spring up to the upper branch, and make his way along it; then he again dropped down to the lower one, while the other advanced as if to meet him. I could see their lances raised, and presently, at the same moment, they darted them down, when Kallolo shouted out, “Come on! come on!” and Arthur and I clambered along the upper branch, and, directed by Kallolo, we dropped the noose of our ropes, which he and Maco caught and passed round the lower bough, handing them up to us again. They then told us to move a little further on, and to draw the ropes tight and secure them. We did as they desired.

“We got the sloth tight now,” observed Kallolo. “Him not go away till we come back in the morning.” We found that the ropes had been passed under the body of the sloth, which was thus tightly secured to the tree. After this, we returned to the platform. At daylight we again set off with Tim and Sambo, to bring down the body of the sloth. It was by this time quite dead, and had it not been fastened, would probably have fallen into the water. It was carried to the kitchen on the thick branch, where it was skinned and cut up; and we now found ourselves in possession of an ample supply of meat. I cannot say much in favour of its flesh. It was rather tough and sinewy; but under our circumstances we were very glad to get it. The only question was how it could be preserved. The skipper suggested that we should try to smoke our meat. The operation at first seemed impossible; but under his directions a large wickerwork basket was formed, which was thickly covered over with palm-leaves. The meat was hung inside, and the basket was then placed over the fire, which was well supplied with fresh twigs and leaves. By continually replenishing the fuel, we kept up an ample volume of smoke, in which we not only cured sloth meat, but a number of parrots and other birds, and several fish, which we caught by allowing the log to drift out into deep water, as far as the cable would admit.

The skipper was very anxious that the whole party should accompany him on the next trip; and he asked my father to venture on board the log, assuring him that he and his daughter would be perfectly safe, and that we should thus be able to push into the interior to a spot where we might build a vessel, and so avoid the necessity of coming back for him. My father at length consented, and active preparations were made for the voyage. Before starting, we had a grand hunt, during which we made an onslaught on the macaws, which, frightened by our numbers, and by the weapons with which we assailed them, took to flight after several had been killed, leaving their young ones at our mercy. We caught a number of other birds, and obtained a considerable supply of figs, plums, and nuts. We had, also, a general washing of clothes; though, to be sure, some of our party had but few garments which required cleansing. But cleanliness we endeavoured to maintain; which tended much, I believe, to keep us in health. Hitherto no one had suffered, except from fatigue; and that, of course, was unavoidable.

Our provisions being carefully packed, and other arrangements made, we only waited for a fair wind to recommence our voyage. We had an abundance of food. Our saucepan afforded us the means of obtaining hot water, and of boiling what required boiling. We had bows and arrows and spears to obtain more food, hooks and lines for catching fish, and two bottles of schiedam remaining; for the skipper, though very fond of it, husbanded it carefully, and resisted the temptation he felt to drink it himself. “We’ll keep it, in case of the illness of any of the party,” he remarked.

The wind still continued blowing down the river. It had the effect of somewhat lowering the water. This we did not desire; for while it remained at its height we could with greater ease penetrate into the interior, and we knew that even long after it had subsided we should be unable to travel over the country it had left, with any degree of safety. Again it fell calm. We might perhaps have urged our log to the westward by means of the oars; but our progress would necessarily have been so slow that it would not have been worth while to make the attempt. We waited another day, when, to the satisfaction of all hands, a light breeze from the eastward sprang up soon after we had breakfasted.

“On board now, my friends!” exclaimed the skipper; and we hastened down to our landing-place, each of us loaded with as many packages as we could carry. As before, Quacko clung to Kallolo’s shoulders, while Ara perched on the head of Maco. Everything we possessed was placed in the centre of the log. Once more Uncle Paul ascended and took a glance round the platform, to see that nothing had been left behind. “And now, my friends,” he said, “before we push off, let us offer up a prayer for protection against the dangers, foreseen and unforeseen, which we may have to encounter.” Kneeling down and taking off his hat, Uncle Paul prayed in a firm, manly tone, all joining him in a hearty “Amen.”

Rising from our knees, the oars were got out, the painter cast off; and we paddled clear of the trees: then the mast was stepped and set up with shrouds and stays, wedges being driven in to secure it more firmly. The sail was hoisted and rigged out with a boom, and away we glided up the stream. Great care had been taken, in trimming the log, to prevent the risk of its upsetting. To each person was assigned his own proper place, from which he was on no account to move, unless directed by Uncle Paul or Captain van Dunk. Further to secure the log, outriggers had been fitted on either side; which gave it more stability without impeding its progress. All had been done, indeed, which good sense and forethought could suggest for securing a safe voyage in our, at the best, unwieldy craft. The extreme buoyancy of the cedar wood made it far more suitable for our purpose than that of any other tree. From its natural shape, also, which was flat on the upper side, and rounded at the bottom, it nearly resembled a vessel; and could we have hollowed it out, it might have been formed into a craft suitable for the navigation of a smooth river. We had, however, to make the best of it as it was. We had, I should have said, erected a small shed in the afterpart for Marian’s accommodation, which served as her sleeping-place at night, and sheltered her somewhat from the heat of the sun by day.

As before, we sailed on night and day. The craft was somewhat less buoyant than it had been; but as we had a fresh breeze, we made good progress, and in two days we reached the point where we had turned back. Marian was grateful for the care taken of her, and was in fair spirits; and even our poor father became more cheerful than he had been. Soon after we had doubled the point, the wind shifted a little to the northward, blowing directly up the stream we had now entered. As in the Orinoco, the trees, with the water many feet above their roots, bounded our prospect on either side.

Day after day we sailed on, a sharp lookout being kept ahead for any danger which might appear. The chief risk was from submerged trees or floating logs; which might have quickly upset her, had our craft struck one of them. Happily we escaped all these dangers; and though we frequently passed very near floating logs, we did not receive any damage from them.

At length we found the river narrowing considerably; but still no dry ground had appeared on either side,—which showed how perfectly level must be the region through which we were sailing. The wind, though it continued favourable, had fallen, and we found it necessary to keep close in by the shore, to avoid the current which we could no longer stem. Still, by keeping our paddles moving, we went ahead. So narrow had the stream become, that we thought we must be approaching its source, when suddenly we found ourselves entering a broad lakelike expanse, the opposite shore being scarcely visible. Captain van Dunk being unwilling, for fear of being caught in a gale, to stand across the lake, kept still coasting along, in the hope, he said, of discovering either a piece of firm ground or else another stream up which we might run.

During the next night the wind was very light, and we made slower progress than we had hitherto done. I awoke just at daylight, and was sitting with Kallolo at the bow of our strange craft, over the stem of which the tack was made fast. He was employed in looking out ahead. Quacko, his constant companion, was in his arms, and I was amusing myself by talking to the monkey. “He no understand your lingo, Massa Guy,” observed Kallolo. “Talkee as I do, and he know what you say.” On this he uttered what seemed to me to be nothing but gibberish; but Quacko, in great delight, replied in what was evidently an imitation of his master’s voice. Suddenly I saw the creature gaze into the water, and then, chattering louder than ever, it threw its arms around Kallolo’s neck.

“He see something!” exclaimed the native, gazing on the smooth surface.

“Oh! what can it be?” I exclaimed.

The native did not reply. At that instant, a long shining head rose above the surface, and came on with fearful rapidity towards the log. The Indian sat, it seemed to me, paralysed with terror. Beyond the head appeared a long thin body; and I now saw that it was an enormous snake—“a huge anaconda.” To my horror the creature, reaching the log, began to climb it, exhibiting the folds of its huge body; while its mouth was open wide enough to swallow either of us at a gulp, though it might possibly have been contented with poor Quacko, had Kallolo been willing to sacrifice his favourite.

“Fly, Massa Guy! fly!” he shouted, springing back himself, with Quacko in his arms. Our shouts aroused our sleeping companions, who sprang to their feet, Maco being the first to seize a lance and come to our assistance. The bravest man might well have been excused for not facing the hideous monster unarmed. The first impulse of everyone was to spring to the afterpart of our craft, as far as possible from its huge fangs. Our cries, and the row of bristling lances presented to the anaconda, made it hesitate to spring on us. Indeed, it had not as yet, I suspect, got firm hold of the log with its tail, which would have enabled it to do so. While the rest of us were presenting our lances, Maco seized a bow and sent an arrow directly down the creature’s throat! With a loud hiss of rage and pain it drew back, when we all rushed forward, not without some risk of upsetting the log, which rocked fearfully from side to side. Had we been thrown into the water, the creature would have had us at its mercy; though, with an arrow in its mouth, it would not have been able to swallow even Quacko. A second arrow, sent from Maco’s unerring bow, made it uncoil its huge body and slip off into the water, when, to our infinite satisfaction, it disappeared beneath the surface. Poor Quacko still trembled all over; for his instinct told him how quickly the anaconda would have gobbled him up. We speedily recovered our equanimity. “I wish he would come on again,” cried our undaunted skipper. “If he do, we shall quickly have his head off, and cook some slices of his body for dinner.” I don’t think he exactly meant what he said; at all events, I must have been excessively hungry before I could have eaten any of the hideous creature, though its flesh might possibly not be poisonous. I believe, indeed, that even the natives, who eat nearly everything, would not have been inclined to feed on its rank flesh.

As we had no wish to remain in the neighbourhood, we got out the oars and rowed lustily forward; and a fresh breeze springing up at about noon, we ran on at a good rate, though not even at the fastest did we ever make more than four knots an hour. Our average was perhaps about two, which gave twenty-four miles in the day. This, considering all things, was not bad progress.

We sailed on till nightfall, in vain looking for a landing-place, while between the trees we could distinguish nothing but water extending as far as the eye could reach. As the wind was light, we did not attempt to bring up, but continued on our course; a crescent moon enabling us to see our way sufficiently to avoid any dangers ahead. Uncle Paul and Captain van Dunk took it in turn to act as officer of the watch. My father and Marian were rated as passengers, and the rest of us were divided into two watches.

It may be supposed, after the visit of the anaconda, that we kept a bright lookout, lest any monster of the same species might take it in his head to come on board; and Kallolo and Maco kept their bows ready to send an arrow into the first pair of open jaws which appeared above the surface. The night, however, passed away without the appearance of any unwelcome visitor. The encounter we had had on the previous day seemed, indeed, like a horrible dream, and we could scarcely persuade ourselves of its reality. I was very glad when daylight returned, and a fresh breeze and bright sun stirred up our spirits.

We had not again attempted to light a fire on board; indeed, without stopping among the trees we could not have obtained fuel. We were therefore compelled to subsist on the dried meat and fish and the various fruits and nuts we had brought with us; cold water being our sole beverage. Marian subsisted almost entirely on fruit and nuts, and for her sake especially I was anxious to reach dry ground, where we could cook some more wholesome provisions for her.

We had now, by our calculations, got a considerable way from the Orinoco, but had not yet found the dry ground of which we were in search; nor had as yet any mountain ranges appeared over the tops of the lofty trees surrounding us.

The noonday sun was shining with an intense splendour on the calm expanse of water over which we glided, when we saw before us an opening between the trees, through which we concluded the upper waters of the river we had been navigating flowed. The log was steered for it. It was of considerable breadth, though narrowed by the far-extending branches of the trees hanging over it, the lower portions of the stems being concealed by the water.

We sailed on: Captain van Dunk thought we should, before long, reach a part with banks considerably above the water. On either side rose magnificent trees, some to the height of one hundred and fifty feet. Among the most remarkable were the white-stemmed cecropia; the cow-tree, of still loftier growth; and the indiarubber tree, with its smooth grey bark, tall erect trunk, and thick glossy leaves: while intermixed with them appeared the assai palm, with its slender stem, its graceful head, and its delicate green plumes; and the mirite, one of the most beautiful of the palm tribe, having abundant clusters of glossy fruit, and enormous spreading, fanlike leaves, cut into ribbons. Palms of various species predominated. The underwood was not very dense, but the sepos wove their tracery among the upper branches; some running round and round the trees, and holding them in a close embrace; others hanging from branch to branch in rich festoons, or dropping in long lines to the ground. Here, too, appeared numberless parasitic plants, with most beautiful and gorgeous flowers. Among the most lovely flowers was one of a yellow tint, apparently suspended between the stems of two trees, shining in the gloom as if its petals were of gold. In reality, as we afterwards discovered, it grows at the end of a stalk, a yard and a half long, springing from a cluster of thick leaves on the bark of a tree. Others had white and spotted blossoms; and still more magnificent than all was one of a brilliant purple colour, emitting a delicious odour. Here, too, we saw plants hanging in mid-air, like the crowns of huge pineapples; and large climbing arums, with their dark green and arrow-head-shaped leaves, forming fantastic and graceful ornaments amid the foliage; while huge-leaved ferns and other parasites clung to the sterns up to the very highest branches. These, again, were covered by creeping plants; and thus literally parasites grew on parasites; and on these parasites, again, leaves of every form were also seen—some beautifully divided, and others of vast size and fanlike shape, like those of the cecropias; and numerous others of intermediate forms added to the countless variety.

Many of the trees bore fruit. Among the most tempting was that of the maraja, growing in large bunches. Most of the palms also had fruit; some like the cocoanut, others like small berries. Then there was the palmetto, with its tender succulent bud on the summit of the stem, used as a vegetable with meat. Others had bunches of bright chestnut-brown fruit hanging from between the leaves which form the crown, each bunch about a foot in length, massive and compact, like a large cluster of Hamburg grapes. Then there was another palm, bearing a greenish fruit not unlike the olive in appearance, which hung in large pendent bunches just below the leaves. There were bean-shaped pods, too, from one foot to three feet in length. The cuja-tree, which I have already mentioned, is of immense size. Its fruit is very much like that of a gourd of spherical form, with a light-green shining surface, growing from the size of an orange to that of the largest melon. It is filled with a soft white pulp, easily removed when the fruit is cut in halves. The Indians, I forgot to say, formed a number of cups and basins for us from the rind of this fruit. From them also we had manufactured the lifebuoys which I have described.

As we sailed along, numerous birds of the most gorgeous plumage were seen either resting on the boughs or flying overhead across the stream. Among them were several species of trogons and little bristle-tailed manakins. We saw also the curious black umbrella-bird; which is so called from having a hood like an umbrella spread over its head. Flocks of paroquets were seen, and bright blue chatterers; and now and then a lovely pompadour, having delicate white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Monkeys of various sorts were scrambling among the boughs, coming out to look at us, and chattering loudly as if to inquire why we had come into their domains. Now and then we caught sight of a sloth rolled up on a branch of an imbauba tree, on the leaves of which the creature feeds; while butterflies of most brilliant hues and enormous dragonflies were flitting about in the sunshine.

On and on we sailed, the passage between the trees now becoming narrower every mile we progressed, till at length they appeared almost to close us in, the branches completely interlacing overhead. Still, having gone so far, Captain van Dunk was unwilling to turn back, unless certain that there was no opening into some wider stream; but, from the depth of the water and the absence of any strong current, he fully believed we should meet with one. At length the branches extended so far across the passage that we were compelled to unstep the mast in order to pass under them. The sudden change from the bright glare of the open water to the solemn gloom of the forest was very remarkable. We had now to paddle slowly. We were frequently able to press our oars against the trunks of the trees, and thus to shove the log ahead. Though accustomed to tropical scenery, nothing we had before witnessed equalled the rich luxuriance of the vegetation—the numberless strange trees, and hanging plants, and creepers, and beautiful flowers of every hue, affording abundance of interest as we proceeded. Marian was delighted, and was continually crying out, “Oh, what a lovely flower!—what a graceful tree!—see that magnificent bird!—oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!” till she had exhausted her vocabulary of suitable epithets.

At length we reached a spot where the far-extending buttressed roots of an enormous tree completely impeded our progress; and steering up to it, we made our log fast, and stepped, I cannot say on shore, but on the roots of the tree. We had little doubt, indeed, that could we have penetrated through the mass of foliage, we should soon have reached dry ground. It was now time for our evening meal, and therefore, before proceeding further, we sat down to partake of it. The captain intended, if possible, afterwards to try to work the log through by towing, or else to build a small raft, and, with one or two companions, explore the passage still further on.

We had a number of spectators at our repast; for no sooner were we quietly seated, than troops of monkeys, attracted by the strange spectacle we presented—to their eyes, at all events—came from every side through the forest, swinging from bough to bough, or scrambling along the sepos, to have a look at us. There they sat above our heads, chattering away as if talking of us and making their observations. Quacko looked up, and answered them in their own language; at which they seemed very much surprised. Some were induced, by what he said, I suppose, to come down much closer; and had we been so inclined, we might have shot several with our arrows. That, however, would have been a treacherous return for the confidence they showed; and we did not, happily for them, require food. I very much doubt, had such been the case, that we should have allowed them to escape.

Kallolo and Maco, observing that we had no fruit remaining, volunteered to make their way into the forest, to try to find some. Uncle Paul, for Marian’s sake, accepted their offer. It required great agility and practical experience for anyone to scramble among the interlacing boughs and network of sepos, without the almost certainty of tumbling into the water. They went off armed with their spears, and their long knives stuck in their girdles, saying that they would soon make their appearance again. We meantime, having finished the more substantial part of our meal, scrambled up to the huge roots of the tree where we had first landed, and sat down to await their return.

Uncle Paul, Captain van Dunk, and Peter talked over their plans. They did not conceal from themselves the difficulties of their project; but still, like brave men, they resolved to accomplish it. Though their saw was too small to cut out the planks of the proposed vessel, they might obtain them by splitting up trees with wedges, and then smoothing them down with the axe. Though they had no nails, the planks might be secured to the ribs with tree-nails or wooden pegs. “Ya, ya!” exclaimed the brave skipper for the hundredth time; “where there’s a will there’s a way. We will do it, we will do it; never fear.” His confidence raised all our spirits.

The day drew on, but the two natives did not appear, and we began to fear that they must have met with some accident, or lost their way. One thing was certain, we should have to spend another night on our log, instead of, as we had hoped, on dry ground under the shelter of leafy huts, which we had proposed building. My father’s great wish, for Marian’s sake, was to return as soon as possible to civilised parts. He said something to that effect.

“Oh, don’t think about me, papa,” exclaimed Marian; “I really enjoy this sort of life; only I hope that we shall not meet with another anaconda, or boa, or any of those venomous serpents which are said to frequent this region.”

“I trust indeed that we shall not, my child,” said our father; “but there are other dangers I fear for you, though I pray that you may be preserved from them also.”

“We will not talk of dangers nor of difficulties,” observed Uncle Paul; “the great thing is to face them bravely when they come.”

My father remarked that it was time to return to our log, and to make arrangements for passing the night while there was daylight, as we should find the darkness much greater under the shelter of the trees than we had found it in the open part of the river.

I had just got on my feet and was looking up the stream, when I observed a bright light burst forth from among the trees at a considerable distance. I called the attention of Uncle Paul to it, who was sitting near me. He also got up and looked in the direction to which I pointed.

“It must be produced by a fire,” he observed. “It is either just kindled on the branches of some high tree or else on ground rising considerably above the stream. Can Kallolo and Maco have got there and kindled it as a signal to us? For my part, I confess I cannot make it out?” The rest of the party now got up and looked in the direction in which we were gazing. They were greatly puzzled.

“Can the fire have been lighted by natives?” asked Arthur. “Some of the tribes which inhabit these regions are accustomed to form their dwellings among the trees, I have heard; if so, we must be on our guard. It will be better, at all events, to avoid them; for though it is possible they may prove friendly, they may resent the intrusion of strangers into their territory, and attack us.” Uncle Paul agreed with Arthur that in all probability the fire was lighted by natives. “They cannot, however, as yet have seen us,” he remarked, “and it might be wiser to retreat while we have time, and to try to find another passage.”

“I cannot agree with you there,” observed Captain van Dunk. “We have no reason to fear the natives, who are poor, miserable creatures; and as they believe that white men never go without firearms, they will not venture to attack us.”

“But, captain, if they find that we have no firearms, they will know that we are at their mercy, and may easily overwhelm us by numbers,” observed Arthur.

“But we have our spears, bows, and arrows, and we shall cut some stout cudgels, with which we could easily drive away such miserable savages as they are.”

“Suppose they possess the deadly blowpipe, with its little poisoned darts, they may attack us without giving us a chance of reaching them,” said Arthur.

“I am afraid that Arthur is right,” remarked Uncle Paul. “It would be folly to expose ourselves to danger if it can be avoided.”

The discussion was still going on when we caught sight of two figures approaching through the fast increasing gloom. Could they be the savages of whom we were talking? I confess that I felt very uncomfortable,—not so much for myself as for Marian and my father; and for the first time since we reached the Orinoco I began to wish that we were safe among civilised people. I suspect that my companions shared my fears. No one spoke. At length our anxiety was set at rest by hearing the voices of Kallolo and Maco. They soon joined us, bringing a number of ripe purple plums, and some bunches of the delicious maraja, the fruit of several species of palms, which I may as well here say afforded an acceptable supper to all the party. We eagerly asked if they had seen any Indians.

“We have,” answered Kallolo; “but they are a long way off, and as they will not wander from their encampment during the night, we may, if necessary, avoid them. We will, however, first learn if they are friends or foes. If they are friends, they may assist us with their canoes in getting through the passage; but if they are foes, we must try to steal by them without being seen.”

We had now all collected on the log, and Marian having retired to her cabin, we sat down to discuss the best plan of proceeding.

“I see we must do what I before proposed,” said the skipper. “We will build a small raft, and Peter and I, with Maco and Sambo, will endeavour to push through the passage while you all remain concealed from the natives behind these thick trees. Should we get through, I will send Maco back to guide you; and you must build two other small rafts, which will be sufficient to carry you.”

Uncle Paul did not at first seem inclined to agree with the skipper. He was unwilling that our party should separate; for, should the natives discover us, and prove hostile, they were more likely to attack a small number than a large one. At the same time, he acknowledged that by remaining on the log we might be able to retreat on it down the stream should we be attacked, and, at all events, still have some chance of saving our lives.

The skipper had at first proposed forming the raft immediately, and embarking on it during the night, so as to pass the neighbourhood of the Indian encampment before daylight; but so great was the darkness in the confined spot where we were, that we soon found it would be impossible to commence our building operations till the return of day, and he was therefore compelled to put off his expedition till the next night.

Chapter Nine.

Howling Monkeys—A Beautiful Scene—The Curupira—We make a Raft—Captain Van Dunk and his Companions depart on it—Visit the Indian Encampment—White Uakari—Arrival of Maco—Start on a Long Swim.

We kept a vigilant watch during the night, with the oars ready to shove off, should by chance any of the Indians approach us. Kallolo took post on the roots of the tree I have before described, whence we had at first seen the light which had given us an intimation of the neighbourhood of the savages, that he might give us timely warning should any of them quit their encampment and come towards us. Still there was but little probability of being disturbed during the hours of darkness.

Scarcely had the sun sunk behind the trees when a deep gloom pervaded the surrounding atmosphere; and from a distance came the most fearful howlings, echoing through the forest.

“Oh, surely the savages are upon us,” I could not help exclaiming.

“No, Massa Guy, no fear of that,” answered Kallolo. “Dey only howling monkeys, which are shouting to each oder from de top branches of de trees, asking each oder how dem are dis fine ebening.”

After this assurance, the other noises which came out of the forest did not create so much feeling of alarm. I knew they were only the cries of animals or birds or insects, all of which were adding their voices to the wild, and certainly not harmonious, concert. Flocks of parrots and blue macaws flew overhead, the different kinds of cawing and screaming of the various species making a terrible discord. Then arose the strangely sounding call of the cicada, or cricket, one of the largest kind, perched high on the trees, setting up a most piercing chirp. It began with the usual harsh jarring tone of its tribe, rapidly becoming shriller, until it ended in a long and loud whistling note. Comparatively small as are these wonderful performers, their voices made a considerable item in the evening concert. Before they had ceased, the tree-frogs chimed in with their “Quack, quack! drum, drum! hoo, hoo!” accompanied by melancholy nightjars, which for long kept up their monotonous cries.

While we were seated, the whole air above our heads suddenly became bright and glaring with lights of various hues; now darting here, now there; now for a moment obscured only to burst forth again with greater brilliancy. These beautiful lights were caused by fireflies and fire-beetles. The lights of the former were red, and bright as those of the brightest candle; and being alternately emitted and concealed, each of the tiny flames performing its own part in the mazy dance, they produced a singularly beautiful spectacle. The fireflies, however, disappeared shortly afterwards, when a number of large beetles, called elaters, took their place, displaying both red and green lights. The red glare, like that of a lamp, alternately flashed and vanished, as the insect turned its body in flight; and now and then a green light was displayed. The mingling of the two colours, red and green, in the evolutions of flight totally surpasses my power of description. We caught several, and had we possessed an uncoloured glass bottle we might have made a lantern which would have afforded us sufficient light to work by. Even through the thick glass of a schiedam bottle a strong light was emitted, but scarcely sufficient for our purpose, though it enabled us to see our way about the log.

After some time all was silent, then suddenly came a loud yell, or scream, uttered probably by some defenceless fruit-eating animal which had been pounced upon by a tiger-cat or the stealthy boa-constrictor. It required the exercise of a considerable amount of nerve to keep up our spirits during those dark hours of the night. Now and then there came also a crash, resounding far through the wilderness, as some huge bough, or perhaps an entire tree, its roots loosened by the flood, fell into the water, striking the neighbouring trees with its branches in its descent. Most of these sounds, however, we could account for. At length, as we all lay awake, a noise reached our ears which made several of our party start up. I can describe it only as like the clang of an iron bar struck against a hard hollow tree, followed by a piercing cry. As it was not repeated, the dead silence which followed tended to heighten the unpleasant impression it had produced.

“What can it be?” I asked Kallolo, who had just returned on board and was sitting by me.

“Dat, Massa Guy? Dat de voice of de curupira. He bery bad man, with long shaggy hair, and live in de trees. He neber let anyone see him, but walk about all night, doing all the harm he can. Often he comes down to de plantations to steal de mandioca, and carry off young children when he can. Him got bright red face, and feet like de stag.”

“But if no one has seen him, how can you tell that he has got red face, cloven feet, and shaggy hair?” I asked.

“Ah, Massa Guy, that is more than I know; but my fader tell me so, his fader tell him,—so I suppose some one saw him long, long ago.”

“I only hope, then, that he will not come and pay us a visit,” I remarked.

“I hope not, massa,” said Kallolo, shuddering and looking round into the darkness as if he just then thought that such a thing was by no means improbable.

Notwithstanding the dangerous position in which we were placed, I at length dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, the day was beginning to dawn; the birds were again astir; the cicadae had commenced their music; flocks of parrots and macaws, and other winged inhabitants of the forest, were passing overhead in countless numbers, seeking their morning repast; beautiful long-tailed and gilded moths, like butterflies, were flying over the tree-tops; the sky had assumed the loveliest azure colour, across which were drawn streaks of thin white clouds with Nature’s most delicate touch. The varied forms of the trees, imperceptible during the gloom of night, now appeared, the smaller foliage contrasting with the large, glossy leaves of the taller trees, and the feathery, fan-shaped fronds of the palms.

The air, for a short time, felt cool and refreshing; but almost before the sun had gilded the topmost boughs of the trees, the heat began to increase and give indication of a sultry day. All hands were speedily on foot. The skipper led the way on to the roots of the trees, (for I must not say, on to the shore), followed by Peter and the rest of his crew, and began to hew away at the smaller palms and other trees which they thought would serve to form the proposed raft. Tree after tree was cut down; but the felling of each occupied some time. Arthur, Tim, and I assisted in towing them out to the log, where we arranged them alongside each other, ready to receive the crosspieces by which the whole were to be bound together. Trees somewhat lighter, cut into lengths, were selected for the latter purpose. We looked out for the Indian encampment, but from no point we could reach was it visible; and we concluded, therefore, that we were not likely to be seen by any of the natives. Although a description of the operations we were employed in can be given in a few words, they occupied the whole day. After the logs had been cut we had to collect a quantity of the more flexible vines with which to bind them together; and this also took us a good deal of time. Thus, though we got over our meals as quickly as possible, it was again night before the raft was completed. Some long poles for propelling it had also been cut and shaped.

The skipper contemplated the work with evident satisfaction. “There, my friends,” he said, “this will carry more than half of our party; and if half of you will consent to embark, I will stop and assist in making another like it, so that we may all proceed together. I don’t like the thought of leaving you behind.”

Uncle Paul and my father, however, firmly declined the skipper’s offer. “I would much rather that you should go forward, Captain van Dunk, and explore the way; and should you be successful in finding an eligible spot for camping on and building a vessel, you could send back for us, and we would then construct one or more rafts for the voyage. The dangers of the expedition are too great for Marian and her father to encounter, unless with a definite object in view.”

“Well, well,” answered the captain, “I trust that we shall meet again ere long. Now, my friends, we must go on board, and shove off.”

When this was said we were seated at supper. As soon as it was over, the various articles which the skipper intended to take with him were placed on board the raft. Shaking us all by the hand, he and his crew stepped on to it, each armed with a long pole, which assisted to steady them and at the same time to push on the raft. We did not cheer, as we might have done under other circumstances, for fear that our voices should reach the Indians, at no great distance, so in perfect silence our friends shoved off into the middle of the stream. Darkness having come on, they were speedily lost to sight.

I had from the first contemplated the possibility of making an excursion through the forest, in order to ascertain, if possible, the exact position of the Indian encampment. There could be little doubt that it was constructed as ours had been at the grove on the Orinoco,—high up on the branches of some enormous tree, or on a platform supported by the stems of several trees; which is the way, Kallolo told me, the Indians inhabiting the region nearer the mouth of the river form their habitations. Arthur and I had been talking the matter over, and we proposed it to Kallolo. He said that he was quite ready to go alone, but that if we wished to accompany him he should have no objection. Could we have secured a band of elaters to go before us, we might, without difficulty, have found our way; but as neither they nor the fireflies could be depended on, we should have to make the expedition in darkness. There was, however, a bright moon in the sky, which, provided we kept along the edge of the river, would give us sufficient light. The only creatures we had to fear were the anacondas; but Kallolo averred that they were not often found in narrow streams, and that the alligators always forsook the flooded region and went further up the country, where they could find sunny banks to bask on during the day, and a more ample supply of food. We mentioned our wishes to Uncle Paul and my father. They at first objected, but on Kallolo’s assuring them that there was no great danger, and that he would take good care of us, they consented to let us go, provided we did not extend our explorations to any great distance. Tim would have liked to go also, but Uncle Paul desired him to remain to assist him should his services be required. Accordingly, each of us taking a long pole as a weapon of defence, as well as to assist in making our way along the fallen logs and roots of the trees, we set out. Kallolo led, I went next, and Arthur followed. We carried also a long piece of rope, one end of which Kallolo held in his hand, and the other was fastened round Arthur’s waist, while I secured myself by a separate piece to the middle. Should either of us slip into the water, we could thus easily be hauled-out again.

I knew very well that our expedition would be a hazardous one, but I was scarcely prepared, I confess, for the difficulties we encountered and the fatigue we had to go through. Without Kallolo’s guidance we should certainly not have been able to accomplish it. Sometimes we had to leap from root to root; at others, to walk along a fallen log, raised several feet above the surface; and often we had to wade in the water up to our knees, with the risk every moment of being soused overhead in it. Now and then we had to climb a tree. We were keeping all the while on the east side of the stream, as it was that on which we expected to find the encampment. Kallolo advanced cautiously, giving us time to obtain a firm footing before he again moved forward. Sometimes we were all three walking together along a fallen trunk, then we had to cling to the huge buttressed roots of a tree.

We had gone on in this way for a considerable time, when we saw before us a wide space of water, which it would be necessary to cross ere we could again reach another mass of trees, over whose boughs we hoped to make our onward way. Kallolo sounded it with his pole. “We may, I think, wade across it,” he said; “though it may be better to swim, lest we strike our feet against any stems remaining in the ground.” We agreed to follow him, though I confess I had no great fancy for swimming through that ink-like water, and could not help fearing lest some monster lying at the bottom might rise up and seize us. However, it had to be done, unless we should make up our minds to return.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” answered Arthur.

Kallolo entered the water and struck out. We followed, keeping close behind him and trailing our poles by our sides. I did my best to keep the end of mine down, so that any creature at the bottom might seize hold of it instead of my legs. Arthur said that he was doing the same; but Kallolo appeared to have no apprehensions on the subject. We soon reached a branch almost touching the water. We scrambled on to it, and then without difficulty made good progress, holding on to the hanging sepos amid which we passed. We had gone some way when my foot struck on a slimy substance, and I heard a loud hiss as I felt it glide from beneath me and splash into the water below. I knew that I had trodden on a snake, and was thankful that it had not sprung up and bitten me. I told Arthur.

“I hope we shall not meet with another,” he answered calmly. “It was one of the things we had to expect.”

The only object we had to guide us was the light from the Indian encampment, of which we occasionally caught glimpses. It seemed to be much further off than we had supposed. Indeed, sometimes I fancied that it was no nearer than when first we started! Occasionally I felt almost sorry that I had attempted the expedition. Then I remembered the importance of ascertaining the exact position of the encampment, and its distance from the river.

Sometimes, as we went along, we disturbed huge frogs, which were seated on the low boughs and the floating logs, and which went off with loud splashes into the water. The croakings of others were heard on every side. Frequently a huge bat or bird of night flitted by. The wings of the former fanned our faces, while the latter uttered a harsh croak or shriek as it flew through the gloom. Generally all around us was silent and dark, an oppressive gloom pervading the atmosphere, except when we passed through a swarm of fireflies or elaters, as we now and then did.

At length as we advanced we saw a light directly before us, and considerably above the level over which we were passing. We were anxious to get as near to it as we could without being seen, so as to ascertain its distance from the river. We went on some way further, when, to our surprise, we came upon a stream, which we found running between us and the Indian camp, (for so I may call it, for want of a better name). On we crept in silence, till, crawling along a bough which hung just above the water, we came full in sight of it. We now discovered, what I had before conjectured, that it was a platform erected upon the branches of an enormous tree. In the centre burned a fire, around which some thirty or forty natives were seated, while we could distinguish others scattered about,—some on the branches, and others on a mass of logs which formed a natural bridge at no great distance from us. The light of the fire above showed us two men standing on it. We dared scarcely move lest they should see us. What they were about we could not ascertain, but it seemed to us that they were watching for some one. Could they by any means have discovered our approach, I thought it would not take them many minutes to cross the stream and make their way to us. We could see no canoes. With a canoe they might have speedily overtaken us without our having the slightest chance of escape. Had Captain van Dunk and his companions come this way, they must to a certainty have fallen into the hands of the savages. We gazed up at the platform, and everywhere around—the figures of natives alone met our sight. I had been standing a little way behind my companions, who now drew back. I asked them what they thought about the matter.

“This is not the main stream,” answered Kallolo. “We must use great caution in proceeding, as it cannot be far off; but I hope, notwithstanding, that the captain managed to pass by without being seen. We must remember, when we attempt to make the passage, to keep to the right, which will carry us away from this spot.”

Arthur was of Kallolo’s opinion; he acknowledged that he should feel very anxious till we had got a good distance from the encampment. It could scarcely be supposed that the savages were without canoes; and should they by any means discover that strangers were near them, they would probably follow us.

Having now gained all the information we required, we agreed that it was time to return, and accordingly set out, Kallolo leading, as before. How he managed to guide us was more than I could discover, for I felt very sure that I should immediately have lost my way, unless I had turned constantly to observe the position of the camp. He went on steadily, without once, as far as I saw, looking round. He took a different course to that by which we had come; and though longer, it seemed to me that we had fewer difficulties to encounter than before. Perhaps we were more accustomed to them. We had, however, twice to swim across portions of the flooded land. Had it not been for the fear of being caught by an anaconda or alligator, this would have been the less fatiguing mode of proceeding; but as we made our way through the dark waters, I could not avoid having very uncomfortable feelings on the subject. In some places the water was sufficiently shallow to enable us to wade without difficulty, showing that the land must here be much higher, and giving us hopes that we should, before long, reach dry ground. The most difficult work was walking along the submerged logs, for we had carefully to balance ourselves, to prevent falling off. At the end we had generally to climb up the roots or branches, and make our way along the low boughs, sometimes having to swing ourselves off from one to the other by means of the sepos. Several times the boughs threatened to give way beneath our feet; and once Arthur and I were plunged into a mass of rotten brushwood and water, where we should certainly have lost our lives had not Kallolo quickly hauled us out again with the rope. At length, thoroughly fatigued, we saw, just as the dawn was breaking, the log and our friends on it, who were anxiously looking out for us, as we had been absent much longer than they had expected us to be.

We were thankful to take off our wet trousers and shirts, and cover ourselves up in Uncle Paul’s and my father’s cloaks while our own clothes were hung up to dry. This did not take long in the hot air. We were too tired to eat, and therefore lay down to sleep till breakfast-time; while Kallolo, who was well accustomed to that sort of work, gave an account of our expedition to my father and Uncle Paul.

When I awoke, I found breakfast prepared; and putting on my clothes, I sat down to eat it. We had ventured to light a small fire, as Kallolo assured us that the Indians would not observe the smoke at the distance they were from us. A decoction from some leaves, which served us as tea, had been boiled in the iron pot. I could have drunk any quantity of it, but found myself utterly unable to eat anything. Arthur was much in the same state; indeed, he felt even worse than I did. Our friends became very anxious, for, without shelter or any remedies against disease, should we become really ill the matter would be very serious. Kallolo, seeing the condition we were in, immediately set to work and cut a quantity of palm branches, with which, aided by Tim, he formed a sort of arbour to shelter us from the sun. He then started off, and returned shortly with the fruit of a certain palm—a decoction from which, he said, would afford a cooling drink—which he immediately put on the fire. After allowing the liquid to cool, he gave each of us a large cupful, and poured the remainder into one of the bottles formed from the cuja fruit, his countenance meanwhile expressing deep concern.

All day we lay, our heads racked with pain. Had we been called upon to make any exertion, we should have found it impossible. Uncle Paul proposed to bleed us, but Kallolo entreated him not to do so, saying that if we persevered in following his plan of cure we should soon be well. We drank cupful after cupful of the decoction he had prepared; and towards evening the pain left my head, and though I felt a peculiar lassitude such as I had never before experienced, I had no other disagreeable sensation. By the next morning both Arthur and I were perfectly well, and able to do justice to the portions of fish and flesh cooked for us, and the ample supply of fruit Kallolo had collected in the forest. This was the only time during the period of our expedition that I had the slightest attack of illness.

“I am so thankful that you are both well again!” exclaimed Marian, as she sat near us. “I was so miserable all yesterday; and thought how dreadful it would be should you die, and our father and uncle be left with me alone. I am not exactly tired of this sort of life, but I do heartily wish that we were safe again among friends.”

“It is better than being shut up in the Inquisition, at all events,” said Arthur; “though for your sake I wish we were safe on shore. However, perhaps before long we may reach dry land; and then, if the brave skipper is able to carry out his intentions, we may soon get away. If we can reach a Dutch settlement, we shall be safe; for when the Hollanders hear that we have been flying from the Inquisition, they will, I am very sure, give us a friendly reception. You know how bravely they fought to overthrow it in their own country, under the brave William of Orange, when Philip of Spain and his cruel general the Duke of Alva tried to impose it on them. They have never forgotten those days; and their country is as purely a Protestant one as Old England and her colonies.” I heard my poor father sigh; he was, I have no doubt, regretting having ventured under a government supporting that horrible system, so calculated to destroy all true religious principles, and to make the people become fanatics or hypocrites. Arthur heard him, and changed the subject, as he knew it must be one which could not fail to be painful.

We were anxiously awaiting the return of Maco, whom we hoped would bring us tidings of Captain van Dunk.

The heat, as may be supposed, was very great, for the sun having gained its greatest altitude, its rays fell down on the narrow stream undisturbed by the slightest breath of air. To shield us somewhat from it, Kallolo and Tim had collected a number of branches, and formed a complete arbour over our heads, in addition to the bed-places they had before made. We could thus lie in the shade, shielded from the burning sun. It served also to hide us from the view of any natives who might approach the neighbourhood. The lower part was left open, so as to allow the air to circulate freely; and we could thus see the forest on either side.

We were all seated together; but most of us feeling drowsy, were disinclined for conversation. I was lying down near Marian, when she touched me, whispering, “Look, look, Guy, at those curious creatures!” I turned my eyes in the direction she pointed, and saw, peering at us from among the boughs of a neighbouring tree, a whole tribe of almost tailless monkeys. They were curious-looking creatures, with faces of a vivid scarlet hue; their bodies, about eighteen inches long, were clothed with long, straight, shining, whitish hair; their heads were nearly bald, and sprinkled over with a short crop of thin grey hair; whilst around their ruddy countenances were bushy whiskers of a sandy colour, leading under the chin. Though almost destitute of tails, they seemed to be active little creatures, as we saw them running up and down the larger branches; not leaping, however, from one to the other, as do most of the monkey tribes which we had seen. Several of them, evidently mothers, were carrying young ones on their backs; but they moved about quite as rapidly as the rest. We remained perfectly quiet, watching them at their gambols. Now and then several of them would come and have a look at us, and then run off—as if to give an account to their companions of the strange creatures they had seen. Soon others would come and gaze at us with their reddish-yellow eyes, evidently somewhat doubtful as to what we were, and as to our power to harm them; again to run off to a distance, jabbering and shrieking in the greatest excitement. Prompted by curiosity, others would quickly appear,—especially mammas; accompanied by delicate-looking monkeys whom we took to be unmarried young ladies. Indeed, they showed that curiosity affects the breasts of female monkeys as powerfully as it is said to do that of human beings of the fair sex. They afforded us great amusement; till at last, after an hour or so, Uncle Paul, who had been sleeping, suddenly started up and gave a loud sneeze, when they all scampered up a tree; and as we looked up, we could see them making their way along the topmost branches, till they disappeared in the distance.

Kallolo told us that this species of monkey is known as the white uakari. Marian said that she should like to have one. He replied that they were very difficult to catch, and that unless taken very young, being of a sensitive disposition, they speedily pine and die. He told us that the native, when he wishes to catch one alive, goes forth with his blowpipe and arrows tipped with diluted woorali poison. This poison, though it produces a deadly effect on all animals, as well as on the natives, who exist without salt, has very little effect on salt-consuming Europeans. Salt, indeed, is the only antidote to the poison. The hunter, therefore, when in search of the white uakari, supplies himself with a small quantity of salt. As soon as he has shot the monkey, he follows it through the forest, till, the poison beginning to take effect, it falls from the tree. He takes care to be close under the bough to catch it in his arms, and immediately puts a pinch of salt into its mouth. In a short time the little creature revives; and in most instances not appearing to be much the worse for the poison, it is led away captive. A young one thus entrapped speedily becomes tame, and is much prized, as an interesting pet, by the white inhabitants. Kallolo promised, as soon as he could manufacture a blowpipe, to try and catch a young uakari for Marian; and he said that he was sure, under the instruction of Quacko, it would soon become civilised.

Hitherto Quacko and the ara parrot had been our chief sources of amusement. The two creatures had become great friends, though Quacko now and then showed an inclination to pick the feathers out of his companion’s back; but when he made the attempt, she resented it by a severe peck on his head—and one day caught the tip of his tail, and gave it a bite which was calculated to teach him not to behave in the same manner again. Whenever we asked Kallolo to try and catch us some more pets, he invariably replied, “Wait till I can make my blowpipe and some poison, and then I will bring you as many creatures as you may wish for. Ah, the blowpipe is a wonderful instrument; it will serve to kill anything, from a big tapir or a fierce jaguar or puma, down to the smallest manakin or humming-bird.”

Frequently, during the day, Kallolo crept from our shelter and took a look round in the direction of the Indian camp, to make sure that none of the savages were approaching. He was certain, he said, that they had no canoes, or they would have found us out before this. Just at sunset he came back with the alarming intelligence that he had seen an Indian in the distance, who was evidently making his way towards us. He advised us to remain perfectly quiet, so that, unless he should really come close to the log, we might escape being seen. “As I saw but one man, he cannot be coming with any hostile intention; though he might possibly, should he discover us, go back and return with his companions,” he added. We all accordingly withdrew within our leafy arbour, where, as the night was already casting its gloomy mantle over us, there was little probability of our being seen.

We remained without speaking, for fear the stranger might hear our voices. The sounds I have before described began to issue from the forest, preventing us from hearing the noise he might make in approaching. We had begun to hope that he had turned back, when suddenly a voice close to us exclaimed, “Halloa! what has become of them all?” and to our great satisfaction we recognised it as that of Maco. Uncle Paul immediately called to him; and he soon scrambled on board, exhibiting infinite satisfaction at finding us. He had, he told us, many adventures to narrate, in addition to a message of importance which he brought from the captain. We replied that we were eager to hear what he had to say.

“I must be a very short time about it,” he answered, “as the captain begs that you will come forward at once and join him. You must know that we found the voyage on the raft, far more difficult than we had expected, on account of the number of large roots projecting into the stream, and the boughs which hung over it, almost close to the surface of the water. We frequently had to jump off our raft, and, where the water was shallow enough, drag it along. At other times we had to swim by its side, or push it before us; and even thus we had often difficulty in getting along. We believe that we were not discovered by the natives; at all events, they did not follow us. Twice we caught sight of them when we were in the water, and we could not account for their not having seen us. We found the channel extended for several miles, seldom being wider than it is here, and often much narrower. At its termination it widens into a succession of lakes; but for a long way we could not find firm ground. At length, after pushing up a stream, we reached a bank where the forest was much less dense than we had hitherto found it; and going on still further, we arrived at an open space of small size, exactly such as the captain was in search of. We here landed our stores; and he and Peter having begun to put up a hut, and to mark such trees as he considered would serve for a vessel, he sent Sambo and me back on the raft to the end of the narrow passage. I there left Sambo, to take care of the raft, and to catch fish and kill some birds for food, while I swam on here with the aid of my floats. Considering the difficulties we met with in getting through the passage on the raft, the captain advises that you should all make your way along it by swimming. We saw no alligators, which are the only creatures to be dreaded, and the captain is certain that they have all gone further into the interior; at all events, that none inhabit the passage. I am now well acquainted with the way; and if we pass the Indian encampment during the hours of darkness, we shall run no risk of being discovered. Should you decline coming on in the way I mention, the captain advises that you should go back on the log, and try to find the entrance of a much wider and deeper channel, which he is sure exists some way to the northward; and it is by this channel that the captain hopes to carry his vessel, when built, into the waters of the Orinoco.”

We all listened eagerly to Maco’s account; of which I merely give a brief translation, for, of course, the language he used would be quite unintelligible to my readers.

Uncle Paul was very doubtful about the plan proposed, and my father was very unwilling to expose Marian to so much risk. She herself, however, declared that she was quite willing to undertake the expedition. Both Kallolo and Maco very strongly urged that we should do as the captain advised. Were we to return down the stream on the log, a long time might be spent; and we should very likely fall in with other savages, who might be even less peacefully disposed than those in the camp near us. Their habits we had as yet had no opportunity of ascertaining. They might possibly be friendly, though, with the uncertainty, it was prudent to try and avoid them altogether. One thing was certain, they were not addicted to roaming about, or they could not have failed to find us; and we might certainly hope to pass by them unobserved. These arguments at length prevailed with my father and Uncle Paul, and they agreed to set out. The few things we had with us were done tightly up and placed on floats, which Kallolo and Maco agreed to push before them. Marian’s gown and our jackets were done up in the same way, so that she only retained a tight-fitting under-dress, which would not impede her progress, while we wore our trousers. These arrangements being made, we fitted on our floats, of which each of us had four; and they were sufficient to keep our shoulders and arms well out of the water, while at the same time they did not impede our progress.

We took our last meal on board the log which had carried us so well; then waiting for some time, till we believed that the natives would have retired to rest, we stood ready to set out on our dangerous and novel expedition. In no other climate could we have undertaken it. The water was here so warm, even at night, that there was no risk of our limbs becoming cramped by being long immersed in it; nor were we likely to suffer in any other way. Really, for the sake of protection from the cold, garments were altogether unnecessary; and it is not surprising that the dark-skinned natives should consider them an encumbrance, and generally dispense with them altogether.

“Are you all ready?” asked Uncle Paul.

“Yes!” was the general answer; “all ready.”

It was settled that he should take the command, though Maco acted as our guide. The Indian, slipping off into the water, struck out up the centre of the channel; our uncle and father followed; Kallolo went next, carrying Quacko on his head, with Tim, who had charge of Ara on his; Marian and I, with Arthur to support her in case of need, brought up the rear. The floats bore us up admirably; and we found swimming a far more easy mode of progression than we should have found walking over the logs through the mighty forest to be.

We went on, keeping close together, without speaking, lest by any chance our voices might be heard by the Indians, whom we were anxious to avoid. Our progress was slow, of course, as the best swimmers had to wait for the rest. The time appeared to me to be very long; and I fancied that we had been swimming for more than an hour, when in reality we had not been half that time in the water. We could not, however, avoid every now and then looking up to the huge fire of the Indians, which could be discerned burning brightly in the distance; but instead of getting nearer to it, as I expected that we should, it became less and less distinct, and at last was to be seen almost behind us. I knew that we were turning off in an opposite direction; still we were too near the danger not to wish to get further from it. On our left I observed the mouth of a channel which we had reached on a former night, and which led, I have no doubt, close under the Indian encampment. Had we not possessed Maco as a guide, we should very naturally have gone up it, and thus found ourselves close to our supposed enemies.

I was already beginning to feel somewhat fatigued, and I was afraid that Marian must be tired. I asked her how she felt.

“I should much like to get a short rest, if it is possible,” she answered; “but I can go on longer, though my arms and legs are beginning to ache.”

Just then Maco, who had been some way ahead, returned; and having spoken a few words to Uncle Paul, he led us to the side of the stream, where we found the buttress roots, as I have before described, of a large tree projecting into the water. We all climbed on it; and Arthur and I assisted Marian to a spot where she could rest with comparative comfort. We sat down by her side, but prudence prevented us from speaking above a whisper. We waited for some time, then Uncle Paul asked her if she was ready to go on.

“Yes, yes!” she answered. “I already begin to feel more like a fish; and I think, after a little experience I shall be as much at home in the water as on dry ground.”

This answer showed that she was in good spirits; and once more the whole party slipped into the channel. We proceeded up it much in the same way as before. Quacko and Ara would have objected to this sort of progress, had they not been perched on the heads of those whom they knew to be their friends. There they sat with perfect composure, supposing that all must be right, and, I dare say, thinking themselves beings of no little importance.

We had gone on for some time, when I perceived that the gloom of night was gradually disappearing, the light of dawn taking its place. I describe the change from night to day just as it appeared to me at the time. Looking up, I saw that the tops of the trees were already tinged with the glow of the rising sun. Rapidly it descended; and at length the trees, the tall stems and winding sepos, the rich foliage, and the calm water, were bathed in the warm light of day. No scene could have been more beautiful. Our spirits rose, and, strange as it may seem, I could scarcely help shouting out with delight. On one side of us floated a number of magnificent water-lilies with leaves of prodigious size, which I will afterwards describe. They were such as we had never seen before.

Maco, who had gone ahead, was seated on a bough almost concealed by the foliage, beckoning us to come on. At that moment Uncle Paul pointed upwards towards the left; and looking over my shoulder, I saw through an opening in the forest a platform raised between several palm-trees, with a number of natives on it, while others, with spears in their hands, were standing on the lower boughs engaged in spearing either fish or turtles. They were apparently so occupied, that we hoped they had not seen us.

Although we had already been swimming for some time, we could not venture to rest as we had intended doing; we therefore pushed on as rapidly as we could. In a short time Marian confessed that she could go no further. We had, fortunately, a small piece of rope, which the skipper had left us. It was uncoiled from the float which supported it, and one end fastened to Marian’s floats; Kallolo taking the other end, towed her forward, while Arthur and I swam by her side. We were thus able to proceed much faster than before.

At last we all got so tired, that even Arthur and I could not help crying out that we should like to rest; and as we had for some time lost sight of the Indians, there appeared to be no danger in our doing so. Reaching a widespreading bough, therefore, interlaced by a number of sepos not more than a foot from the water, those who were leading climbed on it, and assisted up Marian, Arthur and I following. Here we were all able to rest, sheltered from the rays of the sun, by this time striking down with great force, and concealed from anyone at a distance by the thick foliage which surrounded us.

Chapter Ten.

Make a Raft for Marian—Sambo’s Return—Savages—Capture of Maco—He escapes, and introduces his Brother—Kallolo’s Account of his Nation and People—A Night Alarm.

Whenever my thoughts carry me back to that wonderful swim, it appears to me like a dream, and I begin to doubt its reality; yet all the incidents are vividly impressed on my mind, and I recollect perfectly the scenery, the actors, and what was said. So I come to the conclusion that it must have been performed.

While we sat on the bough, we got out our provisions from one of the miniature rafts, and took our breakfast. The food restored our strength; but we required no liquid, for the moisture we had imbibed through our pores in swimming for so long prevented us feeling any sensation of thirst.

Judging from myself, I could not help fearing that Marian must be very tired. I asked her if she did not feel so.

“Yes, indeed; though I should like to go on, I am afraid I shall not be able to swim much further, and shall be the cause of stopping you all. My arms already ache; but still I will do my best, if it is necessary to swim on. Even should I lose my strength altogether, I can then lie on my back, and Kallolo can tow me.”

“We must not let you run the risk of becoming ill,” exclaimed Arthur. “We must build a raft large enough to carry you, and we can tow you while you lie upon it. It will be far better than allowing you to swim on.”

Marian thanked him, and confessed that she should infinitely prefer that mode of progression, though she enjoyed swimming for a short time. Arthur at once told Uncle Paul and our father, and they agreed that we should build a raft large enough for the purpose proposed. We wished to have it of sufficient size to carry our father also; but he would not hear of it, declaring that he enjoyed the swimming, and had no fear of his strength failing him.

We at once set to work; and as we had no axe, we were compelled to break off by main strength, having first deeply notched them with our knives, as many small palms of equal girth as we could collect. We then had to cut up a number into short lengths, to serve as crosspieces. Having collected our materials, we set to work to bind them together with thin sepos. The raft, though rather rough, was of sufficient strength for our purpose; and even had it come to pieces, Marian had lifebuoys with which to swim. We placed on it all our small bundles, which we had hitherto either towed or pushed before us; and again we asked our father if he would not allow us to build a smaller raft for himself.

“No,” he replied. “But I will accompany Marian, and it will afford me rest should I grow tired.”

While we had been employed in forming the raft, Kallolo and Maco had made an excursion into the forest to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the natives we had passed, and whether, from their appearance, they were likely to prove friendly or otherwise. This they could tell, they said, from their style of dress and their hair, from the marks on their bodies, and, above all, from their weapons. If they proved to be a friendly tribe, our friends intended to borrow a canoe, in which we might perform the remainder of our voyage in comparative comfort and safety. If the Indians were likely to be badly-disposed, they would steal away without communicating with them; and they assured us, from the precautions they would take, that there was no fear of our being discovered.

They had been gone for some time, and the raft was nearly ready, when, as we were looking up the stream, we caught sight of a person swimming down the centre, towards us. We watched him, wondering who he could be. As he drew near, we recognised the woolly head and black face of Sambo. He had not seen us, nor did he when he was close under the bough. The raft, however, which was floating beneath, seemed to astonish him. He swam up to examine it. A hearty laugh, in which Arthur and I indulged, at the look of astonishment in his countenance, was the first intimation he had of our being close to him.

“Oh, Massa Guy! where have you been all this time?” he exclaimed, as I lent him a hand to get up on the bough.

“Hid away among the branches of this tree,” I answered. “And pray, where have you come from?”

“Well, Massa Guy, I wait some time; at last I think that the young lady and you and your father get tired with the long swim, so I thought I might as well bring the raft down the channel as far as I could tow it; but it stuck in the roots of a big tree which stretched nearly across the water, and so, as I could not by myself get it past them, I jumped overboard, and swam along to tell you. If you all come along, some can rest on it, and others can swim alongside, and we then go much faster than we can by swimming.”

My father and Uncle Paul thanked Sambo for coming; and had the two Indians returned, would at once have set out with him. He, however, required some rest and food, and was not disposed, he confessed, to start immediately. Uncle Paul, on this, proposed that Marian should commence the voyage without delay, with our father and Arthur as her attendants. I should have liked to go; but Arthur was a better swimmer, and was stronger than I was, and would thus be more able to take care of her. Marian, who was ever willing to do what was thought best, now, with Uncle Paul’s assistance, took her seat on the raft; while my father and Arthur, descending from the bough into the water, placed themselves on either side of it, resting one hand on it, while with the other they struck out. Before they had gone far, they found the water far shallower than we had expected, and they were thus able to wade on, and make good progress.

I could not help wishing that I had gone with them, to share the difficulties and dangers they might meet.

In a short time they were hidden by the overhanging boughs and mass of creepers, which descended to the surface of the water. I expressed my fears to Sambo.

“Don’t trouble yourself about the matter, Massa Guy,” he answered. “They will get on very well, and there are plenty of places to rest on; besides, we shall soon overtake them, and before long get safe on board the raft.”

Still I felt anxious, and asked Sambo if he would consent to accompany me, when he had rested sufficiently, should Uncle Paul not object to our starting.

“With all my heart,” he answered; “but I hope before long that Kallolo and Maco will come back, and then we may all set off together.”

We waited and waited, however, and still neither of the Indians appeared. Uncle Paul was himself beginning to grow anxious about them, still he felt very unwilling to start until they returned. At length I asked him if he would allow me to go on with Sambo, telling him my anxiety about Marian, my father, and Arthur.

“It is very natural,” he observed. “At the same time, I believe that they are as safe as they would be if we were all with them. However, if you still wish to go, I will not object to your doing so; and Tim and I will follow with the two Indians as soon as they return.”

Thanking him for the permission he had given me, I got my floats ready, and asked Sambo if he was prepared to start.

“Yes,” he said, “all ready, Massa Guy;” and raising himself from his nest among the sepos, he lowered his floats into the water, and slipped down after them. Wishing my uncle and Tim goodbye, though, as I observed, it would only be for an hour or two, I followed Sambo’s example.

Just then Uncle Paul cried out to me,—“Stop! stop! I hear the Indians coming, and we will all go together.”

“We will go slowly ahead, then,” I answered, “and wait for you.”

Directly afterwards I heard Kallolo’s voice crying out,—“Go on!—go on! No time to wait! The savages are coming!” and looking back, I caught sight of him through the gloom, springing along over the fallen logs and roots by the side of the channel. The same instant, Uncle Paul and Tim slipped into the water, and placed themselves on their floats, ready to strike out.

“Where is Maco?” asked Uncle Paul.

“He coming, close behind,” answered Kallolo, who had thrown himself into the water. As he did so, Quacko, who had been forgotten, leaped off the branch and sprang on to his shoulder; while Ara, though her wings were clipped, managed to reach Tim’s head.

Shouting to Maco, who was, we believed, close behind, to follow, we struck out; but we had not gone many fathoms when we saw him, having passed the branch on which we had been seated, trying to make his way along a mass of logs and roots by the side of the channel, though greatly impeded in his progress. He would, we saw, have to take to the water without his floats, though, being a good swimmer, if the distance he had to go was not great that would be of little consequence to him. He was just about to spring into the channel, when a dozen dark-skinned savages, armed with clubs and spears, appeared, some bursting through the brushwood, others dropping down from the boughs above, through which they had apparently made their way. Several of them seized poor Maco before he could spring into the water; and I saw one of them lift a heavy club as if about to dash out his brains. It would have been hopeless to have attempted his rescue. Urged on by Kallolo, we rushed forward up the bed of the stream, where, fortunately, the water being shallow, we were able to wade at a pretty good rate. The Indians, catching sight of us, sprang into the stream, uttering loud shrieks and yells—in order, we supposed, to intimidate us.

On we went, now wading, now swimming where the water was too deep to allow us to wade, and continuing to make good progress. Looking back, we could still see the dark forms of the savages moving about. It was a question now whether they were about to follow us, as they had approached among the boughs along the channel; and if so, whether they could make more rapid progress than we could by keeping in the stream, and swimming, or wading whenever the depth of water would allow us to do so. Although we had lost sight of them, we were not free from anxiety, as they might possibly at any time again burst out upon us. All we could do, therefore, was to continue going ahead as fast as possible. How thankful we felt that Marian had been sent on before us; for had we been compelled to tow or push the raft, our progress must of necessity have been much slower. We, of course, kept anxiously looking out for her and our father and Arthur, expecting every moment to come upon them; but we had not calculated sufficiently the time we had remained on the branch after they had left it, and consequently the distance they had probably got ahead.

On and on we swam, or waded. The denseness of the vegetation on either side would have prevented us making our way along the bank, even had there been dry ground. We could only hope that this would effectually put a stop to the progress of our pursuers.

At last, so great and continuous had been our exertions, we all began to feel tired. I should have been more so, had not Tim and Kallolo helped me along. Thankful we felt, I repeat, that Marian and our father had not been compelled to make the violent efforts we were doing. Marian could not possibly have kept up, and we must all have been delayed on her account. We now stopped to listen; and hearing no sounds, agreed that we might venture to rest on the projecting trunk of a tree till our strength had been somewhat restored. Going on a little way further, we found one which would accommodate us all, and from which we could obtain a view both up and down the channel. We climbed on it; and for the first time I felt my limbs trembling all over,—the result of the efforts I had made. Uncle Paul observed me, and taking my hand, said, “I am afraid, Guy, that these exertions will be too much for you.”

“Oh no, Uncle Paul; I shall soon be better,” I answered. “I am more anxious about Marian and my father than about myself. If I knew that they were in safety, I could go through the same again without complaining.”

“As for them, I have no fear,” he observed. “They had so long a start, that by this time they must be close to the raft, if they are not safe on it; and, depend upon it, we shall reach them soon after daylight.” We sat for some time, when Uncle Paul suggested that we should take some refreshment before again starting; for, notwithstanding our hurry, we had kept our provision-raft and clothes attached to our floats; indeed, they were of too much value to admit of our abandoning them, unless in the last extremity. We got out some dried fish and fruit, of which we each of us partook, more from necessity than from feeling any inclination to eat.

We had just again done up the packages, and were preparing to start, when Kallolo exclaimed, “I hear some one coming!” We listened; and in a few seconds we could distinguish the sound of a rustling of boughs, as if a person were making his way through them.

“Stay a moment,” said Kallolo. “There are but two people; and if they were foes, they would not approach in that manner.—Who is there?” he asked, in his native tongue.

“Friends,” answered a voice.

“It is Maco!” he exclaimed, shouting a welcome to him; and in another minute Maco himself, working his way through some brushwood which had concealed him, climbed round the trunk of the tree, and joined us. He was closely followed by another native, whom he introduced to us. “He is more than a friend,” he said; “he is my own brother, who had been taken prisoner by our foes, the Guaranis. They had compelled him to accompany them on their expedition; but he managed to escape when they retired to hold a war-council after their attack on you. On returning to the spot, he found me unconscious from loss of blood; but after he had bathed and bound up my wounds, my senses returned, and with his assistance I set out to overtake you. Fortunately, he had discovered a much shorter cut through the forest than that made by the channel of the river, and we were thus able to come up with you, though we scarcely expected it.”

We were thankful that Maco had escaped, and glad to get the assistance of his brother Polo. Such, he told us, was his name. He was, for an Indian, a remarkably strong-built, powerful man, and would prove a useful addition to our party.

We had now to wait and afford Maco time to recover his strength. It seemed wonderful that, after the severe treatment he had received, he should have been able to move at all. Fortunately none of his bones had been broken, and the Indians care but little for bruises.

The Guaranis, to which the tribe who attacked us belonged, are the most widely scattered of any of the Indian nations in South America. They are to be found, Uncle Paul told me, as far south as the Rio de la Plata, and on the banks of most of the rivers between it and the Orinoco, where the white man is not yet settled. They exist, however, in greater numbers on the swampy country bordering the banks of the latter river. Their lands being completely inundated by the overflowing of the rivers for some months in each year, they construct their dwellings above the water, among the mauritia palms, whose crowns of fanlike leaves wave above their heads, and shield them from the rays of the burning sun. Not only does this palm afford them shelter, and material for constructing their habitations, but it gives them an abundance of food for the support of life. To the upright trunks of the trees, which they use as posts, they fix horizontally a number of palms, several feet above the highest level of the water. On this framework they lay the split trunks of several smaller palms for flooring. Above it a roof is formed, thatched with the leaves of the same tree. From the upper beams the hammocks are suspended; while, on the flooring, a hearth of clay is formed, on which fires are lighted for cooking their food. They are celebrated for their canoes, which enable them to procure food from the water, and give them the means of moving from place to place. The tribe with which we had fallen in had, however, left their canoes in some other stream, or we could not possibly have escaped them. They were also, it was evident, of a more warlike and quarrelsome disposition than most of their people, who are noted for their peaceable behaviour. They are, however, in other respects utterly savage in their habits and customs. So little do they care for clothing, that even the females wear only a small piece of the bark of a tree, or the net-like covering of the young leaf of the cocoanut or cabbage palm; while their appearance is squalid in the extreme. However, they cultivate cassava and other vegetables on the drier lands bordering the river. From cassava they make an intoxicating liquor, the cause of many savage murders among them. They depend greatly on the pith of the mauritia, as it serves them for bread. No tree, indeed, is more useful to them. Before unfolding its leaves, its blossoms contain a sago-like meal, which is made into a paste and dried in thin slices. The sap is converted into palm-wine. The narrow scaled fruit, which resembles reddish pine-cones, yields different articles of food, according to the period at which it is gathered whether the saccharine particles are fully matured, or whether it is still in a farinaceous condition.

Such was the account Uncle Paul gave me. Why these Guaranis had attacked us, it was hard to say, except that they had observed, when watching our movements, some persons of an enemy’s tribe in our company. Kallolo and Maco belonged, they told us, to the Acawoios, a tribe living towards the head waters of the Essequibo. They are superior in domestic virtues to any other tribe, though warlike, and ready to defend their country as bravely as any people. Their women are virtuous, good housewives, and attentive to their husbands and male relatives, both in sickness and old age; while the men, in return, pay them more respect than do any other savage people. The young mother is never allowed to work, or to prepare food for her husband, in order that she may attend to her child. They are cleanly, hospitable, and generous, and passionately fond of their children. They seldom talk above a whisper among themselves, or get drunk or quarrel; nay, more, an angry look is never discernible among them. They use tobacco, but do not chew or smoke it; simply keeping it between the lips, for appeasing hunger and keeping their teeth clean. Altogether, a more orderly and peaceably-disposed people can scarcely be found anywhere.

Such was the account which Kallolo gave of his nation. Allowances must, of course, be made; but still, from the specimens we saw, I am inclined to think that it was in the main correct.

Uncle Paul was unwilling to delay any longer, and asked Maco if he was ready to proceed. As Kallolo and Polo agreed to assist him, he replied that he would do his best to get along, though he still felt very weak. “We will wait a little longer, then,” said Uncle Paul; and we resumed our resting-place on the roots of the tree. Of such enormous size were they, that we could all find accommodation without any danger of slipping off. I got into a hollow of the roots, where I could rest with perfect ease with my legs stretched out; and Uncle Paul found a place of similar character close by me. He would, I believe, have given the final order to proceed much sooner, but, overcome with fatigue, he fell, as I did, fast asleep.

I was awakened by hearing Kallolo’s voice crying out, “They are coming!—they are coming! We must go on!” Opening my eyes, I saw that it was already daylight. Uncle Paul immediately started up. I was struck by his perfect presence of mind, though an instant before he had been fast asleep. He, as it were, in a moment gathered his wits about him, and inquired from what direction the savages were coming, and how far off they were.

Kallolo pointed to the east. “They cannot be here for three or four minutes, at least,” he answered.

“Then, my friends, we will continue our course. We shall soon be at a distance from them. They have shown that they have no inclination to follow us in the water.”

As Uncle Paul spoke, I looked around, and found that Tim and Sambo were not with us. They had gone to a little distance in the wood, to gather some fruit which they had seen hanging temptingly within their reach.

“I have called them, and they are coming back,” said Kallolo. “It will not be wise to wait for them.”

Uncle Paul agreed with him, and ordered him to lead the way. We lost no time in slipping into the water. Kallolo did as he was directed, and led the way; Uncle Paul followed; I went close astern of him; and the Indians came next. We had not gone far when, looking round, to my satisfaction I saw Tim leaping off the root into the water, with Sambo close to him. They both struck out with all their might, and were soon up to us. Several times I turned my head, fully expecting to see the savages. On we swam, however; and still they did not appear. It then occurred to me that they might be making their way, as they had before done, either among the branches of the trees, or low down, amid the underwood and over the fallen logs; and I could not help feeling that every instant they would appear close to us, and attempt to stop our progress. Had we possessed firearms, and the means of preserving them fit for service, we might easily have kept the savages at bay, or have driven them back; but now, notwithstanding all our boasted civilisation, we were completely on a level with them, and were utterly unable to defend ourselves should they choose to attack us. Uncle Paul possibly thought just as I did; but not wishing to increase our fear by showing any himself, he continued to cheer us up.

I felt greatly strengthened by our long rest, and much better able to proceed than I was at first; as, I believe, were the rest of the party. I heard Tim joking with Sambo. “Arrah now, sure, I am altogether turned into a big fish with this long swim, and it will be a hard matter to take to walking again on the dry earth!” he exclaimed. “How do you feel, Sambo?”

“I verry like a fish too, Massa Tim,” answered the black. “But still I hope to turn into man again.”

I felt much as Sambo said he did, and certainly should have been well content to find myself safe on shore, and in a comfortable abode—a luxury we were not likely to enjoy for many a day to come.

As on the previous day, with the bright sun shining down upon us, I felt my spirits rise, and the dangers I had so dreaded in the dark appeared of a less terrific character. After all, should the savages come up with us, as Maco and his brother had escaped from them, so might we. Perhaps, too, they might not be quite so savage as we had supposed, and might have been prompted by curiosity, rather than from any hostile feelings, to pursue us. Still, of course, it would be prudent to keep out of their way. Uncle Paul thought so too, and told me to pass the word to those astern, that we must be prepared to swim on till we could come up with Marian and my father and Arthur. On, therefore, we went. It was swim, swim, swim, hour after hour. Of course, had we not had the gourds to support us, it would have been impossible to continue on so long as we did. Resting on them, there was no great difficulty, as we could drive ourselves on with our feet, while we merely guided our course with our arms. Still, even though thus supported, and without any actual danger of sinking, we at length again grew weary; and, in addition, we began to feel the pangs of hunger.

Tim was the first to cry out. “Arrah, Master Guy! couldn’t you just speak to Mr Paul, and tell him we are starving? If it’s all the same to him, we will just put ashore on one of the big trunks and stow away a little food in our insides; for though it’s something like the life of fishes we are leading, we cannot eat, as they do, in the water.”

I told Uncle Paul what Tim said; and we accordingly once more climbed on to a convenient resting-place, where food was served out to all hands.

Chapter Eleven.

Where are Quacko and Ara?—The Swim continued—Escape from an Alligator—Marian and my Father—Reach a Lake—A Curious Sail—Fishing.

We had been resting for some time, and now felt able to keep on swimming for many miles without stopping. We were in tolerable spirits, having every reason to believe that we should see no more of the savages. We hoped, too, that the next would be our last stage, and that at the end of it we should find Marian, with my father and Arthur, safe on the raft. Uncle Paul then proposed to construct an additional raft to carry the whole party.

We had finished our meal, when Kallolo exclaimed, with an expression of grief on his countenance, “Oh! where is Quacko? Cruel, indeed, have I been to leave him behind; but my thoughts were so engaged with the dangers which threatened us, that for the moment I forgot all about him. I must go back and find the affectionate ape. Even though he may obtain subsistence in the forest, he will pine and die when he finds himself deserted by his friends.”

“Stay, stay, my friend,” said Uncle Paul. “Much as I esteem your regard for the poor ape, and his extraordinary attachment to you, I would not have you risk your safety by attempting to recover him. The lives of all the party are of far more importance than that of the ape; and for your own sake as well as ours I must prohibit your going.”

Kallolo looked very unhappy on hearing this. “I shall run little or no risk, Señor Paul,” he answered; “and, besides, Maco and Polo are as able to guide you as I am. I cannot bear the thought of losing my friend through my own negligence.”

Of course, it will be understood that I am merely translating what the Indian said, or rather giving the meaning of his words.

Still, Uncle Paul was firm. “I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to allow you to go; and I should be unable to forgive myself should any accident happen to you,” he answered.

I also felt very sorry that Quacko was lost; but the anxiety about our own safety accounted fully for our having forgotten him.

“Sure, now, I have been after forgetting Ara!” exclaimed Tim. “I left the poor bird on a branch fast asleep when those bastes of Indians sent us off into the water in such a hurry, and never a bit did I think of her till now. I am just as bad as you are, Kallolo; for, sure, hadn’t I charge of the bird, till she flew out of my thoughts altogether?”

“At all events, here she comes back to us again!” I exclaimed.

At that moment Ara was seen approaching with rapid flight; and in an instant afterwards she perched on Tim’s shoulder, and looking into his face, seemed, by the peculiar sounds she made, to be chiding him for his desertion. When he offered her some fruit, she declined to take it; evidently, however, not from anger, but because she had had an ample breakfast on something more to her taste which she had found on the way.

Only a few minutes had passed, when I saw Maco and Kallolo looking anxiously through the trees to the eastward, and talking together, having caught sight of some object moving through the forest. From the few words I overheard, they were expressing their fears that the savages had again found us out. Suddenly their countenances brightened; and immediately afterwards we observed Quacko swinging himself amid the pendent vines, and running along the branches, making his way rapidly towards us! He sprang into Kallolo’s arms, and began to chatter eagerly, as if he had had a great deal to communicate. Whether he was telling the native about the savages, or complaining that he had been deserted, and begging that it might not happen again, I could not ascertain, nor did Kallolo think fit to enlighten us; but he looked truly delighted at having got back his friend.

Uncle Paul now gave the signal to start. Maco and Sambo led the way, as they had only lately passed down the channel, and were better acquainted with it than Kallolo, who brought up the rear. As before, my sensations were those of a person swimming in a dream. I felt myself floating through the smooth, dark waters, and striking out with my arms and legs, and moving onwards. I saw my uncle ahead; and the green trees, with their vast stems and intricate tracery of sepos and vines, with numberless parasites hanging from them of every variety of fantastic form, on either side of me; and the bright blue sky overhead; and birds of gorgeous plumage, uttering strange notes, flying backwards and forwards. Here and there, tall trunks had fallen prostrate, or were inclining at various angles, and suspended by a network of sepos to the boughs of their neighbours,—some actually crossing the stream and forming bridges from side to side. Occasionally, troops of monkeys came gambolling along among the branches, peering down upon us with curious eyes, skipping and frolicking about, and chattering and screeching as if angrily demanding what business we had to intrude on their retreats. Now we passed among cylindrical trunks, rising like columns out of the deep water. Then there came a splash of fruit falling around us, announcing that birds were feeding overhead; and looking up, we discovered flocks of parakeets, or bright blue chatterers, or pompadours having delicate white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Again, with a whir a trogon on the wing would seize some fruit, or a clumsy toucan would make the branches shake as he alighted above our heads. We saw several species of trogons, and frequently caught sight of that curious black umbrella-bird which I have before described. Clumps of the light and exquisitely graceful assai palm shot up everywhere. Here and there the drooping bamboos dipped their feathery branches into the water, frequently covered to their very tops with purple convolvuli; yellow bignonias carried their golden clusters to the very summit of the more lofty trees; while white flowering myrtles and orange-coloured mallows bordered the channel. Crabs of every variety of colour and size sat on decaying logs watching for their prey. No sooner, however, did we attempt to seize them than they made off with nimble feet.

I saw all these sights and many more, and yet, as I have said, I gazed on them as in a dream, while with my companions I floated on and on through the silent water. When the sun’s rays struck down on the surface of the river, it appeared bright and clear, and our eyes could frequently penetrate to the very bottom even where it was too deep to allow us to wade; but in other places, where overhung by the thick foliage, or after the sun had sunk behind the tall trees, it was as black as ink; and I could not help feeling a sensation of dread lest some ravenous monster was lurking beneath, ready to seize us as we passed by. I refrained from expressing my fears, as they did not appear to be entertained by the rest of the party. Perhaps they too felt as I did, but thought it better to say nothing about the matter, as the journey had to be performed, and there was no other way of accomplishing it.

We began to feel anxious at not having come up with our friends ahead, and were eagerly looking out for them. Sambo assured us that we were not far from the spot where he had left the raft. As he and Tim swam faster than any of us—except Kallolo, who, carrying the monkey, was somewhat impeded in his progress—Uncle Paul directed them to push on ahead to tell our friends that we were coming. Maco and Polo would probably have been employed for the service; but the former, on account of his wounds, could only just manage to keep up with us; and the latter was required to remain, that he might render him assistance should it become necessary.

Evening was approaching, and I began to feel that I should be unable much longer to continue this sort of work, and wished more earnestly than ever that I were once more safe on the raft. I suspect that Uncle Paul felt much as I did, though with that courage which distinguished him he made no complaint, but continued striking out as if it were his usual mode of progression. Not unfrequently thoughts as to what might have been the fate of those I loved more than any others on earth would occur to me, especially when I felt exhausted by my exertions; but I endeavoured to banish them from my mind, and answered Uncle Paul’s inquiries with as hearty an “All right” as I could utter.

The day wore on. In some of the bends of the river dark shadows had already begun to fall on the water and to mount up the trunks of the trees. The channel, or igarape, as such passages are called in some parts of the country, became narrower than ever. No current was perceptible: the lilies and other beautiful water-plants, little bladderworts, and bright blue flowers with curious leaves and swollen stalks, floated unmoved on the surface, with occasionally large circular leaves and flowers of a gigantic size, which were new to all of us when we first entered this region.

Tim and Sambo had long ago got out of sight, and we hoped that ere this they had reached our friends. As we entered another bend of the channel, I caught sight of some figures in the far distance standing on one of those gigantic trunks I have so often mentioned. My first idea was that they were Indians, perhaps waiting to cut us off: and I asked Uncle Paul if he could see them.

“Yes, yes; I am thankful to say I do,” he answered. “They are your father and Arthur and dear Marian; but why they are not on the raft I cannot tell.”

The sight encouraged us, and, our strength restored, we struck out with renewed vigour. It was now literally a race among us all who should get there first. Uncle Paul beat me; and when I was still some distance off: I saw him scrambling up and shaking hands with all the party. Even Maco and Polo passed me, and I saw them make their way up the trunk of a tree which had fallen across the one on which the rest of the party were seated. As they reached the upper part, they eagerly looked up the channel. Anxious as I was to go ahead, I felt as if my arms and legs were so heavily weighted that I could only move them with a sensation I had sometimes experienced in my dreams when trying to overtake a person with whom I desired to communicate, or when pursued by some wild beast from which I was endeavouring to escape.

My father and Marian were standing up; Arthur was lying on the trunk of the tree; and Uncle Paul was sitting down with his feet just above the water. Suddenly he started up, and cried out, “Quick, quick, Guy; strike out for your life!” I did my best, for I knew he had good reason for bidding me haste. Just as I reached the bank, looking back for an instant, I saw a dark object rise to the surface, and presently a long pair of jaws, with formidable rows of teeth, opened slowly! I sprang up, knowing at once that it was an alligator, and though one of moderate size, large enough to have given an ugly bite, even if it could not snap off a limb or carry its victim down to the bottom. Uncle Paul stretched out his arms; and Arthur, who had not till then seen my danger, stooped down to assist me. I had scarcely time to receive my father’s and Marian’s embraces before I sank almost fainting by the side of Arthur on the trunk of the tree.

I saw, however, that they were still looking anxiously down the channel towards Kallolo, who had been some way behind me with Quacko on his back. They shouted to him, and pointed out the creature, whose wicked eye was turned towards the monkey; and he would very speedily have crunched him up in his jaws if he had not held tight hold of the Indian. Kallolo, nothing daunted, cast a glance at the amphibious animal, and instead of continuing his course, struck across the stream, drawing, as he did so, his long knife from his belt, ready to defend himself and his favourite should he be attacked. The shouts of my friends frightened the creature; which, instead of darting at Kallolo, as they expected it would, dived beneath the surface, probably to seek for shelter under the bank or to escape to a distance. Kallolo quickly gained a fallen stem, and made his way up to us.

“What has become of Tim and Sambo?” I asked faintly; for though too weak to stand, I had not lost consciousness.

“They have gone on ahead to the raft, which is only a little distance off,” answered Arthur; “and we are now looking out for their return. So fatigued were your father and I, that, when we reached this convenient resting-place, we determined to remain here till your arrival. We have, indeed, cause to be thankful that we did not attempt to go further, now that we have seen the creatures which inhabit this part of the channel. Had we known it before, the fact would have tended to unnerve us.”

“I am indeed thankful that I did not know it,” said Marian; “for I should have been miserable with the thought that at any moment my father or Arthur might have been attacked by one of the monsters.”

Kallolo took the matter very coolly. “If the cayman had come near me, he would have had to repent of his boldness,” he observed. “My knife was ready for him, and I should have stuck it into his throat before he could have touched me. I should not fear to encounter a much larger one, provided I knew that he was approaching. These creatures are dangerous only when people are unprepared to meet them.”

“But as I had no knife ready, and should not have known where or how to strike him, I am very thankful that I got out of the water in time to avoid his sharp teeth,” I observed.

Marian shuddered. “Yes, indeed, it was dreadful even for the few moments in which I thought there was danger,” she observed. “Oh, I am so thankful that when my father and Arthur were swimming by the side of my raft, they were not attacked by the monster.”

“We indeed ran a great risk,” observed my father. “Probably the creature was frightened by the splashing we made in the water, and by the appearance of the raft; or possibly it may not have been in the neighbourhood at the time.”

“I suspect that it was not far off,” observed Uncle Paul. “These creatures do not move much about; they frequent particular pools and parts of the river. However, its appearance must make us cautious how we venture into the water in future. We may be well-satisfied that our long swim is over.—Do you see anything of Sambo and Tim with the raft?” he shouted to the Indians, who were still looking out.

“Yes, yes; they have this moment come in sight, and are standing on the raft poling it along,—so it seems to me,” answered Maco, pointing along the igarape, down which a stream of light came from the setting sun, tingeing here and there the boughs on either side, and gilding the summits of the lofty trees. No scene of the same character could have surpassed it in beauty.

“It is indeed lovely,” exclaimed Marian. “Till we came here, perhaps the eyes of those capable of appreciating its beauties have never gazed on it. It seems strange that so many lovely spots, such as exist in these wilds, should be concealed from the eyes of civilised people.”

“Many things exist for which we cannot account,” observed Uncle Paul. “Birds of the most gorgeous plumage are found in parts of the globe inhabited only by the lowest savages. Nothing can surpass the magnificence of the icebergs clustered at the arctic and the antarctic poles, where the feet of human beings never tread. What curious coloured fish swim far down beneath the surface, where the eye of man cannot penetrate! Indeed, we may believe that civilised men are not the only beings capable of enjoying the beauties of creation; which all, however, tend, when brought to light, to exhibit the power and beneficence of the Creator.”

Arthur listened attentively to what Uncle Paul was saying. “Yes, indeed, I agree with you,” he observed. “There are numberless things which we see around us in nature, but cannot comprehend the reason of their existence, though we must acknowledge the wisdom of Him who made them all, and bow humbly to his will.”

Our attention was now turned towards the approaching raft. While it was coming, Uncle Paul inquired what provisions we had among us; and we found, on examination, that the stock was very limited, and that the fruit had come to an end. While there was still light, therefore, he sent the Indians to search for some more. We saw, not far off, several palms and other fruit-bearing trees with birds perched on them, showing that the fruit was ripe. Both Arthur and I were desirous to accompany them, but we felt much too weary to move.

“You must take care not to get into the midst of the macaws’ nests, else you may find yourselves attacked as we were,” observed Arthur. “I see a number of those birds congregated about a tree in the distance, and possibly they have their homes thereabout; at all events, they may not like to be disturbed in their feast, and will do battle with the intruders.”

“Never fear,” answered Uncle Paul; “the Indians know pretty well what they are about.”

We had not long to wait for Sambo and Tim, who managed to bring the raft close up to us. It was, however, so late in the day that Uncle Paul considered it best for us to remain where we were till the following morning, when he proposed that we should build another raft capable of carrying all the party who could not find room on the first. As we had no tools excepting our knives, the operation of cutting down the trees would not be an easy one; therefore Tim offered to commence at once, so that we might have some progress made before morning. Uncle Paul thanked him for his forethought. Sambo, aided by Kallolo, immediately set to work to break off by main force as many young palm-trees as they could meet with. Neither Arthur nor I felt that we had strength to assist them. Indeed, we could do nothing but lie stretched on the trunk of the tree; and had the Indians come in pursuit of us, I really believe that we should have been unable to make any efforts to escape. My father, also, was greatly exhausted; but Uncle Paul, though fatigued, was still able to exert himself, and to give any directions which were necessary.

At length the two Indians returned with an ample supply of fruit. We enjoyed our supper. It was the first we had taken together for several days. When it was over it was high time to secure sleeping-places before the shades of night should come down upon us. By arranging some sepos which hung down from the boughs above, we formed a secure place for Marian; and then we looked out for similar places for ourselves, where we might rest without the danger of falling off into the water: and I could not help reflecting that if we should meet with such an accident, the creature we had seen would take the opportunity of biting off a foot or an arm, or of dragging us off to his den to devour us at his leisure. I had read of people sleeping over volcanoes: our fate would have been quite as unpleasant, had we fallen into the water, as that of persons found napping at the moment a volcano commenced sending forth its streams of lava or showers of ashes.

Though we believed that we were already at a safe distance from the savages, Uncle Paul considered it prudent to set a watch, that we might have due notice of the approach of danger. Arthur and I begged that we might take our share of duty, with one of the men to assist us. Uncle Paul himself intended to keep the first watch, to give me time to obtain some rest. I did not sleep very soundly. Frequently I opened my eyes and saw the tall figure of Uncle Paul pacing up and down on the trunk of the tree, with a pole in his hand to balance himself, making only three or four paces between each turn, stopping every now and then to look up and down the channel, or to peer into the forest. While he was on the watch, I was sure that we should have timely warning of danger. At length his figure seemed to extend into gigantic proportions, and then grew more and more indistinct, till my eyes closed.

Arthur at last awoke me. He had had his watch, and it was now time for me to take mine; but he warned me to be careful not to slip off the trunk, as he had nearly done, he said. I got up and took the pole he gave me. At one end was a sharp point, which would serve to give an effectual thrust to any wild beast, or to a human savage who might attack us. There was not much probability of our being assailed either by a jaguar or a puma, as these creatures were not likely to make their way across the water intervening between us and the dry land; but we were not safe from the stealthy approach of an anaconda, though we had seen no signs of such a creature since we had left the broad river. I could not, however, get out of my head the recollection of the monster which had attacked us; and very often, as I looked up and down the channel, I fancied that I saw one of the creatures swimming towards us, with its head above the surface. Greatly to my relief, on each occasion the object I had caught sight of resolved itself into the partly submerged root or branch of a tree.

Very thankful I felt when at last the streaks of early dawn appeared in the eastern sky, and the noises of animated nature again burst on my ear. Parrots and macaws, and numberless other birds, began to utter their varied notes, and the sounds I have before described echoed through the forest. I called up my companions, and, without a moment’s delay, all hands set to work to put together the raft for which we had collected part of the materials the previous evening. More were required; and while the Indians and Tim went into the forest to cut or break down the palms, Uncle Paul, assisted by Sambo, bound them together. Arthur and I employed ourselves in dragging the logs up to them, and in cutting the lianas or sepos, which my father and Marian unwound and prepared for use as cordage. The task was a far more difficult one than it would have been had we possessed axes. Our knives served only to cut off the smaller boughs, and slightly to trim the logs or cut the lianas.

We worked away with so much energy, that by eight o’clock, as far as we could judge from the sun, we had put a raft together capable of carrying six persons. Pretty well tired by our exertions, and with good appetites, we sat down on the huge trunk to breakfast. The heat of the sun was already great; but, shaded by the overhanging branches, the spot we occupied felt delightfully cool, while the bunches of fruit the Indians had procured were most refreshing. At this meal we finished the last of the dried fish and meat we had brought with us, and we had henceforward to depend on the birds or animals we might trap or shoot in the forest, or the fish we might obtain from the water. We had, however, no fear of starving. Kallolo assured us that we should find turtle in abundance; and that, with the blowpipe he had undertaken to form, he should be able to kill as many birds and monkeys as we might require; while the produce of many varieties of palm-trees and the different fruits we were sure to discover would afford us an abundant supply of vegetable diet.

Our final task was to cut some long poles, and to split up into thin boards, by means of wedges, a portion of a branch which had been torn off by a storm. These boards were secured to the ends of short poles, and thus formed as many rough paddles as we could use.

All was now ready, and Uncle Paul gave the order to prepare for departure. The smaller raft was first drawn under the bough: Marian was placed on it as a passenger, Uncle Paul went as captain, Sambo as pilot, and Arthur and I as the crew. Our father consented to go on the newly-constructed raft, which was navigated by the three Indians and Tim. On board neither of them was there much room to spare; and considerable caution was necessary, when standing up, to avoid falling off into the water or upsetting it.

All of us having taken our places, Uncle Paul exclaimed, “Now, my friends, we must commence our voyage; and I pray that we may be protected from all the dangers we may have to encounter.”

The channel, however, was narrow, and we had considerable difficulty in making our way along it. Our raft, being the smallest, glided very easily between the overhanging branches and roots; but the people of the other, with the exception of my father, had several times to jump overboard to work it through the narrow places. Our progress was thus but slow. The scenery was very similar to that which we had already passed; indeed, sometimes I scarcely knew whereabouts we were, so much did one part resemble another.

We had been going on for some time under thick, overhanging boughs, when suddenly the bright shining waters of a lake opened out before us; and, greatly to our satisfaction, shortly afterwards we found ourselves free of the narrow igarape, or channel, through which we had been so long passing. The bright sunlight and the free air of the lake raised our spirits, and made us feel as if all our difficulties were over. Happily we did not then think of the many we had still to encounter. A slight breeze was blowing from the northward, and I suggested that we should try to rig a sail, with one of the poles as a mast and another as a yard. We had but scanty materials for forming it; but we all contributed our handkerchiefs, and Sambo offered his shirt! With some of the line we had prepared for fishing we stitched the whole together, and then secured it to the yard. A strong breeze would quickly have blown our sail into its original constituents of shirt and handkerchiefs; but the gentle air which favoured us served to send on the raft as fast as we could paddle it. The people on the other raft followed our example, and we saw two shirts stretched out, with a large handkerchief to form a topsail. Under this strange sail we glided smoothly over the calm surface of the lake.

We had carefully preserved our fishing-lines and hooks, and Uncle Paul now distributed them between the two rafts. We got out ours as we went along, the rate at which we were moving not preventing us from having hopes that we might catch some fish. We were not disappointed. Before long I got a bite. The fish pulled lustily, but as the tackle was strong, it could not break away; and after it had been pretty well drowned by being towed, Sambo assisted me to haul it in. When we had got the fish up to the raft, the black stooped down, and, at no little risk of toppling off into the water, lifted it on board. It must have weighed at least several pounds, and it resembled in shape the black fish of our northern regions. Kallolo afterwards told me that this fish is called the tambaki, and is one of the best in this part of the world. The only pity was that we could not cook it till we reached dry land. As, however, we hoped to do so before long, we again threw out our lines. In a few minutes we caught another fish of the same species, not quite so large. The Indians on the other raft had, in the meantime, caught three fish of similar size, but of a different species; and not being so particular as we were, they cut one of them up, and, after having hung the pieces in the sun for a short time, ate it for dinner. We, however, contented ourselves with the fruits and nuts which had been collected in the morning. After having rested for some time, we again took to our paddles, and, the breeze remaining fair, the rafts made good progress. We earnestly hoped that the wind would continue in the same quarter, as we might thus before nightfall reach the spot where Captain van Dunk and Peter had been left.

We now entered the igarape Sambo had described. As it was tolerably broad, and the wind still favoured us, we quickly got through it, and entered another lake somewhat similar to the one we had left. With much satisfaction we heard Sambo announce that in another half hour we should reach the end of our voyage. We paddled on even more eagerly than before, hoping soon to be shaking the honest skipper and his mate by the hand, and thinking how pleasant it would be to sleep comfortably in a hut, and to sup well-cooked provisions.

Chapter Twelve.

A Joyful Meeting—The New Settlement—A Miraculous Escape—Kallolo makes a Blowpipe and Woorali Poison—Progress of our Vessel—Meet with a Jaguar—Effect of Tim’s Politeness.

As we sailed along about a hundred yards off the mighty trees whose branches overhung the lake, we looked out eagerly for the settlement our two friends had, we hoped, formed on the shore. Water-lilies with enormous leaves floated on the surface, showing that the depth could not be great. On the lower branches of the trees, and here and there where points of land ran out into the lake, were numerous magnificent birds. Among them, the scarlet ibis and roseate spoonbill excelled all others in gorgeousness of colouring. The ibises were of the brightest scarlet, except that the tips of their wings were black; the spoonbills were equally beautiful, their general colour being a delicate rose-tint, with a rich lustrous carmine on their shoulders and breast-tufts; the formation of their bills was also very singular. We saw them fishing for shrimps and other small creatures along the edges of the water. The wood ibis is larger than either of the other two; its general plumage is white, the tips of the wings and the tail being of a purplish-black. I cannot, however, attempt to describe the various birds of which we caught sight as we glided along. We were satisfied, however, that the forest and the water would supply us with an abundance of food.

“We shall have, however, no little difficulty in replacing our clothing,” I observed; “though, as fortunately Marian’s box has been saved, she will be better off than any of us.”

“I don’t despair of being able to manufacture clothing sufficient for our wants,” said Uncle Paul,—“shoes, hats, and cloaks; but we must take to kilts when our trousers give way. We shall have, to be sure, somewhat the appearance of savages; but I hope that our manners will not become less civilised in consequence.”

“I can easily fancy how we can make dresses of leaves, or even of matting,” said Arthur; “but how do you propose to manufacture shoes, unless we capture some wild beasts and tan their skins?”

“I propose to make shoes of a vegetable substance,” answered Uncle Paul. “I have already seen some trees which produce it, and I have no doubt that we shall find others near our settlement. Every sailor knows how to make hats from grass or leaves; and the rest of our dresses must be made, as you suppose, of matting. Depend on it we shall have plenty of occupation when once we get on shore, in order to supply our necessities; and we may be thankful for it, as it will prevent us from dwelling unduly on our past misfortunes, or on the dangers and difficulties we may have yet to encounter.”

“I wish we were on shore, then,” I exclaimed; “for I cannot help thinking of the past, and on the dangers which may yet be in store for us.”

“Rouse up, Guy,” exclaimed Uncle Paul. “Your wish will soon be realised; for see yonder hut on the shore, and the captain and Peter standing ready to welcome us.”

We urged on our raft, and our friends beckoned to us to come to a part of the bank where we could most easily land. We made for it, and soon reached the shore. The captain and his mate Peter were standing ready to secure the raft.

“Welcome, friends, welcome to our new province of terra firma,” exclaimed the former in a hearty tone, as he grasped Uncle Paul’s hand. Then stooping down, he lifted Marian in his arms and placed her safely on the beach, exclaiming—“And you, my pretty maid, I am rejoiced to see you safe after all the perils you have gone through.”

“Indeed I am very thankful to have arrived here,” answered Marian; “for I feared that we should never see you again.” She had not before this said a word about the alarm she must have constantly felt during our passage up the igarape.

“You don’t look so much fatigued as I should have expected,” observed the captain; “and a few days on shore, with the good cheer we can offer you, will set you all to rights.”

He then shook hands with Arthur and me, and giving a friendly nod to Sambo, turned round to welcome my father, the larger raft having closely followed us to the beach. All the party having landed, the two rafts were secured to the trunks of some trees growing at the water’s edge. The worthy skipper now conducted us to two huts which he and Peter had erected. He exhibited them with no little satisfaction. One was small, but neatly built; the other was of considerable dimensions, and capable of containing several persons, somewhat thickly stowed.

“I thought of the little maid, and my first care was to build a house which she might have entirely to herself. In it she may rest as long in the morning as she likes without being disturbed by us when we go to our work,” he observed.

Marian thanked him warmly as he led her towards the little hut, in which he had formed a bed-place, and put up a table and a three-legged stool; which, though roughly made, showed his desire to attend to her comfort. The bed-place was covered thickly with dry grass. Poor Marian expressed her pleasure at the thought of being able to rest in quiet on it. The larger hut was destitute of furniture.

“We must be content, my friends, to sleep and take our meals on the ground till we can make some hammocks and form a table and benches,” said the captain. “Peter and I could do no more; we have worked hard to accomplish this much, I can assure you.”

“That you have indeed, Captain van Dunk,” observed Uncle Paul. “We are grateful to you for having laboured so hard for our benefit.”

“Peter and I knew that you would require a secure resting-place, where you might sleep in peace without the fear of being pounced upon by a jaguar or a puma,” answered the skipper. “It will afford accommodation to you four gentlemen and Peter and me, and the other men will soon run up a hut for themselves. They must not spend much time on it, for all hands will have enough to do in building the vessel and procuring food. We can obtain an ample supply, but we must not sit down and expect it to drop into our mouths.”

“You will find everyone ready to assist you in carrying out your plans, captain, for a more obedient set of men I have never met with,” said Uncle Paul.

“Yes, yes, I am sure of that,” said the captain. “Now, instead of losing more time in talking, let us go to supper. We have some parrots and macaws roasting, and a collection of ripe fruit for the little maid.”

“And we have brought some fine fish,” I said, “to add to the feast.”

“Then we will put them on the spit at once,” observed the captain; on which I ran down to the raft and returned with a big fish in each hand. Peter, who acted as cook, with Sambo’s assistance soon had the fish cleaned and spitted, when the latter took his seat by the fire to keep the various roasts turning.

Marian only partook of a little of the fish, and some cassava bread which the captain had prepared and baked for her beforehand. He then begged her to retire to her hut, and to take that rest she so much needed. Her trunk, which had come on in the raft, enabled her to obtain a change of clothing,—a luxury none of the rest of us could enjoy.

We all enjoyed the feast, however; for we were thoroughly tired, and expected to obtain a comfortable night’s rest after it. As soon as it was over, we thankfully entered our hut, where we found that the captain and Peter had thoughtfully collected a large supply of dry grass and leaves for our use. I can truly say that I have never since slept more soundly on feather-bed than I did during that first night in our new settlement, as the skipper called it. I dreamed not of Indians, nor of anacondas, nor of our long swim. Daylight was streaming in at the open door when I awoke. I found the rest of the party, with the exception of my father, on foot, and the captain giving directions to each one what to do. My father was going to get up.

“No, no, my friend,” said the skipper. “You are weary, and require a long rest; we must excuse you from working until you have sufficiently recovered to undertake it.”

“But I am ready to work,” I said, springing to my feet. “Tell me what to do and I will willingly perform it. If I had an axe I would quickly begin to cut down a tree.”

“Our first business will be to form tools to work with,” answered the captain. “We must search for big stones of a proper shape to serve as hammers; although they are not common down here, they may be found in the interior. We must then form wedges to split the trees, which Peter, who is our best axe-man, will cut down. You will then find ample employment in forming tree-nails with your knife. We must be content to proceed by slow degrees, and each man must take the task for which he is best fitted.”

I saw the wisdom of Captain van Dunk’s remarks, and felt more confident of success than I should have done had he undertaken to perform in a hurry the work he proposed. I begged that I might set out at once.

“I shall send out three parties for that object,” he said. “You with one of the Indians, your cousin with another, and Tim with the third.”

Having made a hurried meal of some of the provisions which remained from our supper of the previous night, we set out. Polo was my companion, Arthur took Maco, and Tim was accompanied by Kallolo. The Indians carried their bows and arrows, and we were each armed with long poles, which, being pointed at one end, would serve as spears as well as assist us in our progress. We had no fear of meeting with human foes, as the captain and Peter told us that they had seen no traces of inhabitants. After proceeding some way together we separated, Arthur and his attendant going towards some high ground which appeared beyond the forest-region in front of us, while I made my way up to reach a range of hills in front, Tim and Kallolo going in an opposite direction.

After proceeding some distance we found ourselves on the border of a rapid and shallow stream, and I hoped that we should discover in its bed some stones of the shape and size we required. We made our way along it, and in a short time came upon one which seemed just adapted for the purpose in view. This encouraged me to search for more. I was not disappointed in my hopes, and before long found three others; one with a hole through the centre, the rest being somewhat long, with flat ends, and a narrow part conveniently shaped for attaching a handle. I gave two to Polo, and carried two myself. Feeling sure that the captain would be well-pleased with our success, we commenced our return journey. Supposing that the stream would lead us in the proper direction, we followed down its banks. We continued till we found ourselves in a thick part of the forest, but the underwood was not sufficiently dense altogether to stop our progress. Sometimes we were at a little distance from the stream, and then again we made our way close along the edge. The water was clear and bright, and the sun shone directly down upon the channel, which had now assumed the character of an igarape, the trees by it adorned with numberless creepers and parasitical plants, covered with gaily-coloured flowers, which hung in fantastic wreaths from the boughs. I felt that a swim would be very enjoyable. Being somewhat warm, however, I rested on an overhanging bough before taking off my trousers to plunge in, while Polo stood near me.

“Well, I think I am cool enough now,” I observed to him, and was about to stand up before taking a plunge into the tempting water, when I saw the surface disturbed, and presently the huge head and formidable jaws of an enormous alligator rose above it, his wicked eyes turned towards me as if he longed to have me in his maw! I shuddered as I gazed at him, for in another minute I might have been within that fearful mouth, and carried down beneath the surface, as has been the fate of many people in this part of the country. I was thankful that I had seen the creature, for his appearance was a warning to us all not to venture into the water. Polo, stooping down, assisted me to get off the branch, for fear I should by any chance slip, and become, after all, a victim to the monster. I had never before seen so hideous a creature. Though we shouted, he seemed in no way intimidated, and still floated on the surface, as if meditating an attack. Polo earnestly advised that we should retire from the bank, as he said that he had known instances when alligators, hard pressed by hunger, had rushed on shore, and seizing persons, had carried them off without a possibility of being rescued by their friends. I shuddered again as I listened to his account, and thought of the fearful risk I had run. We sat watching the monster for some time at a safe distance, with our spears in our hands; but he showed no inclination to follow us, and at length, turning round, he went swimming down the stream till he was lost to sight.

We had some difficulty in making our way back through the forest, for the stream, we found, took a turn away from the settlement, and it led us further from it than we had supposed. The captain highly approved of the stones we had brought. Arthur and Tim had already arrived, each of them having found only one stone adapted to the purpose of hammers; but they were large and heavy, and were just what was wanted. They had, however, brought several large pieces of hard stone of flinty nature and wedge or axe-like form, which the captain pronounced to be of the greatest value.

“I thought so when I discovered them,” observed Arthur. “It seemed to me that by chipping or grinding them, sharp edges might be formed so as to serve either for wedges or perhaps even for axes.”

“They will form axes, though some labour will be required to sharpen them,” exclaimed the captain. “We could then easily fix them in handles; and they will be of the greatest use, if not for cutting down the trees, at all events for scoring the trunks for the wedges, and for smoothing the planks when split. You must search for some more of the same character; and if you find them, as I have no doubt you will, we shall all have tools, and be able to make rapid progress.”

The three Indians at once undertook not only to put handles to the hammers, but to sharpen the stones intended for axeheads.

“It will take some time,” observed Kallolo; “but in our country we do not think much of time, and patience overcomes all difficulties.”

“We must not, however, forget the necessity of finding provisions for our settlement,” observed Uncle Paul. “Kallolo has undertaken to supply us, if he can find time to form a blowpipe; it will be wise, I think, to allow him to do so before he attempts to execute any other work.”

The captain agreed to this, and begged that Kallolo would endeavour to find the materials for the instrument he proposed to make.

The Indian’s eye brightened. “Yes, yes, I will start to-morrow morning,” he said. “I will search also for the ingredients for the poison, without which the blowpipe would be of little use. In the meantime I will labour at the hammers and axes, which Maco and Polo may complete while I am employed at the zabatana.”

Marian, on seeing all the rest of the party busy, begged that she also might have something to do. “I will gladly act as cook for you, though, unfortunately, I am very little acquainted with the art; but with some hints from Sambo, I may in time become proficient.”

“I think we may find pleasanter employment than that for you, my little maid,” said the captain. “Some of us are in want of hats, and we shall require a large amount of matting to serve as bedding and clothing, and also to form sails for our vessel. I have thought that if you and your father, assisted by your brother Guy, would turn your attention to the matter, you would render great service to our little community.”

Marian said she should be delighted; and my father and I at once expressed our readiness to become plaiters and weavers, and to give our thoughts to the subject;—though, of course, we could not expect to accomplish much at first, as we had very little knowledge of the art we proposed to exercise. Kallolo, however, said that he would show us how matting was manufactured in his country. It could be made sufficiently fine for clothing, or thick and coarse for roofs of cabins on board river-boats, or very strong for sails.

Some feathery-leaved reeds grew on the shore of the lake not far off, and as we were eager to begin, Arthur and I cut a few, and bringing them back to Kallolo, begged him to show us how to plait. He at once undertook to do so, observing, however, that the reeds were not fit for any other purpose than to make coarse hats; and that they must be first dried, and then split, before they could be fit for use. “However, they will do to learn with, and you can at once make hats with your plaiting,” he added. Being anxious to learn, we kept hard at work, and before Marian repaired to her hut for the night we had made several yards of plaiting, and my father had designed a plan for manufacturing matting.

I cannot attempt to describe the labour of each day, or the progress we made in our work. Kallolo, who had started as he intended at daybreak, returned in the evening with the materials for his blowpipe, and the ingredients for manufacturing the woorali poison. He had brought several stems of small palms, from which he selected two of different sizes. Outside they appeared rough from the scars of the fallen leaves; but he said that the soft pith within them would soon rot if steeped in water, and being easily extracted would leave a smooth polished bore. The smaller one was very delicate, being scarcely thicker than a finger; the other was an inch and a half in diameter. He explained that the smaller one was to be pushed inside the larger—this was to be done that any curve in the one might counteract that in the other. Having allowed his stems to remain in water two or three days, he was able to remove the pith, which had thus become rotten. He then fastened a cup-shaped wooden mouthpiece to one end, and bound the whole spirally with the long flat strips of the black bark of the climbing palm-tree. Among other materials, he had brought a quantity of wax of a dark hue, with which he smeared the whole of the outside. The tube he had thus formed tapered towards the muzzle, the mouthpiece being fitted to the upper end. Both ends were tightly bound round with a cord of silk grass; the butt being further secured by a nut cut horizontally through the middle, with a hole in the end forming a ring, which, should it strike the ground, would prevent it from splitting. About two feet from the mouth-end he fastened a couple of the teeth of the agouti to serve as sights.

Kallolo having finished his blowpipe hung it up carefully by one end, as should it become in the slightest degree bent, it would be, he explained, completely spoiled. He then commenced manufacturing arrows. They were made out of the leaf of a species of palm-tree, hard, brittle, and pointed as sharp as needles. Having burned the butt end, he fastened round it some wild cotton of just sufficient thickness to fit the hole of the tube. As soon as he had formed an arrow he put it into the blowpipe, and aimed at an unfortunate parrot perched on a tree fifty yards off. The parrot, uttering a cry, flew away, and the arrow fell to the ground; but as no poison had as yet been used, the bird was little the worse for its wound. The case would have been very different had the arrow been dipped in the poison: the bird would have died in thirty or forty seconds, Kallolo told me. He was well-satisfied with his performance, and pronounced his blowpipe a certain killer.

He had now to manufacture the poison. He had already procured all the ingredients, and three large bowls; but he confessed to the captain that all his efforts would be in vain unless he could obtain a vessel in which to boil it, as the wooden bowls would certainly not answer the purpose. His object was to obtain the loan of the saucepan!

“Why, we shall all be poisoned if you use it,” said the captain, starting back with dismay; “you had better go without your blowpipe than allow that to happen.”

Kallolo assured him that the vessel would not in any way be injured; and that should the white people even swallow a small portion of the poison, they would not suffer.

“Ah, my friend, but I would rather not risk it,” observed the captain. “However, if you can undertake to clean the pot thoroughly after you have used it, I will not hinder you, as I am well aware that you could procure more food with your blowpipe than all of us together, with our bows and arrows and fishing-lines.”

Having obtained the loan of the pot, Kallolo immediately commenced operations. He had, I should have said, formed a small hut at a little distance from the camp, in which to concoct the mixture. He had placed there the various ingredients he had collected. The first was composed of several bunches of the woorali vine; another was a root with a sharp, bitter taste. Besides these there were two bulbous plants, which contained a green and glutinous juice. He had also collected two species of ants: one large and black, with a sharp, venomous sting; the other a little red ant, which stings like the nettle. Having scraped the woorali vine and bitter root into thin shavings, he put them into a sieve made of leaves, which he held over a bowl, and poured water on them: a thick liquor came through, having the appearance of coffee. He then produced the bulbous plants, and squeezed a portion of the juice into the pot, adding the dried ants, as well as the pounded fangs of two venomous snakes. Clearing everything away, he made a fire in the centre of the hut, and pouring the mixture into the saucepan, he boiled it slowly for some hours. The scum was then taken off, when the liquid had become reduced to thick syrup of a deep brown colour. He now told me that it was fit for use; and his darts being ready, he dipped them into it, as he did also several large arrows, and the points of some of our spears. The remainder he poured off into some small gourds, which he covered carefully over with leaves, and hung up in the hut.

“Now!” he said, “we are prepared for any enemies who may come near us; and we may be sure that we shall be able to procure as much game as we can desire.”

The last thing to be done was to cleanse the saucepan. He first boiled water in it several times, throwing each quantity away; he then scraped it with his knife all over, and rubbed it again and again with leaves, till, pronouncing it to be perfectly free from the slightest particle of poison, he took it to the skipper, who examined it with a suspicious eye. I told him all that I had seen done, and at last he seemed satisfied that no one would be the worse for food cooked in it.

By this time a number of hammers had been formed, and no less than four axes. Maco and Polo, working under water, had sharpened them by means of some other hard stone which they found in the stream. For this purpose each of them dug a hole on the shore of the lake, into which they let the water, and seated over it performed the whole operation under the surface. I reminded them of the huge alligator I had seen.

“No fear, Massa Guy,” answered Maco; “while we make noise like this, the caymans take care not to come near us.”

“I hope that you will not be mistaken,” I answered, advising them to place a number of small poles in the mud in front of them, which might prevent even a hungry cayman from landing, as he would probably be suspicious.

A most important event now took place. It was laying the keel of our proposed vessel, which had been prepared with infinite labour, chiefly by a single axe. When we considered that we had to cut out the ribs with such tools, and then to shape and nail on the planks, we might well have despaired of accomplishing the work.

“Have we not an auger, and a saw, and an axe? why then should we despair?” exclaimed the skipper over and over again. “Though we have no nails, we can make wooden ones; and though we have no iron, we will compel wood and fibre to take its place. We shall build a vessel, never fear.”

Having no paper for the plan, the captain had smoothed a piece of ground, on which he had drawn it out with great accuracy, so that the opposite timbers should be of the same shape, and agree with each other, expanding less and less towards the bow and stern, that when the planks were laid on they should remain even and be firmly fixed. Uncle Paul approved of Captain van Dunk’s plan, and ably seconded him in every part of the work.

All day long hewing and chipping went on. Each crooked piece of timber, as it was cut off, was brought to the plan to ascertain for which of the ribs it was most fitted. Tim proved himself one of the best workmen of the party. I suspect that had all possessed regular tools others might have excelled him, but his talent consisted in employing our very imperfect instruments, and in devising new methods of getting through the work. He was especially an adept at splitting trees. No sooner was one felled than he would set to work to scrape off the bark at the upper part, and to run deep and straight lines down it; he then fixed the wedges in a long row, and went from one to another, driving them in as if playing on a musical instrument. When they were all firmly fixed, he would call the rest of the party with their hammers, and at a signal make them all strike at once, seldom failing to separate an even plank.

We had not hitherto been troubled by wild beasts, nor had even any serpents shown their ugly heads. I had one morning accompanied Tim into the forest, intending to look out for trees to fell, Tim carrying his axe to mark them. I had thoughtlessly left my bow and arrows behind, and had only a long pointed stick in my hand. We had reached a somewhat open space, and having passed across it, had arrived at a narrow glade,—probably the result of a hurricane. Just at the edge of it Tim had discovered one of the trees of which he was in search. We were going up to it when, not twenty yards off, a huge jaguar stalked out of the forest, and stood looking at us, apparently meditating a spring in our direction!

“Do not run, as you value your life, Mr Guy,” exclaimed Tim. “Stand still, and I will tackle the gentleman.”

I did as he advised, merely holding my pointed stick before me; though I knew that had the jaguar attacked us it would have been of little more use than a toothpick. Tim, however, ran boldly forward, and, to my surprise, doffing his hat, exclaimed—

“The top of the morning to ye, Mr Jaguar. You will please to say what you want, or take yourself out of this; for it’s your room rather than your company we would be after wishing for.” The jaguar, astonished at the coolness of the man, though he could not understand what was said, turned slowly round and went off, trailing his tail after him as if he felt himself conquered. On seeing this, Tim set up a wild shout, which sounded to my ears like “Wallop—ahoo—aboo—Erin-go-bragh!” in which I very heartily joined him, feeling no small satisfaction at the peaceable termination of this our first interview with one of the very few wild beasts we had to dread in the forests of the Orinoco.

The puma, or American lion, though not in reality quite so formidable as a jaguar, is not a creature which an unarmed man would wish to meet when alone; though, except when very hard pressed by hunger, or when it can attack a person unprepared, it seldom destroys human beings. The savage jaguar, on the contrary, will follow with stealthy feet the trail of the Indian, and suddenly seizing him, deprive him of life. Though generally not much larger than a wolf, it occasionally reaches the size of the Indian tiger, and is often called the tiger or panther of the New World. It greatly resembles the leopard, especially in its forest habits, as by means of its powerful claws it can with ease spring up the trunk of a tree, and make its way along a branch, ready to pounce down upon a foe. It is truly the lord of the South American forests, as it often attacks the thick-skinned tapir, and even the largest alligator. In spite of the enormous jaws of the latter, the jaguar will leap towards the tail of the creature, tear open its side, and devour it even before life is extinct. Only two animals do not fear the jaguar; one is the great ant-eater, which is defended from the monster’s attacks by its thick shaggy coat; the other is the little peccary. The latter, however, when caught singly is quickly despatched. When collected in a herd the case is very different. They then so fearlessly assail the jaguar with their sharp tusks, that though it may kill a few of them, it is usually pierced to death, or compelled to take to flight. We had good reason, therefore, to be thankful that the jaguar had not found us busy at work with our backs turned towards him; in which case he would probably have killed one or both of us. He must already, as Tim observed, have had his dinner, else he would not so readily have taken his departure. We found, indeed, not far off, the remains of a deer on which he had been feeding, several armadillos and a king-vulture being engaged in finishing what he had left of the feast.

While Tim was at work, I kept watch in case another jaguar or any other foe should approach. I regretted not having brought my bow and arrows, and determined never to leave home again without them.

The tree was soon cut down, for we were obliged to choose those of small size, which could be easily chopped through and split. As soon as it was down, Tim smoothed off the upper surface, and then drew lines along it to mark the divisions of the planks, scoring them deeply with his axe, ready for the wedges. Sometimes a tree split from one end to the other, and we quickly had a number of boards formed; which, however, required seasoning before they could be used. This operation took place more rapidly than in our northern climes; for by placing them in the shade, though exposed to the air, they quickly dried.

Having cut a tree into planks, we each of us carried home a couple of them. I gave a description of Tim’s encounter with the jaguar. Of course our friends congratulated us on our escape; and, taking warning, they determined to be on the lookout lest the creature should think fit to pay the settlement a visit.

Chapter Thirteen.

Marian’s Fearful Danger—Tim’s Wonderful Ride on an Alligator’s Back—Marian and I rescued—Death of the Alligator.

Our manufactures of various sorts went on with unabated vigour. We had already gained considerable skill in mat-making, and had tried various substances,—some produced from different species of palms, and others from grass and sedges growing on the banks of the neighbouring stream or lake. We had also made a quantity of string, or what sailors call sennit, which, twisted together, would serve as cordage for the vessel. One of our great wants had been hammocks in which to sleep, they being far cooler and more healthy than standing bed-places. There was an objection, also, to sleeping on the ground: for we were liable to be stung by insects; and indeed venomous snakes might enter and remain undiscovered, coiled in the heaps of grass and dry leaves which formed our mattresses.

After we had made a quantity of sennit, Peter cut out some netting needles and pins, and set to work to net a hammock for himself. Others followed his example, and soon each of us had a hammock slung in the hut; which being stowed away in the daytime, gave us far more room than we had before enjoyed. Arthur and I made a sort of cot for Marian, in which she was able to sleep with more comfort than in the confined bunk the kind captain had at first made for her.

Uncle Paul had not forgotten his intention of trying to supply us with garments; but as we had so many things to attend to, he had not as yet begun to make them. We had all, however, been supplied with straw-hats; which, working as we were in the sun, were absolute necessities. The Indians had also to make frequent excursions in search of game and fruit to supply the community with food, so that we were never without an abundance of what we considered the necessaries of life. Kallolo had also manufactured some palm-wine and several refreshing beverages from fruit, chiefly of palms. Occasionally, too, Uncle Paul with a companion launched out into the lake on the smaller raft with hooks and lines, and invariably returned with a good supply of fish.

One day when he and Arthur had gone out for that purpose, Marian asked me to accompany her in search of a peculiarly elastic grass called the “capim grass,” and two or three other sorts which grew on the banks of the stream. Tim and Sambo followed, to assist us in bringing back what we might collect; and Kallolo and Maco, wishing to shoot some birds, came with their blowpipes and bows and arrows.

We had got nearly to the mouth of the stream, where there was some open ground, the trees not growing so closely down to the edge of the water as in other places. Tim and Sambo were together. I had gone a little way on, when Marian saw some of the grass of which she was in search. The Indians, who had just shot a toucan, were a little way behind me, waiting for the bird to drop. The waters having by this time considerably subsided, the stream was running much more rapidly than at first. I stopped to watch a log which was floating down, and I thought how convenient it would be to get hold of it and tow it on shore, as it would save us several hours’ labour should it be fit for our shipbuilding purposes. Just then I caught sight of Uncle Paul and Arthur on the raft, they having come to the mouth of the stream; but of course they could not ascend it. I shouted to them, and pointed out the log.

At that moment I heard a piercing cry, and to my dismay I saw that Marian had fallen into the stream from a projecting point on which she had been standing, and that she was being rapidly hurried down by the current. What also was my unspeakable horror, when, almost at the same moment I caught sight of a huge alligator, which, with open jaws, rose to the surface, and was making directly for her! I shrieked out to Kallolo, who had at the same instant caught sight of the creature. Quick as lightning he fixed an arrow to his bow, which he sent with unerring aim into the monster’s eye. It had the effect he hoped for,—it made the alligator turn aside; and apparently blinded, and unable to see where it was going, it darted up close to the bank. Tim and Sambo, seeing it coming, had sprung on to a tree which overhung the stream. Then Tim, instigated by an impulse for which he himself probably could not have accounted, leaped directly down on the creature’s back, and digging the fingers of his left hand into its remaining eye, began so furiously to belabour it with a thick club he held in his right hand, that the astonished saurian dashed off through the water, madly lashing it into masses of foam with its huge tail. Under other circumstances I should have trembled for the gallant Tim’s safety, but for the moment I could think of nothing but the fearful danger to which my dear young sister was exposed. I am very sure that it was the idea that he might help to save Marian which prompted him to the performance of the unexampled act of heroism. It may, however, be considered an Irish way of proceeding, as he would certainly have rendered her more service by swimming out and supporting her. As soon as I had recovered from my terror, which for the moment almost deprived me of reason, I leaped into the current and swam towards her.

Though at first almost paralysed with fear, she had recovered her presence of mind, and had begun to strike out, so as to support herself above water. I swam with all my might to overtake her, dreading every moment lest another alligator should appear and seize one or both of us. The shouts and cries of the men, however, and the furious disturbance of the water caused by the monster Tim bestrode, effectually prevented any other from venturing out of its hiding-place, and therefore I believe Tim rendered us effectual aid.

Now up the stream, now across from one side to the other, the alligator and his rider dashed at a tremendous speed. The creature would have dived had not Tim, exerting all his strength, held back its head, thus keeping its jaws open, and preventing it from plunging. All this time Tim had been shouting to Sambo to come and join him on the creature’s back, and to the Indians to shoot at it again; but Sambo, though a brave fellow, not having been accustomed to steeplechasing in his youth, had no fancy for such a ride; and the Indians well knew that their arrows would glance harmlessly off the scaly back of the saurian, or that they were more likely rather to wound brave Tim himself. Still Tim held on in a way a practised fox-hunter could alone have done, hitting now on the monster’s jaws, now behind him, and now on its side. It was a question who would first get tired, the Irishman or the alligator.

Meantime I had got close to Marian, and knowing the importance of keeping up as much noise as possible, I shouted and shrieked, telling her to do the same, while Uncle Paul and Arthur were making the most strenuous efforts with their paddles to reach us. It was important, indeed, that they should do so, for Marian’s strength, overcome by her terror, was rapidly failing her. I did my utmost to keep her head above water; for I am very sure had she been alone she must have sunk. The Indians, seeing Uncle Paul and Arthur coming to our assistance, and knowing that I was a good swimmer, hastened up the bank with Sambo to aid Tim: for they saw that should the alligator hold out much longer, he would be compelled to let go its head; in which case it would have immediately dived to the bottom, and very probably have given him a fatal blow with its tail, or dragged him down along with it.

As I looked at Marian’s countenance, I saw that it was becoming very pale. Her terror and the efforts she had made had completely overcome her. She fainted away. Still I kept her up, striking the water with my feet; for I could do no more. The current bore us rapidly down, and as I looked at the raft I feared that we should be swept past it. I knew that there was no use calling out to my friends, for they were already doing their very utmost. Those were indeed awful moments. The shouts and shrieks of Tim and the Indians sounding in my ears, I knew that they could not be far off. I could even hear the noise made by the alligator as it furiously lashed the water with its tail; and I expected every moment that it would rush down toward us, and perhaps strike us in its mad course, or dash against the raft and upset it. I dared not look around, but kept my eye on the raft, and with my right hand, (for the left arm sustained Marian), I endeavoured to direct my course towards it. My great dread was that the shock she had received would prove too much for her, and that she would succumb to it. Every moment she pressed more heavily on my arm. My own strength, too, I felt, was failing me. Still I was encouraged by seeing Uncle Paul and Arthur coming nearer and nearer; but even close though they were, there was still a possibility that Marian would slip from my grasp. My anxiety became almost greater than I could bear: a dimness came over my eyes—I was sinking. Then I felt that Marian was no longer on my arm. The next moment my hand was on the side of the raft, and I was safe in Uncle Paul’s strong grasp. He was kneeling with Marian in his arms. I pressed my lips to hers to recall her to life. She opened her eyes,—my heart bounded with joy. She was still deadly pale, but she gently smiled, saying faintly, “I shall soon be well, Guy.”

“Yes, yes; our little maiden is safe, and will quickly be all right!” exclaimed Uncle Paul, though the tremor in his voice showed that he had not even yet recovered from the fearful agitation he had experienced at seeing our danger.

From the time we had got on board the raft, Arthur had been paddling with might and main to regain the shore, where it now floated calmly out of the strength of the current. Having somewhat recovered, I was able to watch Tim and his strange steed. Whenever the alligator showed an inclination to go either up the stream or down to the lake, Tim turned it with a fierce blow of his shillelagh; and thus kept it moving backwards and forwards between the two banks.

The Indians and Sambo had now got directly opposite the spot it generally reached in its rapid circuit, Kallolo carefully watching the movements of the monster while his companions were hastily cutting some long and tough trailing vines hanging from a neighbouring tree.

“Bear a hand! bear a hand, or sure I will be after riding to ‘Davy Jones’s locker’ sooner than will be altogether pleasant!” shouted Tim, gasping for breath.

“Keep up its head! keep up its head!” cried the Indians in return,—a piece of advice Tim fully intended to follow as long as he had the power.

At length the alligator came directly towards Kallolo, who at that moment drawing his bow sent a poisoned arrow directly down its throat. The alligator, feeling the pain, turned round, and again dashed across the stream; but once more Tim managed to turn it with his well-dealt blows, and again it dashed back to the bank, close to where Kallolo stood. Throwing down his bow and quiver, the Indian, apparently doubting whether the poison would produce its usual effects on the monster, sprang forward into the water and drove his knife directly into its breast. As he did so it gave another fierce lash with its tail, but it was the last. The Indian drew out his knife, ready to repeat the blow, but there was no necessity for him to strike; the alligator rolled over from side to side, its head dropping in spite of Tim’s efforts to keep it up.

“Jump off, or it will carry you to the bottom!” cried Kallolo; who then, turning round, shouted to his companions to bring the rope. They came hurrying to the spot with a ready-made noose, which they dexterously slipped over the monster’s head, Tim at the same moment, springing on its back, leaped from thence to the shore.

“I have mounted many a skittish horse when I was a spalpeen of a lad, but never in all my born days have I ridden so ill-mannered a baste; and sure I hope as long as I live that I may not have to break in such another as this one,” exclaimed the Irishman.

The Indians, while Tim was speaking, were getting ready their ropes, which they managed to slip round the monster’s forelegs; then, all hands hauling away, they dragged it by slow degrees up the bank. As its struggles were not over, the task was not so easy as it would have been had it been unable to offer any resistance. Its jaws continued to open, showing its captors that it would be wise to keep at a respectable distance. Kallolo, however, who did not fear to face it in the water, did not hesitate to rush in and give it several additional stabs.

Tim’s mind had been so entirely occupied with the strange situation in which he found himself, that he had almost forgotten the cause which first prompted him to leap on the monster’s back. As soon, however, as he was again on his feet, he recollected all about the matter, and seeing Marian and me on the raft, with wild shouts he came rushing towards us, exhibiting, by the most vehement gestures and extraordinary antics, his delight at our safety.

“Sure and she’s safe, the darling Miss Marian!” he cried out as he sprang on board the raft; “and the brute of an alligator has not eaten her, as I was fearing he would have been after doing. It’s a mighty fine counthry this, but it would be all the better if it was as free of them creatures as Ould Ireland is of snakes and sarpents,—blessings on the head of Saint Patrick who drove them all out.”

After he had calmed down a little, Uncle Paul directed him to take one of the paddles and to assist in navigating the raft home, while he himself attended to Marian. He was anxious to get her safely on shore, and placed in her cot, where she might enjoy that rest she so much required. He and I sat by her side chafing her feet and hands. We wished that we had had some of the skipper’s schiedam to give to her; but Uncle Paul had brought none with him, and we could think of no other remedies than those we were already applying. The sun striking down on us with its usual force, she did not feel any bad effects from being wet. The colour gradually returned to her cheeks, and we trusted that she would not suffer materially from the accident. Arthur and Tim exerted themselves to the utmost to urge on the raft. We had no difficulty in getting out of the river, as the current carried us rapidly down to its mouth. We then made good progress along the shore.

Uncle Paul felt even more anxious about Marian than I did. I had never seen him so affected. As she lay in his arms, he bent over her, uttering endearing expressions. “Cheer up, my little maiden,” he said; “we shall soon be at home, and you will be all put right. We must not let you run such a risk again. These wilds are not suited for young girls to wander through alone, and you must remain in the encampment till we get our new craft ready for sea.”

“I am not much frightened, and shall soon be quite myself again, I assure you,” said Marian faintly. “Still I cannot help thinking about that dreadful alligator. It won’t come after us, will it?”

“The young mistress need not be afraid of that, unless the baste has more lives than a Kilkenny cat,” observed Tim, who had overheard her. “It’s my belief that I’d have ridden the brute to death, even if Kallolo hadn’t sent an arrow down its throat and stuck his long knife half a dozen times in it. The alligator is hauled up high and dry on shore, and the creature’s ugly head is off its body by this time; so you may be pretty sure that it’ll not be after troubling you again.”

Tim’s account had at all events the effect of banishing from Marian’s mind the idea that the alligator would follow us; and Uncle Paul and I did our best to keep up her spirits too, and prevent her thoughts from recurring to the fearful danger she had gone through.

The time occupied in reaching our camp seemed very long; but Marian was conveyed much more easily on the raft than she would have been through the tangled forest. Our father saw us coming, and hurrying down to the beach, assisted us in carrying up Marian to her hut. When he heard what had occurred, he was greatly agitated, and blamed himself for having allowed her to go on such an expedition. He agreed with Uncle Paul that she must not in future be permitted to leave the village without an escort, which must never for a moment quit her side.

The captain, who had been working at the vessel, hearing of the accident, came hurrying to the hut with a bottle of schiedam under his arm. “My little maid! what should we have done had she been seized by the alligator? We should have lost all heart for work, and left our bones to whiten on the beach!” he exclaimed in an agitated voice, which showed how much he felt. “She must take some of this: it’s the great remedy for all diseases; and I have kept it on purpose, resisting the temptation, when I felt inclined to take a drop to comfort my heart as I thought of my home, and my dear frau, and the months and months that must pass before I can see her again.”

Uncle Paul gave Marian a small glassful of the schiedam, which undoubtedly had the good effect of sending her off into a sound sleep.

In a short time the Indians arrived with the head of the alligator, which they and Sambo proposed to preserve, in order, the latter said, to make a figurehead for the new vessel!

“We will think about it,” answered Uncle Paul. “I doubt whether it would bring pleasant recollections to the mind of our little maiden. At any rate, we will carry it with us on board, and perhaps in after years she may be less unwilling to look at it than at present, when she may exhibit it to another generation as she describes our adventures in the wilds of the Orinoco.”

Chapter Fourteen.

Capture of a Young Macaw—The Pottery Manufactory and other Employments—The Indiarubber or Seringa Tree—How Uncle Paul made our Shoes—The Iguana—Capture a Curassow and a Tapir—Marian’s Encounter with the Labarri Snake—A Laughable Scene.

Quacko and Ara, though the only idle members on our estate, were, contrary to the usual rule, perfectly happy, and certainly afforded us all constant amusement. Tim observed that they were growing conceited, and thought too much of themselves. He proposed, therefore, to try to catch a few more pets, in order to teach them to behave properly, and to show them that they were not of so much importance as they were inclined to suppose. Tim, whenever he could get away from work, was fond of making exploring expeditions on either side of the settlement. He had discovered, not far off, the roosting-place of a flock of macaws, and had determined to capture one. I reminded him of the way Arthur and I had been attacked when we had attempted to rob their nests on Grove Island.

“To be sure, Master Guy; but it will be a very different matter here,” he answered. “We shall be on firm ground, and able to use our legs if they attack us; for, as you see, they are all perched up on the trees, and will not be inclined to come off for the sake of looking after a friend or two who may tumble to the ground.”

Tim had told Kallolo of his intention, and we all set off together, Kallolo with his blowpipe, Tim and I with our bows and arrows. Tim, in addition, carried a long mat fastened at one end, a string being drawn through the other. Kallolo told us, as he went along, that had he possessed some salt he should have had no difficulty in catching as many macaws alive as we might wish for; but as yet we had not discovered that necessary of life.

We soon reached the birds’ roosting-place; but no sooner did they see us than, contrary to Tim’s expectations, they all arose and began circling round our heads, screaming vociferously. Kallolo, looking on calmly, did not shoot. Tim and I let fly a couple of arrows, but both missed. At last the birds began to settle down, and I again shot an arrow, when down tumbled a young macaw. The missile had passed through its wing. Away it scuttled, uttering loud shrieks from pain and terror. Tim and I made chase, he holding the mat with the joined part in front ready to throw over the bird. We quickly overtook it, when, finding that it could not escape, it turned round and did battle bravely for its liberty, attempting to bite our legs with its sharp beak; but Tim’s sack was speedily over it, and drawing the string, he had it a close prisoner. Meantime Kallolo had brought down three of its companions with his deadly blowpipe. Though they struggled at first, they speedily succumbed to the effects of the poison, and were tied by the feet and slung over his back.

Laden with our prizes we returned homewards. The dead birds were at once stripped of their feathers, spitted, and placed before the fire to roast for supper; for had they been allowed to cool they would have proved somewhat tough, but treated as they were they were perfectly tender. The live macaw was allowed to remain in the bag all night, when its spirit being somewhat quelled by hunger, we gave it some nuts, which it took readily; and in the course of the day it consented to come out and get a string tied round its leg. At night it went to roost; and by the next morning it was perfectly tame, and willingly took the fruit and nuts offered it. Its plumage was blue and yellow; and though not so pretty as some of its more gaily-coloured relatives, as its temper improved it became a great favourite.

We had by this time erected a complete village of huts. The good captain and his mate, that we might have more room, had built one for themselves. Tim and Sambo put up another, and the three Indians erected a fifth. They had no pretensions to architectural beauty, but were quite sufficient for all the shelter required in that warm climate. For our dining-hall we had an open shed, where we were sheltered from the rays of the sun. We were also making good progress with the vessel: the stem and the stern, with several ribs, had already been fixed. Cutting out the ribs with the scanty tools we possessed was a slow process; and a Dutchman alone could have conceived the possibility of succeeding in such an undertaking, with the numerous difficulties to be encountered.

“Never fear, my friends; we will do it,” the skipper was continually saying. “Only take care not to break the axes. If we do, we shall have to work with our knives. But remember it could be done even then; only we should be much longer about the job. ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’”

Slow our work certainly was, but every day saw some progress. While the captain and Peter were working at the timber, the rest of us were smoothing down the planks; and we had now a large pile ready to fix on as soon as the ribs were set up. My father, Marian, and I were improving in the manufacture of matting. We could not, however, make it of sufficient strength for the sails; still, the material we manufactured would serve to form a roof for the cabin, or it might do for kilts or for cloaks.

We had established several other manufactories. A pottery was the first. Fortunately, we had found some clay well adapted for our purpose; and my father was acquainted with the principles of the art and the mode of working. A small kiln was first put up; and we then, kneading our clay, formed it into vessels of various shapes and sizes. Our great object was to burn some sufficiently hard to serve for cooking purposes. We cracked a good many, and it must be confessed they were all somewhat rough and unshapely; but we improved in that respect, and eventually succeeded in producing several pots which stood the fire remarkably well. At Uncle Paul’s desire, we also formed a number of small cups, though he did not at the time tell us for what object he required them.

He had not forgotten his promise to supply us with shoes when ours should be worn-out. We had for some time been going about with bare feet. We found it, however, both painful and dangerous to wander through the forest with our feet unprotected. I reminded him one day of what he had undertaken to do.

“I have not forgotten it, and will at once fulfil my promise,” he answered. “Come with me into the forest; before we start, however, you must pack up the small pots you made at my request the other day.”

“What are they for?” I asked.

“You shall see when we arrive at the manufactory,” he answered.

We set out towards the west. After having proceeded some way we found, scattered here and there among the other trees, a number of trees of great height, and from two to three feet in diameter. The trunks were round and strong, and the bark of a light colour, and not very smooth. Their summits did not spread wide, but their appearance was especially beautiful, from their long, thin leaves, which grew in clusters of three together, and were of an ovate shape, the centre one rather more than a foot in length, the others a little shorter.

“These are seringa trees,” said Uncle Paul, pointing them out. “It is with the sap which proceeds from them that I purpose to manufacture our shoes.”

I stared with astonishment, for I saw that he was not joking. He now took the pots, to which strings had been fastened, and secured two or three to each tree by small pegs, which he took out of his pocket. Above each peg he made a deep incision with his stone axe, and almost immediately a milky substance began to ooze out and drop into the pots. Taking some himself, he bade me taste it, assuring me that it was perfectly harmless. Its taste was agreeable,—much like sweetened cream, which it resembled in colour.

We went on from tree to tree, cutting deeply into the bark of each, and hanging up our pots till we had exhausted all we carried. This being done, all hands under his direction set to work to build a hut; and he then bade the Indians search for a nut of a peculiar palm which was required for the operation.

These preliminary operations being concluded, we returned to the settlement, where Uncle Paul set us to work to form several lasts suited to the size of the feet of the different members of the party. He made a pair for Marian; but the rest of us, he said, must be content with shoes of the same shape for both feet; and though very rough, and not very well shaped, they would answer our purpose. We had not time to bestow much labour on them.

Next morning we again set out, carrying this time a couple of large bowls, which, Uncle Paul said, would be required. On arriving at the hut, he placed one of them on the ground, and then piled up inside the hut a number of the palm-nuts collected on the previous day. Having surrounded them with stones, he placed the bowl, in the bottom of which a hole had been made, in an inverted position on the top of them. We next went out to collect the pots we had hung up on the seringa trees. They were all full of juice, and were brought to the hut and emptied into the other bowl. This done, we took the pots back and hung them up again. The lasts we now smeared with clay, of which some had been found at hand. The nuts were lighted, and a dense white smoke ascended through the hole in the bottom of the bowl. One of the lasts, to which wooden handles had been fixed, we now dipped into the bowl of indiarubber juice; and when it was drawn out, a thin layer of juice was found adhering to it. On being held over the smoke this quickly dried, and became rather darker than at first. The process was repeated a dozen times, till the shoe was of sufficient thickness; care being taken to give a greater number of coatings to the sole. We found, after a little time, that the various operations required about five minutes,—then the shoe was complete. One after another the lasts were dipped in the same way; and the shoes were then hung on cross sticks which had been put up outside the hut, that they might be exposed to the sun. There being no risk of our shoes being stolen, we left them, and returned home as before, having plenty of occupation for the rest of the day.

Next morning we went back to the hut, and having collected the juice which had in the meantime trickled into the pots, we finished off the shoes which had been made on the previous day; and having scored the soles to prevent them from slipping, we cut them off the lasts, which were thus ready again for use. We now manufactured some more shoes and left them to dry, carrying with us those which had just been finished. Marian was delighted with hers, which were very soft and elastic, though they would not do to walk far in.

We had now not only the means of making shoes, but bottles and cups; and Uncle Paul even thought of manufacturing a material which would serve instead of cloth, and might be formed into cloaks and kilts, if not trousers—though, as he had no substance to lay it on, he was afraid that it would easily tear. We agreed, however, that, except in rainy weather, the matting was likely to prove the more useful article.

We were returning from our indiarubber manufactory the next day, when we saw an object moving among the boughs of a tree at no great distance from us. Tim ran forward to ascertain what it was.

“Arrah now, if it’s not a live alligator, I don’t know what it is,” he exclaimed. “It’s my belief that the baste has climbed up into the tree that he may pounce down upon us as we pass by.”

“No fear of that,” answered Uncle Paul. “Alligators, although they venture out of the water, never go far from it. The creature you see, large as it looks, is only an iguana, a sort of lizard which lives in trees; and though it is ugly to look at, it is said to be very good to eat, so we will try to get the gentleman.”

On getting under the tree, we saw what certainly looked like a huge lizard, about four feet in length, including its long tail. The tree not being a large one, we shook it, when down came the creature to the ground. In spite of its rather formidable appearance, Tim dashed boldly forward and caught it by the neck and the small of the back, and held it fast. It lashed about very fiercely with its tail, its only weapon of defence, as its teeth, though numerous, were small. Uncle Paul having formed a noose, slipped it over the creature’s head and told me to hold it tight while he made another, which he dexterously threw over its tail. Tim and I then going ahead began to drag it along; and though it made some resistance, we at length got it to the settlement.

As we knew that Marian would like to see it alive, Uncle Paul went to call her. The creature, with its huge dewlap, ugly face, long claws, and row of spines on its back, looked indeed truly formidable. Marian, who with Arthur and our father soon came, recollecting all about the alligator, cried out under the idea that it might break loose and attack us. Just at that moment the after-rope, which Tim was holding loosely, slipped off the tail of the creature; when finding that member at liberty, it began to lash about with it on every side. Tim thoughtlessly rushed forward to seize it; but it gave him a cut on the leg, which brought him to the ground howling with pain; and had not Uncle Paul hauled him out of the creature’s way, he might have received a still more serious blow. As it showed an inclination to inflict further damage, Sambo coming up speedily despatched it by a blow on the head. Ugly as it looked, he assured us that it would afford us most delicious food; and at dinnertime we found his prediction amply fulfilled. We had become so accustomed to eat odd-looking creatures, that however repulsive the appearance of an animal, we never hesitated to try it; and we agreed that we should have no objection to eat another iguana as soon as one could be caught.

Kallolo was our chief hunter; and Arthur and I, when we could spare time from our regular work, were glad, for the sake of variety, to go out with him. We were walking along the shore of the lake, when from the top of a low tree a huge bird, its plumage chiefly black, with a crest of curled feathers on its head and a white breast, flew off over the water.

“We have lost the bird, but we will try to find something instead,” said Kallolo, giving me his blowpipe and bow to hold. He then climbed up the tree till he reached the bird’s nest, from which he extracted two eggs, and brought them down safety. They were considerably larger than a duck’s egg, white and granulated all over, though the bird itself did not appear to be above the size of an ordinary duck. It was, I found, a crested curassow. The eggs being newly laid were very palatable. Kallolo then ascended the tree again and laid a snare, hoping to catch the hen-bird; which, he said, might become domesticated, if carefully treated.

As we were going through the forest shortly afterwards I heard a rustling sound among the underwood, and saw, close ahead of me, a dark-skinned creature about the size of a calf rush on towards the water. Its head, of which I caught a glimpse, was peculiarly long, with a proboscis-like snout. I guessed from this that the animal was a tapir. Calling to Kallolo, I told him what I had seen. He came up, and examining the ground, gave it as his opinion that the creature frequently passed that way, and that he had little doubt we should be able to catch it.

On returning to the settlement he invited Tim and Sambo to accompany him, and to dig a pit in which to catch the animal. We had a short time before manufactured some wooden spades, which served very well for digging in soft ground: we each took one, and Kallolo having fixed on a spot over which he considered the tapir was accustomed to pass, we set to work to dig the pit. The tapir being unable to climb, we made our pit only about four feet deep, seven long, and four wide. Having shovelled away the earth as far as we could throw it, we covered the pit over with thin branches and light twigs, which would at once give way under the animal’s weight.

Next morning, as the rest of the party were busily employed, I alone accompanied Kallolo. We each carried a spade, with some rope and pieces of matting.

We first visited the tree on which he had set the snare for the curassow. As we approached we observed a fluttering on the top of it, and there, sure enough, was the bird caught by the legs. Kallolo climbed up, and detaching the snare from the tree brought the bird safely to the ground. It was too much frightened to attempt resistance, and before it recovered, the Indian had covered its head up with a piece of matting, so that it could not see; and then taking it under his arm, we set off to examine our pit. Even before we got up to it, we saw that the covering had given way; and sure enough, there was the tapir safe within. The creature could not turn round, and was standing perfectly still, utterly unable to help itself. Kallolo had brought a bag, the mouth secured by a string; this he managed to slip over its head, so that it, like the curassow, was completely blindfolded. He then passed another rope round its forelegs, and passing the end round the trunk of a tree, hauled it tight. Putting the curassow on the ground, with its legs tied, Kallolo begged me to assist him in throwing a quantity of earth over the front of the pit. In a short time we had made an incline, up which the tapir of its own accord climbed; expecting, probably, when at the top to find itself free. In this it was disappointed; but its strength being considerable, it would speedily have broken loose had not its eyes been blindfolded. Kallolo now approaching, spoke to it in soothing terms, patted it on the back, and at length it stood perfectly still, its alarm having apparently been completely calmed.

“We will now return home with our prizes, and I hope that in a short time they will become tame,” he observed; and having transferred the rope from its legs to its neck, he led it along, while I followed with the curassow. On our arrival with our two prizes we were warmly greeted by all hands, and Marian begged that she might be allowed to tame the bird.

“I should like to make friends with the tapir,” she added; “but I am afraid that it would prove an unruly pupil.”

“You need not be afraid of that,” said Kallolo. “In a short time the tapir will become as tame as a dog, and will follow you about wherever you go.”

Kallolo certainly exhibited a wonderful skill in taming animals. He managed to do so entirely by kindness, though in the first instance he starved them to make them ready to receive food from his hands. He did not, however, allow the tapir to go loose for some days, but regularly brought it the food he knew it liked best. He then took it down to the water to bathe, keeping the rope tight that it might not swim off.

Marian imitated his example with regard to her curassow; and the bird soon knew her, and showed its pleasure when she approached with its favourite fruit. At length, feeling pretty sure that it would not fly away, she let it loose just before its usual feeding time, and then held out some fruit which she had got in readiness. The bird flew towards her; and from that day followed her about wherever she went. “Crass,” (the name we gave to the curassow), soon became a great favourite, and made Quacko and Ara very jealous. The monkey would, now and then, steal down and slyly try to pluck the feathers out of Crass, which would immediately run for protection to Marian; while Ara would fly down and perch on its head, and peck at its crest.

We had now a little menagerie. Three parrots, of different species, and another monkey, had been added to our collection. The tapir became perfectly domesticated, and could be trusted to go out and have a bathe by itself, when it would invariably come back and lie down in front of our hut, knowing that it was there safe from its arch enemy the jaguar. We, however, could not bestow much time on our animals, as we were employed in the more important business of building our vessel and supplying our larder. We were never, indeed, in want of food, but we had to consider the means of preserving a supply for our voyage. The days passed quickly by; and though the carpenters appeared to work very slowly, each day saw the vessel further advanced, and it was a satisfaction to count the numerous ribs which now rose from the keel of our vessel.

We were all at work one day on the vessel, with the exception of Tim and Sambo, who had gone out to fish on the lake at a short distance from the shore, when cunning Master Quacko, observing us engaged, and catching sight of Crass feeding at a little distance from the huts, slyly stole towards her. Crass turned her head just in time to see him coming, and recollecting that she had wings as well as legs, rose in the air and flew towards a neighbouring tree. Quacko, who had not forgotten the art of climbing, made chase, and soon got up to the bough on which Crass was perched. Crass, who had been watching him, flew off to another tree close to the shore of the lake. Quacko, however, liking the fun, threw himself from bough to bough and drove Crass further and further off. Marian, who had been busy at her loom, looking up caught sight of Quacko and Crass flying away in the far distance. Guessing the cause of her favourite’s flight, she ran to call Quacko back, and to try to recover her bird. As she was making her way through the thick underwood, I fortunately happened to see her, and calling to Arthur, we both ran to her assistance. So thick was the forest, however, at this spot, that we soon lost sight of her; and though we shouted to her to return, she made no reply. Recollecting the fearful danger to which she had before been exposed on the bank of the stream, I could not help fearing that some accident had happened to her.

We went on till we saw Crass on the bough of a tree just ahead of us, and I was sure that Marian could not be far off. Just then it occurred to me that she was perhaps only trying to frighten us; so, instead of following her further, I resolved to climb the tree and secure the bird. Calling to Arthur, we both easily mounted by means of several sepos which hung down from it, and of three or four boughs which projected from the lower part of the trunk. No sooner had Arthur and I got up than we caught sight of Marian clinging to a palm-tree, horror depicted in her countenance as she gazed at something on the ground. At the same moment Crass flew off towards her; while Arthur, exclaiming, “A snake! a snake! it is about to attack her,” leaped down to her assistance. It was a moment of fearful suspense. I expected to see the horrible reptile spring at my sister. It appeared to me, as I caught sight of its head, to be one of the most venomous species—the labarri.

Just then I heard a voice shout out, “Stay quiet, Miss Marian, and keep your eye fixed on the creature.”

I did not till then observe that the raft had come close in, and I now saw Sambo, who had leaped from it, making rapidly towards the shore with a long stick in his hand. The snake, whose tail had been coiled round the root of a tree, had all the time remained perfectly still, though uttering ominous hisses. In another instant the reptile would have made its fatal spring; but Sambo, climbing up the bank, dealt it a furious blow on the head. This made it uncoil its tail; then he followed up the attack by a second blow. The snake dropped its head.

Marian, relieved of her terror, fell fainting to the ground just as Arthur and I reached her, while Crass immediately came flying down to her feet. Having satisfied ourselves that the snake was really killed, we hastened back with Marian to the settlement, followed by Crass, which came willingly after its mistress. She was so nervous, however, that she could with difficulty walk. At every instant she started, as if expecting to see another snake appear before her to dispute her passage. Quacko, who knew very well that he had been misbehaving, made his way back before us; and when we arrived we found him seated in front of the hut, looking as sedate as a judge, evidently fancying that his conduct had been unobserved.

We again charged Marian not to leave the camp by herself, warning her that she might not only meet with another snake, but might fall in, perhaps, with a prowling jaguar or puma, or an anaconda, such as had attacked us on the lake.

“But I could not bear the thought of losing my dear Crass; and I had no idea that I should have been led so far away,” she answered, almost crying, as if she had done something wrong.

“We are not blaming you, my dear Marian,” said Uncle Paul, “but cautioning you for your own benefit,—and ours, too, for we should be miserable should any harm happen to you. People, when they begin to act imprudently, never can tell where they may stop; and a very good lesson may be imparted to others from your adventure and the fearful danger to which you have been exposed. But do not suppose, my dear, that we blame you, though you did give us all a great fright. We must appoint a guard, not to watch you, but to protect you from danger.”

“Oh, do not draw anyone off from the important work in which you are all engaged, for my sake,” exclaimed Marian. “I will be very prudent in future, indeed, I will; and if any of my favourites run away, I will immediately come to you, that, if you think fit, somebody may be sent to bring them back.”

Marian’s resolution was sorely tried a few days afterwards. The Ara parrot, the companion of our troubles, which had learned to speak, as Tim averred, as well as a real Christian, and was so very affectionate and domesticated, took it into its head, from some unknown cause, to fly off before Marian’s eyes. According to her promise, she did not follow it, though she believed that it had perched on a tree not far off, but hurried to where we were at work. When, however, Maco went to look for it, the bird was nowhere to be seen. The whole day passed by, and Marian began to give up all hopes of ever recovering her pet. The next morning our attention was attracted by the most extraordinary noises, arising from a flock of parrots at a little distance. Now all was hushed; then again there broke forth a torrent of screams, which reminded us of the noise made by a flock of crows gathered around a solitary owl found out of its ivy-mantled tower after sunrise. What was the cause of the noise? No one could decide. Arthur suggested that the tree-tops thereabout might form a parliament-house to the surrounding nation of parrots, and that, their session having commenced, they had met to discuss some new legislative act for the good of the community, or, perhaps, some point calculated to lead to a general war,—the overbearing conduct of the macaws, or the increasing insults of the parakeets.

With bows and blowpipes in hand, Arthur, Tim, and I, and the three Indians, crept silently towards them, when, to our great astonishment, we discovered the cause of the hubbub. Mounted full in view on a treetop stood Master Ara; while around him, upon adjacent branches, were collected a host of his peers! There was a pause.

“Haul away! ye ho, boys!” came down from the top of the tree, followed by bursts of imitative shrieks and vociferous applause. “Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Master Ara, as he rolled his head and doubled up his body quite beside himself with laughter. Then came tumultuous applause and encores, and further shouts of “Ha! ha! ha! Haul away! ye ho, boys!” Then Ara spread his wings, and began with evident delight to bow and dance, and to turn round and round on the bough he had chosen for his rostrum. The effect upon his auditory was remarkable. Every parrot began to twist and to turn about in the same fashion, endeavouring with very considerable success to utter the same sounds, till we might have supposed that the crew of a merchant ship were shouting together, and engaged in weighing anchor to put to sea. Presently one of the assembly caught sight of us, and giving the alarm to the others, they suddenly changed their hilarious notes to cries of alarm, when off they flew, leaving Ara to harangue to empty benches, or rather to vacant boughs; for he, not holding us in dread, did not deem it necessary to decamp.

The question now was how to catch him. Kallolo’s blowpipe could have brought him down from his lofty perch; but it would have been at the risk of preparing him for parrot-pie, and our object was to take him alive. Had we possessed any salt, Kallolo said that there would have been no danger, as a few grains would have effectually neutralised the effects of the poison.

“Sure he would come if the mistress were to call him,” observed Tim.

Arthur, thinking so too, ran back and brought Marian; who, indeed, was very willing to come. On our retiring out of sight, she began to call to Ara, using the endearing expressions she had been accustomed to apply to him. He looked down and nodded, and then flew to a lower bough. She went on, and held out her hand with some palm-fruit, of which he was especially fond. Again he descended; and at length, attracted partly by her sweet voice, and partly, it may be suspected, by the sweet fruit, came and perched on her hand. Then she took him back in triumph to the settlement, telling him, as she did so, how imprudent he had been to run away so far.

“Remember, Ara,” I heard her say, with all the gravity possible, “people, when they begin to act imprudently, never can tell where they may stop. You might have been caught by a tree-snake, or by some savage vulture, and we should never have seen you more. Promise me never to go wandering again without a proper escort;—you will, won’t you?”

“Haul away! ye ho, boys!” answered Ara. “Ha! ha! ha!”

This was the only reply she could obtain. She, however, as the bird nestled affectionately in her arms, seemed perfectly satisfied that he would not again go gadding.

Chapter Fifteen.

Naming our Vessel—Sambo’s Sugar Manufactory—The Wonderful Cow-tree—Tim’s “Beautiful Pig?”—Treed by Peccaries—A Jaguar renders us a Valuable Service—Peach-palms—Kallolo captures the Curious Jacana—A Lucky Find—In Search of Turtles—Good Luck—Launch of the “Good Hope”—“Fly! Fly! The Savages are Coming!”—A Narrow Escape—Our Village set on Fire.

We had a grand discussion one evening as to the name to be bestowed on our new vessel. Various appellations were suggested. Arthur proposed that she should be called the “Marian;” Tim, who had a voice in the matter, suggested the “Erin.”

“The ‘Fair Maiden’ would be a fitting name,” said the mate Peter, bowing with the gallantry of a sailor to my young sister.

“Oh no! pray don’t name the vessel after me,” exclaimed Marian; “for though I am obliged to Mr Peter, yet I am sure I am no longer a ‘fair maiden.’”

It had never occurred to me to think about the matter; but now, as I looked at her sweet countenance, I saw that it was tanned almost to a nut-brown hue, and covered over with still darker freckles—the result of constant exposure to the air and hot sun.

“Now, with all due respect for Miss Marian, I consider that we may find a better name than any hitherto suggested,” observed the skipper. “I propose that our vessel be called the Good Hope. Although not yet finished, we have ‘good hope’ that she will be; and we have also ‘good hope’ that, escaping the Spanish cruisers, and storms and rocks and shoals, she will carry us safely to Stabroek. What say you, Mr Paul?”

“The Good Hope—the Good Hope,” said Uncle Paul, repeating the name several times. “I like it. Yes, yes; it is a fitting name—a good name. Our craft has been the result of faith in One who watches over us—of skill and energy and perseverance; and such must always afford ‘good hope’ of success. What do you say, brother Dennis?”

“I have felt too often that I have bidden farewell to ‘hope’ in any form to venture on selecting such a name; and yet, if you are pleased so to call our craft, I should be content to embark on board the Good Hope; and should she carry us to civilised lands in safety, I might believe once more that there is hope for me, even in this world,” answered my father.

I had been inclined to agree with Arthur; but as the elders of the party seemed to consider that the name of Good Hope was the proper one, I voted for it, and Marian did likewise. Thus it was settled that our vessel was to be called the Good Hope; and so we ever afterwards designated her.

As she approached completion, the hunters were urged to be diligent in endeavouring to procure the means of provisioning her for the voyage. We at once built two kilns for drying fish and flesh, to assist the preserving powers of the hot sun. Several large periecus were caught, cut up, and dried in the sun, and then smoked; but though wholesome and nutritious, they were not considered very palatable. As fruits and nuts became ripe they were gathered in large quantities, and Marian exerted her skill in drying the former.

“If I had some sugar, I would make a supply of preserves,” she observed, as she examined a basket of palm-fruit, and several varieties of plums, which we had brought in. “I often assisted at home, and know perfectly well how to manage.”

I remembered one day having seen some long canes, which I took for ordinary reeds, growing among the abundant vegetation. I now tried to recollect whereabouts they were.

“I know,” exclaimed Sambo. “They be wild sugar-cane.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because I suck ’em, and dey berry sweet,” he answered, grinning as only a well-satisfied negro can grin, having, of all the human race, a mouth specially adapted for the purpose.

“Then do you think you could find them again, Sambo?” I asked.

“Oh yes, massa! I will bring home enough to make sugar for all the preserves Miss Marian can make.”

“But when we have cut the canes, how is the sugar to be manufactured?” I inquired.

“I do dat,” he answered. “I ’long on sugar plantation in Jamaica, and know how to make sugar as well as any nigger slave.”

Sambo at once set out, and soon brought back a load of sugar-canes—a convincing proof that they grew in the neighbourhood. We all tried them; and for several days each member of our community was to be seen walking about with a piece of sugar-cane in his mouth. Sambo was an ingenious mechanic, and forthwith set to work to construct a sugar manufactory. It was very simple, consisting of a number of our largest clay pots for boiling the juice, and a long trough with sides, and a board at each end, slightly inclining towards the pans. Into the trough fitted a huge stone,—a large round boulder, to which ropes were attached, for hauling it backwards and forwards. The canes being placed in the trough, the heavy weight passing over them pressed out the juice, which ran through holes in the lower end into the bowls. The fuel which had previously been placed under the bowls was then lighted. As soon as the juice became hot, the impure portions rose in the form of scum, which was skimmed off. Sambo had found some lime, with which he formed lime-water to temper the liquor. The boiling process over, the fires were allowed to go out, and the liquor was then poured out into fresh pans, in which it was again gently boiled. It was afterwards transferred to a number of open wooden boxes, where it was allowed to cool, while the molasses ran off into pans placed beneath them, the part remaining in the boxes being in the form of crystals. Another draining process was then gone through, when really very respectable-looking sugar was produced.

“It would not fetch anything of a price in the market,” observed my father; “but I have no doubt that Marian will find it good enough to preserve her fruit.”

Marian was delighted, and assured Sambo that his sugar would answer very well indeed. “If we could find some tea-plants, we might have a pleasanter beverage for breakfast than either cold water or palm-wine,” observed Marian; “though, to be sure, we should have no milk to mix with it.”

“I don’t despair of finding that,” said Uncle Paul; “indeed, I can promise to bring you some fresh milk directly you can produce the tea. I only yesterday caught sight of the massaranduba, or cow-tree; and as it is not far off, I will this evening bring you a bowlful of the juice, which, when fresh, you will be unable to distinguish from the finest milk.”

Marian was of course very eager to see this wonderful vegetable milk; and in the evening Uncle Paul set out with a large bowl. Sambo and I accompanied him, Sambo carrying an axe. On going some distance through the forest, we saw a tree with deeply-scored reddish and rugged bark.

“Surely nothing like white juice can come out of so rough a skin,” I observed to Uncle Paul.

“Wait till Sambo has put his axe through it.—Cut hereabouts, Sambo,” he said, pointing to a part of the trunk under which he could hold the bowl.

The black did as directed, and made a deep incision, following it up by other cuts.

“That’s enough,” exclaimed Uncle Paul; and having, as he spoke, placed the bowl beneath the cut, there literally gushed forth a stream of the purest white milk, so rapidly that the bowl was quickly filled. I smelt it and tasted it; and though it might have been said to be a little coarse, I certainly should have supposed it to be pure milk. Uncle Paul cautioned us not to drink much, as, swallowed in any considerable quantity, it is looked upon as unwholesome.

We returned with the bowl full, Sambo having carried it on his head. Marian was of course delighted with it, though she could not give us tea. Kallolo had brought her a berry, however, which he assured her was perfectly wholesome, and which, when pounded and boiled, afforded a fair substitute for coffee. I suspect, indeed, that it was wild coffee, and that the original seed had been brought to the spot by some bird.

We had thus secured a very palatable beverage, and had obtained milk and sugar to mix with it; but my father still had a fancy for procuring tea, or at all events a substitute for it.

“If we find any, it will be a satisfaction when we drink it to remember that it is not taxed,” he observed, “and that the revenue derived from it will not be spent in a way over which we have no control.”

My poor father was alluding at the time to one of the grievances which the American colonies had already begun to feel very severely. We hunted in vain, however, for any shrub whose leaves were at all to be compared with those of the tea-tree of China, though we made several decoctions which afforded us refreshing beverages.

On the borders of the small lake Kallolo had discovered a large quantity of wild rice, on which numberless waterfowl fed. We collected an ample supply of the seed, and found it very useful in lieu of other farinaceous food. After it had been well stewed, it assisted to fricassee macaws, parrots, and monkeys, which formed our staple diet. We had long got over anything like squeamishness as to what we ate; and it was evident that our food agreed with us, for we were all as fat and strong as we could desire—indeed, accustomed as we had become to the life we were leading, no one complained of hardships or scanty fare. We certainly had to work for our subsistence, and the food did not exactly drop into our mouths; but we were sure to get it by exerting ourselves.

We caught two more tapirs in our pitfall; but being older than the first, they showed no inclination to become domesticated, so we were compelled to kill them, and to cut up and dry their flesh—which, though rather tough, was not otherwise unpalatable. Notwithstanding the quantity around him, Tim often sighed for a good fat pig.

“Sure, there’s nothing like pork after all; and I wish we could have two or three fat grunters to keep happy and contented in the corner of our hut, just as they may be seen in many cabins in the ‘ould country,’” he exclaimed one day. “They would remind us of home more than anything else.”

I recollected Tim’s remark when, shortly afterwards, he came rushing in from the direction of our pitfall, exclaiming as he approached,—“Hurrah! hurrah!—a real ‘beautiful pig’ has been caught; but the baste looked as if his mind was so ill at ease, that I thought it prudent not to slip down and help him out; so, if anyone will come and assist me, sure we’ll soon make the beginning of a piggery.”

Uncle Paul, Sambo, and I, carrying some rope between us, hastened off to get out the pig. On reaching the pitfall, Uncle Paul, looking down, exclaimed,—“It was well, Tim, that you did not jump in to help out your friend. Just see his mouth!” And poking the end of his stick in front of the creature’s nose, it exhibited a pair of tusks sharp as lancets. “It is a pig, certainly, but very unlike the pig of northern lands,” he observed. “This creature is a peccary; and though it is of no great size, it is one of the most savage little animals in existence. A herd of them will run down a jaguar; and though he may slay a few with his paws, they will soon worry him to death with their sharp tusks, having nothing like fear in their composition. We will take the precaution of securing it before we haul it out, or it will be sure to do some of us an injury.”

A noose having been formed, it was slipped over the peccary’s head, and the animal was hauled-out and quickly despatched. Uncle Paul then showed us a gland on the hinder part of the back, which he carefully cut out, remarking that unless this was done it would impart a disagreeable flavour to the rest of the meat. Tim and Sambo, after having secured it to the end of a long stick, carried it in triumph to the settlement. We found the meat excellent; and what we could not eat was smoked and laid by for the voyage.

Tim was still dissatisfied at not being able to tame a few peccaries to keep in his hut. He had sallied forth at daybreak one morning, bow in hand, in search of game, promising to be back at breakfast. When breakfast-time came, however, Tim did not appear. Arthur and I waited for an hour or more, till we became somewhat anxious about our faithful follower, and at last determined to go in search of him. We had noted the direction he had taken, and hoped, therefore, to get upon his track. We first visited the pitfall. It was empty; but we caught sight of some recently broken twigs some way beyond, which showed that he had gone further. On we went, therefore, shooting several birds which came in our way.

We were pushing on, when we heard a voice which we knew to be Tim’s shouting out, “Up a tree! up a tree, gentlemen—for your lives!” We looked round. Fortunately one was near, the branches of which enabled us, without difficulty, to climb up it. At that instant we caught sight of several dozen black-skinned creatures rushing towards us. Up the tree we sprang; and scarcely had we got a few feet from the ground when a whole herd of peccaries came rushing towards us, ploughing up the ground with their tusks, and exhibiting other signs of rage.

No sooner had we seated ourselves on a bough than we made out Tim a little way off, perched in the same manner upon another tree. It was pretty clear that he had been besieged by the herd, as we now were.

We shouted to him, inquiring how long he had been there.

“For the last two hours or more,” was his answer. “I was just walking through the forest on my way home when these terrible little bastes caught sight of me; and if I had not sprung up this tree like lightning, they would have dug their sharp tusks into my legs. Though I have shot every arrow I had at my back, and have killed half a score of them, nothing I could do would make them go away; and by my faith, too, the brutes seem determined to starve us out.”

This was not pleasant, as we might expect to be treed in the same manner. We determined, however, to do what we could to put the peccaries to flight, and began shooting away; taking good aim, that we might not uselessly expend our arrows. The little brutes kept rushing about below us, now and then charging against the trunk of the tree, and then looking up at us with their wicked eyes, evidently wishing that we might slip and tumble down among them.

“A pretty condition we should be in if we did so,” I remarked to Arthur.

“Take care what you are about, then,” he answered. “Keep your feet firmly fixed on the branch below you before you shoot.”

We were standing up on one branch, leaning against another some way above it,—a good situation for our purpose. We had killed nearly a dozen peccaries; still the animals seemed totally to disregard the falling of their companions, and rushed about as fiercely as at first. We at length began to fear that they would remain till we were starved, for we had already expended the greater number of our arrows. Arthur at last advised that we should stop shooting, in the hope that, from some cause or other, the peccaries would raise the siege and take their departure. “Even could we cut up the slaughtered animals, we could not carry home a quarter of them, and it is evidently useless to shoot more of them,” he observed.

Arthur had turned round to speak to Tim, when I heard him whisper, “See, see! look at that creature!” Casting my eyes in the direction in which he pointed, I beheld a large jaguar stealing cautiously along towards one of the peccaries which lay wounded on the ground. We kept perfectly silent, as we hoped the jaguar would not only carry off the dying peccary, but a few of its living companions. The loud squeaks which the poor wounded peccary set up on finding itself in the claws of the savage jaguar, attracted the attention of the whole herd; but instead of running away, they rushed simultaneously towards him. He saw them coming, and lifting his victim in his jaws, he bounded off. They were not, however, to be disappointed of their revenge, and away they all started in chase. We watched them with no small interest, expecting, however, that when they found they could not overtake the jaguar they would quickly return and again lay siege to us. Greatly to our satisfaction, however, on they went.

“Now is our time; let us run for it!” exclaimed Arthur, shouting to Tim, who speedily descended from the tree.

“Sure, you would not be after leaving such a fine supply of good pork,” said Tim, drawing his knife. “If the peccaries come back, we must just slip up our trees again; and as for the jaguar, there’s little chance of his showing his nose here, for the brutes will soon kill him, if he has not got a fast pair of heels of his own.”

As there appeared little probability of the peccaries returning, we followed Tim’s advice, and began cutting up the animals, so as to secure the best joints from each. We soon had three as heavy loads of meat as we could carry; and placing them on our shoulders, we set off towards the settlement looking back, every now and then to ascertain if we were followed.

We hastened along as fast as we could, as we wished not only to escape from the living peccaries, but to bring our friends to carry off a further supply of the slaughtered meat. From some cause or other we were not pursued, and arrived safely at the settlement. Our friends immediately armed themselves with bows and arrows and spears, and got ready to return with us. Kallolo merely took his blowpipe; and giving a peculiar smile, he observed,—“If the creatures will kindly come near me, I will take good care that not one of them gets away.” However, on reaching the spot where we had left the slaughtered peccaries no living ones were to be seen, nor did it appear that the jaguar had come back for any of them; so we concluded that he had either been killed, that the savage little brutes had driven him to a distance, or that he had crossed a piece of water, into which they themselves will never willingly enter. Several vultures and eagles had, however, collected to enjoy the feast we had prepared for them, while two armadillos and numerous insects had already attacked the carcasses. We found that several of those we had last killed were untouched, and each of us was able to carry back a heavy load of joints, to turn into hams and bacon in our smoking-house.

We had now, we found after taking stock of our provisions, a supply sufficient to last for our voyage to Stabroek, even though it might prove longer than we calculated on. We had jars of clay and cuja-nuts to carry our stock of water, of which we did not require much, as we should not be compelled to use it till we got out of the river. As the earthen jars, however, were liable to be broken, Uncle Paul determined to manufacture a number of indiarubber bottles. They might possibly impart an unpleasant odour to the water, but would not render it unwholesome; and this supply would serve in case the rest should be exhausted. For this purpose he made a number of clay moulds, with round sticks for the mouths, and baked them slightly. He then covered the moulds to a sufficient thickness with the seringa juice, and dried them in the smoke as our shoes had been. The moulds were easily broken; and the pieces being taken out, the indiarubber bottles were completed, only requiring corks and pieces of string to make them suitable for our object. We were thus supplied with the chief means of supporting existence during our voyage. We had dried fish and flesh, nuts and preserved fruit, rice and the farinaceous produce of the palm-tree. We were more indebted to various species of palm than to any other tree, both for fruit, and flour to supply the place of wheat.

In a spot once apparently inhabited by Indians, but long since abandoned, were several peach-palms,—tall and elegant trees, which rose to the height of sixty feet, and were perfectly straight. Each tree bore several bunches of fruit, a single bunch being as much as the strongest of our party could carry. The fruit takes its name from the colour of the peach, not from its flavour or nature, for it is dry and mealy, and we agreed, when tasting it, that it was like a mixture of chestnuts and cheese. On boiling the fruit it became nearly as mealy as a potato. Each fruit was about the size of a large peach. We found it very nutritious; and eight or ten were as much as one of us could eat at a meal. The appearance of the tree is very beautiful, owing to the rich colour of the foliage. The leaves are green, evenly arched over and forming a deep green vault, with the heavy clusters of ripe red fruit hanging beneath it. We were attracted to the spot by seeing numerous vultures hovering over it; and on reaching the tree we found that they had come not to devour a carcass beneath, as we had supposed, but to feed on the fruit.

Another palm, the assai, afforded us an abundance of berries, about the size of a cranberry, and of a dark brown colour. From it we manufactured a refreshing beverage. The trunk is perfectly smooth, and the fruit grows in heavy clusters just below the long leaves which crown its summit. At first we thought it would be impossible to reach them, but Maco showed us how they were to be obtained. Binding his feet together by a strip of palm-leaves above his instep, he pressed his knees against the trunk, and quickly ascended the polished stem, till he reached the fruit at the summit.

Although we could generally obtain as much game as we required in the immediate neighbourhood of the settlement, we occasionally made long excursions, for the purpose of seeking for a variety. I had one day accompanied Kallolo further to the north, along the shore of the lake, than we had hitherto gone. As we were pushing our way through the forest, we unexpectedly came upon the shores of a small lake, united, as we afterwards discovered, with several other lakes of a similar size and appearance. As we stood there, concealed by the trees which thickly covered its banks, Kallolo whispered to me, “Don’t move or make the slightest sound, and we will quickly capture a bird which will be highly prized by our friends.” He pointed, as he spoke, to the water, on which I observed a number of enormous circular leaves floating, like vast dishes, their edges turned up all round, and with beautiful flowers rising amidst them. But what was more surprising than the leaves, was to see a large bird with long legs calmly walking over them, and, as far as I could judge, scarcely making them sink in the slightest degree in the water.

Kallolo, telling me to remain quiet, threw off his clothes, and having covered his head with a bunch of grass which he hastily plucked from the bank, he made his way amid the water towards the bird; which, standing on a leaf, was engaged in picking up aquatic insects floating by, and uttering a low-sounding “cluck, cluck” at short intervals. When the bird turned towards Kallolo, he immediately stopped; then on he went again, till he got close behind it, when, suddenly darting out his hand, he seized it by its long legs and drew it quickly under water.

The bird struggled in vain to free itself, and Kallolo brought it to me in triumph. It was, he told me, called the oven-bird, because it walks over those enormous leaves shaped like the pans used for baking the mandioca. I at once recognised it as the jacana. It had black plumage, with a greenish gloss; its legs were very long and slight, as were its toes and claws, especially the hind toe. The body, though it appeared large, was of a singularly light construction, so that it weighs but little when pressing on the floating leaves. Indeed, on measuring it we found that it was about ten inches long; the beak, of an orange colour, being upwards of an inch in length. We carried home our captive; but though we were anxious to keep it and tame it, it died in a few days, probably from being unable to obtain the food to which it was accustomed.

The day after this adventure I was in the woods, when I saw the grass close to me move; I started back, supposing that a serpent was crossing my path, and might spring on me. I stood prepared with my stick to strike it without any sensation of fear; indeed, no snakes need be dreaded by persons of good nerve and correct eye, if seen in time. I watched the spot, when, instead of a snake, a land-tortoise came creeping along. I immediately pounced upon it, and carried it off. It weighed, I judged, about twenty pounds.

Sambo was well-pleased at seeing it. “This is better food than any we have yet found!” he exclaimed. “If we can catch a few more, we shall have enough fresh provisions during the voyage, for they will live a long time without eating.”

As it was possible that more might be found in the same spot, Sambo and Maco set off with me to hunt for them. We were more successful than we expected, for we had fallen, it appeared, on a colony of the creatures; and in a short time we captured six, of about the same size as the first. Maco said that, as they seldom move far from home, we should probably catch many more.

We returned home with a tortoise under each arm; and we had now to consider how they were to be kept. They would not remain quietly on their backs, as turtle are wont to do; for immediately they were put in that position they managed to turn over, and began to crawl away. It was therefore settled that we should build a pen in which to confine them till we were ready to sail.

We set to work at once, having in the meantime secured ropes round their bodies, and tethered them to sticks; and before night we had put up a pen of sufficient size to contain as many as we were likely to catch. As they cannot climb, the palings were of no great height; while, as the creatures require a good-sized hole to get through, we were able to put the stakes some distance apart. We at once turned in our tortoises, and gave them various fruits, all of which they ate willingly.

The tortoises made us think of turtle. Though turtle flesh is not considered by many people to equal that of the tortoise, it was very desirable that we should obtain some, as they also can be preserved a long time on board ship.

It was now about the time when they come on shore to lay their eggs, so we agreed to make an excursion along the borders of the lake, in the hope of finding some sandy beach which they might have chosen for that object. As it was a matter of importance, Uncle Paul determined to go himself on the smaller raft, taking Sambo, Kallolo, and me with him. We started at daybreak, provisioned for three days; but as Kallolo carried his blowpipe, and we our bows and arrows, with our long pointed sticks for spears, and some fishing-lines, we could obtain more food should we require it.

We kept along the western shore of the lake towards the north, passing on our way several inlets, which led, we had no doubt, to other lakes in the interior, similar to the one in which we had caught the jacana. After we had gone some distance, no sandy beach appearing in which turtle were likely to lay their eggs, we began to despair of obtaining our object. Still Uncle Paul determined to go further. He expressed his regret that we had not built a canoe in the first instance. We might then have navigated the shores of the lake to a considerable distance; and it would also have served us far better than the raft for fishing. However, as it would have occupied not only our time, but engaged the tools which were required for building the vessel, it had not been considered advisable to attempt the construction of one.

The wind being from the south, we glided calmly on before it. Sometimes, when the wind was fresh, we made good way; at others, when it fell, we had again to take to our paddles.

We were thus moving forward, when Kallolo espied an object floating on the surface of the water. “Paddle slowly!” he said; “and make as little noise as possible. There is a sleeping turtle; and though we cannot catch it alive, we will have it notwithstanding.” Saying this, he got his bow ready, with one of several large arrows which he had formed fixed in it. We had cautiously approached; when, standing up, he shot his arrow into the air, which formed a curve and came down perpendicularly on the shell of the turtle.

“Paddle up rapidly!” he exclaimed. We did as he directed, but just as we got near it the turtle disappeared beneath the surface. The shaft of the arrow, however, remaining above it, Kallolo sprang into the water and caught it just as it was sinking, and towed it alongside. Passing a rope round the body of the turtle, we next hauled it on board, when Kallolo, breaking off the shaft, turned the animal on its back. It was alive, but from the weak way in which it moved its legs it was evident that life was ebbing fast. We should, at all events, not return empty-handed.

We were at last thinking of putting about, when Uncle Paul, who was taking another look along the shore, announced that he saw just such a beach as we were in search of. We at once with renewed vigour paddled towards it, and as we drew nearer he declared his belief that we should find it frequented by turtle. Instead of landing on the beach, however, we paddled in on one side, and there saw an open space which would afford us camping-ground. As turtles are timid creatures, and will not lay their eggs on ground disturbed by the footsteps of their human or other foes, it was important not to walk over the ground until they had come on shore. This they do during the night, though they do not return to the water till after sunrise.

We built a hut of boughs, and lighting a fire, cooked our provisions; then, having eaten our supper, we lay down to rest, one of us keeping watch while the rest slept.

Uncle Paul, who had chosen the morning watch, called us just before daylight. We made our way along the shore, cautiously approaching the beach, on which, to our infinite satisfaction, we saw a number of dark objects crawling slowly along. We now hurried forward—Uncle Paul and Kallolo taking one side, Tim and I the other—and were soon among the turtle, which, with all the strength we could exert, we rapidly turned over on their backs. On seeing us, the creatures began to crawl away towards the water; but we were too quick for many of them, and in a short time had, between us, turned over twenty.

There they lay, utterly helpless and at our mercy. But what to do with them, was the first question. We could not carry them all on the raft, and if we left them, they would certainly become the prey of jaguars or alligators, and probably vultures and eagles. Indeed, the poor turtle finds, from its birth to the day of its death, innumerable enemies ready to prey on it. I, as a joke, recommended harnessing them, and letting them tow us; but Sambo observed gravely that, as we could not guide them, they were very likely to carry us off in exactly the opposite direction to that we wished to go.

As the raft, we calculated, could only carry six, we at last determined to build a pen in which to leave them, on their backs, and to cover it over with boughs, so as to protect them from the attacks of any of the foes I have mentioned. As it was only necessary to cut sticks for the purpose four or five feet long, we soon had enough prepared, with a number of the heaviest boughs we could manage to bring to the spot. We then dragged our captives to the pen, and covered them up. People in general do not take this precaution, but then they always leave some one to watch the turned turtles till they can carry them away.

Placing the others on the raft, in high spirits we commenced our return voyage. We met with no accident by the way, and, of course, were heartily welcomed.

While we set off again, the rest of the party commenced building a pen on the shore of the lake, by driving in sticks, so as to enclose a semicircular piece of water, in which the turtles might live at their ease. And on this occasion we carried with us a number of baskets, to fill with turtles’ eggs.

On reaching the spot where we had left our turtles, we found that our precautions had not been in vain. An alligator had apparently poked his nose against the sticks, but had been unable to uproot them; and one or more jaguars had certainly visited the spot, but had not succeeded in breaking through the thick roof. During the previous night more turtle had, we found, visited the spot, and we very speedily filled our baskets with eggs.

We had also brought with us a large trough and several clay jars. We broke a considerable number of eggs into the trough, filling it to the brim. In a short time a rich oil rose to the surface. This we skimmed off and put into the jars; repeating the process till all our jars were full. We had thus a good supply of excellent oil, for any purpose for which it might be required. Then, somewhat heavily laden, we returned homewards.

“Well done, my friends! you have amply provisioned the Good Hope; and, please Heaven, we will in a few days get her off the stocks and ready for rigging!” exclaimed the skipper. “That will not take long; and we may then, before the rain sets in, bid farewell to this place, which we shall ever remember with affection for the happy home it has afforded us for so many months.”

We were now more busy than ever. The last planks were put on. Our craft was completely decked over, and a cabin raised in the afterpart for Marian and my father. We had manufactured an ample supply of sailcloth, which, with the addition of the sail saved from the old craft, would be sufficient. Cordage and blocks had been made, and the masts and spars were already put up. The fibres of several plants served as oakum for caulking the planks; and two or three resinous trees afforded pitch for the seams, as also for paying over the outside. As we had no paint, the interior was covered over with a varnish which quickly became hard.

The day for the launch was at last fixed. We had no gay-coloured flags, but Sambo had preserved a red handkerchief, which was hoisted to the head of the mainmast, and waved proudly in the breeze. The sky was bright, the wind light and balmy. The shores were then knocked away; and, with loud cheers, and prayers that the Good Hope might have a prosperous voyage, we saw her glide gently into the waters of the lake, on which she sat, as Peter observed, like a wild duck ready to take wing. We had formed a rough pier with the trunks of two large trees, alongside of which she was hauled, for the greater facility of carrying her rigging and spars aboard. The rafts were drawn up on the other side for the same purpose—the last service they were likely to render us.

Though we had an abundance of substantial provisions, we required for our daily wants a supply of fruit and vegetables, as also some wildfowl and other birds. For the purpose of obtaining them, Kallolo and I set out one morning, each of us carrying a large basket on our back; he with his blowpipe in his hand, and I with my bow in mine, and our pointed sticks, without which we never went out. We took the way towards the small lakes, where we were certain to find birds, and probably a variety of fruits, as so bountifully is that land supplied by nature, that some fruits are found in perfection all the year round, though we had to go further than usual to obtain them.

We reached the lake where Kallolo had caught the jacana; and skirting its shore, we passed along a narrow causeway which separated it from another lake of smaller dimensions. We were still proceeding, when Kallolo stopped me, and pointed to a thin column of smoke which arose at some distance, apparently from a fire kindled close to the shore.

“There must be natives there,” he whispered; “but whether they are likely to prove friends or foes, I cannot say till I have got a sight of them. Stop here while I wade into the lake; I see by the character of the water-plants that it is shallow, and by keeping behind the bushes I may observe them without being seen myself.”

He did as he proposed, and, while I remained hidden behind the bushes, made his way, now swimming, now wading, towards the opening where he had seen the smoke. I watched him anxiously. He stopped, at length, resting his hand on a fallen trunk, and looking out eagerly before him; while I kept an arrow fixed in my bow, ready to shoot should the strangers discover him. Slowly sinking down, so as the more effectually to conceal himself, he made his way towards where I anxiously awaited his return. I saw by the caution he used that he was not satisfied.

“We must hurry away from hence,” he whispered. “I saw a large number of people; and, from their paint and the weapons they carry, I have no doubt that they are out on a warlike expedition. They probably are not aware that we are in the neighbourhood, and they may pass by without discovering us; but if they do so, and find how few we are in number, they may be tempted to attack us, under the belief that we possess such articles as they value.”

Kallolo said this as we hurried away. We were soon out of sight of the strangers, but he considered it imprudent to remain in their vicinity; and although we had collected only a portion of the fruit for which we had come, and killed but a few birds, we hurried back to the village.

The account we gave made everyone more anxious than ever to get the vessel ready for sea without delay, so that, should the natives attack us, we might, as we had no adequate means of defence, hurry on board and push off into the lake, even though the rigging of the craft was not complete. All hands therefore worked away till darkness put an end to our labours. Kallolo and Maco then volunteered to go out as scouts, to ascertain if the strangers were approaching, that we might not be taken by surprise.

The night, however, passed away as usual; and next morning, as soon as daylight returned we were all on foot—the seamen of the party engaged in rigging the vessel, while the rest of us carried provisions on board. Marian took her share in all our labours, as she had done in manufacturing the sails, the matting for making the baskets, and even the ropes, and in preparing the provisions. We were all, indeed, as busy as ants, going backwards and forwards from the storehouse to the vessel. The last of the provisions carried on board were the turtles and tortoises. The former were laid on their backs on deck, covered with a piece of matting; and the latter were shut up in a box formed for them in the hold.

Another day came to an end, and the Indians, as before, went out to act the part of scouts. On their return they brought the intelligence that the strangers had kept on the other side of the lake, and would, they supposed, pass at a distance from the settlement. However, as we could not be certain that this would be the case, it was agreed that it would be wise to keep a sharp lookout as long as we remained on shore.

We had now only to bend the sails. All who were required were engaged in the work, while the rest were employed in conveying on board the last remaining articles. Polo, who, never having been at sea, was the least handy on board, had gone a short distance from the huts to shoot some parrots from a flock which frequented the neighbourhood, and which had already supplied us with several of their number. They were to be cooked, with the flesh of one of the turtles, before we embarked, as our culinary appliances on board were limited. We had contrived a stove made of clay, but, as it was of small dimensions, it would only serve for boiling our kettle and preparing small dishes. I was assisting Marian to pack up some food for her favourites, which were standing around her: the ara parrot perched on her shoulder, the curassow running round and picking up the grain which I let drop, while Quacko was seated on the roof of her hut, munching a nut. My father and Arthur were engaged in some other way; and Tim had just got a load on his shoulders, when, hearing a shout, we looked round and saw Polo running at full speed towards us.

“Fly! fly! Hasten, my masters; escape for your lives!” he exclaimed in eager tones. “The enemy have caught sight of me, and are following. There are hundreds of them; and they will destroy us all, if they catch us!”

Though I was at first inclined to believe that there could scarcely be so much cause for Polo’s alarm, yet I saw that my father and Arthur considered the matter in a serious light.

“Guy, my boy, go at once on board with Marian. Arthur and I will follow,” cried my father.

Captain van Dunk, hearing Polo’s shouts, inquired what was the matter. Polo repeated what he had said to us. “We will shove off at once, then,” exclaimed the skipper. “If the people approaching prove friendly, we can return and get whatever remains. As prudent people, we should not longer delay.”

I took Marian’s hand, and followed by our feathered pets and a couple of young monkeys in addition to Quacko, we hastened along the stage to the Good Hope. Having seen her safe on board, I was about to return and assist in bringing the few things which remained, when I caught sight of a number of dusky forms in the distance, a bristling array of bows and spears being visible above their heads. The captain shouted to my father and the rest to hasten their steps, while those on board got out some long poles prepared for impelling the vessel when in shallow water.

The shouts of the savages rang through the forest. It was very evident that we had been discovered, and that they intended to attack us. My father and Arthur came hurrying to the beach; Maco came next, bearing a load; and Tim, who seemed to consider it a duty to remain till the last for the defence of his master, brought up the rear. There was no time to be lost. The captain and Peter stretched out their hands to help them on board; and no sooner had Tim leaped on the deck than the last warp was cast off, and the Good Hope began to move into deep water. At that moment our poor tapir, which had been feeding at a safe distance, came trotting down to the beach. He could not under any circumstances have been taken on board, as from his bulk and weight he would have been too much in the way; but we were very sorry to leave him behind, especially when we saw him wading into the lake till his head alone appeared above water.

Our attention, however, was occupied in watching the savages, who now, in overwhelming numbers, came rushing into the midst of our little village. On finding that we had escaped, they hurried down to the beach, uttering loud shrieks and cries, and ordering us to return; while some, drawing their bows, shot their arrows towards us. This, of course, increased our anxiety to escape from them; so the oars were got out and we pulled lustily away, till a light breeze getting up, we hoisted our sail, and the Good Hope began to glide rapidly across the smooth waters of the lake.

On looking back we saw the natives shooting their arrows towards us, and frantically waving their spears; while behind them rose a volume of smoke above the bright flames which were consuming our little village. I could not help fearing that they had vented their rage on the poor tapir, which could scarcely have had time to regain the shore before they reached it. Our huts, too, must have been completely consumed; but as we stood across the lake a point of land shut out for ever our little settlement from our eyes.

Chapter Sixteen.

Our Pets—The Gale—The Skipper’s Vexation—Alarming Intelligence—The Chase—Our Pursuers on Shore—We reach Stabroek—Welcome Intelligence—Our Return to Trinidad—My Father’s Death—Conclusion.

We glided slowly across the lake during the night, and at early dawn came in sight of the entrance of a broad passage, which our good captain believed would lead us through a chain of lakes into the river by which we had come. The wind favoured us, and either the captain or his mate were continually sounding with long poles, to avoid the risk of running on any hidden sandbank which might lie in our course.

The appearance of the banks was greatly changed: long grass and shrubs grew on spots before concealed by water; small islands covered with vegetation were seen where we had supposed no land existed. Navigation, therefore, was extremely difficult, and the greatest caution was necessary to escape running on shore. Still, the depth of water was considerable, so that we had no fear of being stopped by impassable sandbanks or shoals. In several places which had before been overspread by the water we saw native huts, with the inhabitants—who gazed at us with astonishment as we passed—collected round them. Some followed us in canoes, but ignorant that we were not possessed of firearms, they kept at a distance. Occasionally a few Indians came off to trade, bringing tortoises and fruit; but as we would not allow them on board, they did not discover our defenceless condition; and we took good care to hide our bows and arrows, which would have made them suspect that we had no firearms.

We were somewhat closely packed on board the little vessel, what with twelve human beings, three monkeys, the curassow, the macaw, two parrots and three parakeets—one with a yellow top-knot, who, from his manners, showed that he considered himself the chief of the party, and deserving of the most attention; then there were ten turtles and a number of tortoises. The turtles, however, were stowed in the hold, and served as ballast. Quacko and the parrots afforded us constant amusement. The former generally took up his seat on the roof of the cabin, in front of the parrots, whose perches were fixed upon it. Arthur, Marian, and I took infinite pains to improve their manners and teach them all sort of tricks, so that they might be fit, as Marian observed, to appear in civilised society.

Though we had been very happy during our long sojourn in the wilds of the Orinoco, the elders of the party especially looked forward with satisfaction to reaching a place where we could live without fear of attack from savages, anacondas, or wild beasts, and where we could hear what was going on in the world. Marian and I agreed, however, that we should have been very happy to have remained on at our settlement as long as our friends liked to stay.

We now and then, I must confess, had some difficulty in keeping our pets in order. They had got on very well on shore, but in the close contact to which they were subjected on board their tempers were somewhat tried, and Uncle Paul suggested that we should take immediate steps for the setting up of family government. Jack, the macaw, though he had been placed on the highest perch as a post of honour, was continually climbing down to quarrel with the parrots, and creating a fearful hubbub with his hoarse screaming; while the parrots fought desperately over their food. One day they and the macaw, while wrangling together, in the blindness of their anger tumbled overboard; and had not Sambo jumped into the water and hauled them out, they would have all three been drowned, or fallen into the maw of some ravenous alligator. The parakeets were as quarrelsome as their larger brethren—yellow-top considered himself quite as good as a dozen green ones; while they, with their loud screeches, created such a disturbance that the skipper sometimes threatened to send them on shore, where they might settle their disputes by themselves. Sometimes the three parakeets would band together, and trotting up and down would insult the parrots. When a flock of their relatives passed over the vessel, the whole feathered community would set up so terrific a scream, that it might have been heard by every bird within the circuit of a mile. The curassow was the best behaved of the party. When her meals were over she would sit for hours together at Marian’s feet, who was diligently endeavouring to repair some of her worn-out garments, so as to appear respectable on her arrival. Crass made herself very useful, also, in eating up the flies and other insects which came on board.

At length we reached the main stream of the Orinoco, down which we glided rapidly with the current. We were not, however, destined to perform our voyage without further adventures. The weather, hitherto fine, suddenly changed, and a strong wind got up, which blew in our teeth. It increased to a gale, which sorely tried the little craft, and threatened to tear our sails into ribbons. Happily a deep bay, or the mouth of a river or igarape, appeared on our starboard hand; and running into it, we found shelter beneath a lofty bank, where there was deep water close to the shore. Recollecting our former escape, we could not help fearing that, should the wind change, we might meet with a similar accident. We had, I should have said, an anchor made of very heavy, hard wood, weighted with stones bound on by stout ropes. It was, as may be supposed, an unwieldy and ugly affair; and, as we could not have carried another, we had to be very careful not to lose it.

The wind howled and the tall trees waved above our heads, but we lay secure; the only risk being from some giant of the forest, which, uprooted, might come crashing down upon our deck, or from some big limb torn off. But as there was not much probability of such an occurrence, we remained where we were, hoping that it might not happen. As the gale gave no signs of abating, our three Indians swam on shore, Kallolo with his blowpipe, and the other two with their bows, to kill some game. After safely landing, they were soon lost to sight amid the trees.

The skipper would allow no one else to go. “It will not be wise to be left shorthanded, in case anything should happen,” he observed. “We know not what may occur.”

As we saw no signs of inhabitants, we did not expect to be visited either by friends or foes; still, had the latter appeared, they might have been tempted to come on board from seeing but few people on the vessel’s deck.

Night came on, and the Indians not having returned, we began at length to grow anxious about them. The gale had not abated, and we thought that, knowing we should not move, they had been induced to go further than they had intended. They would not desert us—of that we were very sure; indeed, both Kallolo and Maco had their families residing in the neighbourhood of Stabroek, and were anxious to return to them. Half of our party kept watch at night, while the rest lay down, ready to start up in a moment.

Towards morning the wind began to decrease, and the skipper did not conceal his vexation at the non-appearance of the Indians. “If the wind becomes fair, we must sail and leave them behind,” he exclaimed. “They ought to have known better than to go so far away.”

Uncle Paul, however, tried to excuse them, and expressed his belief that they would not intentionally have delayed returning. “The wind has not yet gone down or changed,” he said; “and as we cannot possibly sail, Kallolo, who knows this, sees that it is not absolutely necessary to return. Let us wait patiently; they will come back before long.”

The sun arose; the clouds dispersed, but still the wind blew against us. After an hour or more had passed, however, on looking out we perceived that the tree-tops no longer waved; and on glancing across the river we found that its surface, hitherto broken into foaming waves, had become perfectly calm.

“The wind is about to change, and we ought to have been out of this place,” exclaimed the skipper. “We must get up the anchor and row off into the channel. The fellows will have a longer swim, that’s all.”

“You would not desert them, surely,” said Uncle Paul.

“Well, I should be sorry to do so. We will wait a bit, and see if they come. I hope nothing has happened to the poor men,” said the kind-hearted skipper, who had never really intended to leave the Indians behind, and whose anger had now given way to anxiety on their account. He even proposed sending Sambo on shore to try and discover what had become of them; but Uncle Paul dissuaded him from this, as, had they been taken prisoners, or got into any other difficulty, the black would run a great risk of sharing their fate. Still we delayed. At last the skipper, with a sigh, exclaimed, “We must get up the anchor, Peter; the poor fellows would have come back before this if they were coming at all.”

Uncle Paul no longer made any objections. We shortened in the cable, but it required all our strength to haul up the ponderous anchor. We had managed to lift it out of its oozy bed, when we heard a shout, and looking up we saw the three natives rushing through the forest. Without stopping for a moment they dashed into the water. As they swam off they called out to us to heave them ropes. They were quickly alongside; and even before they had scrambled on board Kallolo cried out, “Get under way! get under way! No time to be lost!”

“That’s just what we were about to do,” said the skipper; “but why, after keeping us so long, are you in so great a hurry?”

“We could not help the delay; but there’s no time to be lost. We will tell you all about it presently. Get under way! get under way!” repeated Kallolo.

As he spoke, he and his companions sprang forward to assist in hoisting up and securing the anchor. The oars were then got out, and the vessel’s head was so directed that she might get round the point of land which had served to shelter us. The sails were in the meantime loosed, so as to sheet home as soon as they filled. Kallolo and the other Indians were pulling so lustily at the oars, that they had no time to tell us what had happened; but I saw them looking anxiously up the river.

As we got out into the stream, clear of the long point which had hitherto concealed the upper part of the river from our view, we saw a large vessel under all sail standing down towards us. Her appearance was sufficient to account for their alarm. There could be no doubt that she was Spanish, and that, should she overtake us, we should be captured and carried to their settlement of Angostura; where we should certainly be thrown into prison, and very probably lose our lives. As might be supposed, we all pulled away with redoubled efforts, till we made the long oars crack. Fortunately the Spaniard had but little wind, and we were well able to keep ahead of her; but should a breeze come she would probably get it first, and bring it up with her, and too probably overtake us.

“Courage, my friends! courage!” exclaimed the brave skipper. “The Good Hope is not captured yet. She will prove no laggard, depend on that, and may have as fast a pair of heels as our enemy.”

We turned our eyes anxiously at the vessel astern. It was possible that those on board might not suspect who we were, and that she might be only sailing down the river without the intention of chasing us. Still, should she come up with the Good Hope, they would certainly send on board and discover that we were foreigners, who had, according to their notions, no business to be in the Orinoco.

At length we saw a light wind was playing across the stream, and our sails were rigged out. It came right aft. Away we flew, the canvas of the Spaniard filling at the same time. On and on we sped, but the Spaniard seemed to move through the water fully as fast. Kallolo now told us how, after having had a successful hunt, he and his companions were returning on the previous evening, expecting to get on board before nightfall, when they found themselves on the opposite side of the bay. Suddenly a party of white men, whom they took to be hunters, sprang out on them and made them prisoners. The strangers had seen the Good Hope, and had managed to draw from them the information that those on board were English and Dutch. On hearing this, their captors had despatched two of their party up the river, where a Spanish guardacosta lay at anchor. They pretended to be very indifferent as to what had happened; and the Spaniards, who in reality belonged to the vessel, were thrown off their guard. During the night Kallolo and his companions managed to make their escape, and finding no canoe in which to cross the bay, had hastened round by the shore to warn us of our danger. It was now clear that the Spanish vessel was following us with hostile intentions, and that should she overtake us we might suffer the fate we apprehended.

But “a stern chase is a long chase,” and the Good Hope proved herself a fast little craft. As she drew but a few feet of water, we were able to keep a straight course, whereas the larger vessel had to deviate from hers several times; thus by nightfall we had drawn considerably ahead.

On the previous night we had slept but little; this night not one of us closed our eyes. We could just see the lofty sails of the Spaniard gliding after us like some ferocious giant eager for our destruction. The wind increased, and she was evidently making more rapid way. On and on she came. Presently the loud sound of a piece of ordnance boomed through the night air, and the shot splashed into the water close astern of us.

“A miss is as good as a mile,” said the skipper, who was at the helm, in his usual quiet tone. “We will not give in, though a dozen such popguns as she carries should be fired at us.”

Another shot came whistling past our quarter, and dropped alongside; a third came, and that fell astern.

“We passed over some shallow water just now,” said Peter, who was sounding with a pole.

“Ah, and the Spaniard too has found out that the water is shallow. See! see! she’s on shore!” exclaimed the skipper.

As we looked astern we saw that the vessel chasing us had let all her sails fly. On we glided. She grew fainter and fainter, till we could barely distinguish her outline. We all began to breathe more freely. In less than half an hour we could no longer discern her. We stood on, and when the sun rose right ahead no sail was in sight.

The weather continued fine, and in a few days the Good Hope was rising buoyantly on the ocean wave, her head directed to the southward.

Stabroek was soon reached, and our brave skipper, who was well-known there, introduced us to his friends, to whom he recounted our adventures, and secured us a warm reception.

I must not stop to describe our stay at the capital of the then Dutch colony of Guiana. My father at length received news from Trinidad which once more raised his drooping spirits. An enlightened naval officer, Don Josef Chacon, had been appointed governor. He had expelled the dissolute monks, and abolished the Inquisition; besides granting fertile lands to new colonists, assisting them with cattle and implements of husbandry, and providing for the free exercise of mercantile affairs. We might return in safety. We accordingly forthwith embarked on board a vessel commanded by our good friend Captain van Dunk, and arrived safely in the colony. Doctor Antonio had administered my father’s affairs with honesty and wisdom, and at once delivered over his estate to him, refusing to receive more than a very moderate recompense for the services he had rendered.

Our affairs flourished, but my father never entirely recovered his health. In a very few years he died, and was buried by the side of our poor mother. Uncle Paul had never lost his affection for our beloved Pennsylvania, nor had Arthur or I; so at my father’s death we disposed of our property in Trinidad, which realised not only sufficient to pay off all my father’s liabilities, but to secure the means for carrying on a mercantile business in our native land.

Years have passed since then. The battle for independence has been fought and won. Marian long ago became Arthur’s bride; and I have a wife of my own, who, although she has never stirred out of her native land, knows as much about our adventures as we do. Uncle Paul remained a bachelor to the end of his days, with Sambo as his attendant; and faithful Tim, who married a fair daughter of Erin from the “ould country,” refusing to quit us, still remains in our service; while Captain van Dunk, who entered the American navy, after ploughing the seas for many a year has settled down on a farm near us, where he ploughs the land with the same energy and perseverance he ever exhibited. Of course, as may be supposed, Marian and I often narrate to our children the adventures we met with “in the wilds of Trinidad and the Orinoco.”

WHG Kingston

"Washed Ashore"

Chapter One.

The Old Tower—Captain Askew’s Family—The Smugglers—Why Jack Askew went to Sea.

There was an old grey weather-beaten stone tower standing on the top of a high rocky promontory, which formed the western side of a deep bay, on the south coast of England. The promontory was known as the Stormy Mount, which had gradually been abbreviated into Stormount, a very appropriate name, for projecting, as it did, boldly out into the ocean, many a fierce storm had, age after age, raged round its summit and hurled the roaring, curling waves into masses of foam against its base, while the white spray flew in showers far above its topmost height. To the west of Stormount, the coast was rocky and fringed by numerous reefs, while on the further side of the bay, also formed by a promontory, less in height than that of Stormount, it consisted of cliffs, broken considerably however by chines and other indentations, and pierced here and there by caverns, some close down to the water, and others high up and almost inaccessible from below. Inland, the country was sparsely cultivated—open downs and fern and gorse-covered heaths prevailing. The more sheltered nooks in the bay contained a few fishermen’s cottages, pitched here and there wherever the ground favoured their erection, with very little regard to symmetry or order. Nearer to the water were boat-sheds, and stakes, and spars, on which nets were spread to dry or to be repaired.

But the old stone tower of Stormount claims our attention. It was of considerable circumference, three stories in height, the walls massive and substantial, the strongest gales could not shake it, nor any blasts find entrance. The tower had been the donjon-keep of the ancient castle, part of the wall of which attached to the tower, had of late years been roofed over, and formed a portion of a dwelling-house and offices, the main portion being in the keep itself. The appearance of the tower from the outside, though highly picturesque, was bleak and comfortless, and gave a stranger the idea that it was more fitted for the habitation of sea-gulls and other wild fowl, than for the abode of man. But those who had once entered within its portal came out with a very different notion. And on a stormy, long winter night, when the wind whistled and the waves roared, and all was darkness around, and the entrance to the bay, easily enough seen in daylight, was difficult to be found, a bright light streamed forth from an upper window of the old tower, sending its rays far off over the troubled ocean, cheering the passers by, a warning to some of neighbouring dangers, a guide and welcome to those who might be seeking shelter from the gale.

People are occasionally met with in this world very like that old tower—rough and weather-beaten on the outside, yet with warm hearts and genial dispositions, cheering and encouraging the wanderer, blessings to all with whom they come into contact. The old tower was inhabited, and about its inmates we have still more to say than about the tower itself. Five miles to the eastward of the tower was a Revenue Station, and fifteen years or so before the time of our history commences, the command was held by an old Lieutenant Cumming, who had obtained it, he used with a touch of satire to tell his friends, as a recompense for forty years’ services and numerous wounds in fighting his country’s battles.

He was one day standing on the beach, when a cutter brought up in the bay, and her boat soon afterwards came on shore with a passenger. No sooner did the old lieutenant see him than he hurried to the boat, and grasping his hand as he stepped on shore, exclaimed, “Welcome, welcome, old shipmate; I knew, Askew, that you would find me out some day; and so you have; come along!”

Towards his cottage near the beach the old lieutenant and his friend bent their steps, the former assisting the new comer, who having lost a leg, walked with difficulty—a seaman following with a small well-battered valise. Didn’t the old shipmates talk as they sat together during their supper! Many a battle they fought over again, and Commander Askew had besides to talk of his own doings since last they parted. He told his friend how in lashing the enemy’s bowsprit to the mizen-mast of his own ship, his leg had been shattered, and how he held on to the task till he had done it, and then sank fainting on the deck. He did not utter an expression like a boast, though he thoroughly possessed the characteristics of the true-hearted naval officers of the old school, who feared God, did their duty like lions, and said very little about it. He spoke, too, of a promise he had made to a brother officer, who lay dying in the cot next to him, and how he had fulfilled it (the request was common in those days), “Jack, you’ll keep an eye on my wife and little girl, I know you will.”

“Cheer up, Tom, don’t be cast down about that matter, God knows that I’ll try and do the best I can for them.”

That was all that passed. John Askew did do his best. He found his late friend’s widow dying, and the orphan girl, not a child, but a young woman, without a friend in the world besides him. He looked about to find a husband for her. To those eyes who could only see the pure bright loving spirit beaming through her countenance, she appeared plain. In vain Jack looked for what he sought. “Why don’t you marry her yourself?” said a friend.

Jack said that he was much too old for Margaret Treherne. However, he put the matter before her. Her heart leaped with joy as she thought how she should now be able to devote her life to the comfort of her generous benefactor. A truly happy couple were Captain and Mrs Askew. He had lately got his promotion to the rank of Commander, and was now in search of a house in sight of the ocean he loved so well, where he might live a retired life and bring up the two children God had given him.

“Fit up Stormount Tower,” said his friend, half in a joke, “the rent will be nominal, and you’ll have as much of the sea as you can desire.”

The next day the two brother officers walked over to inspect the tower. The captain decided that he could soon make it comfortable, and accordingly went on to see the proprietor, Mr Ludlow. Mr Ludlow, who resided on his somewhat extensive but barren estate, was glad to find a tenant willing to help to keep the old walls from tumbling down, and who might also prove a pleasant neighbour. In a short time the old tower, under the captain’s directions, was put into a habitable condition, and well caulked, as he observed, when he surveyed the work. The furniture was of a modest description, for the captain’s means were small. When all was ready, he went away and returned with his wife and two children—one a boy, four years old, and the other a little girl. The boy was named after his father, John, though he was generally known as Jack Askew; the daughter was called Margaret, but more frequently spoken of as Margery Askew. An old follower of the captain’s came with him—Tom Bowlby was a sailor of the old school, and knew as little of the shore as a whale does of the inside of Saint Paul’s. He loved the captain as a father, and would have been ready to die to save his life. He had saved it once, by interposing his own arm, which he lost in consequence, and Captain Askew resolved that, should he ever have a home, Tom should share it with him.

Jack Askew grew up a fine bold, generous-hearted boy, and what was better still, fearing and loving God as did his father and mother. In his childhood’s days, when not with his parents, he was under Tom’s entire charge; but as he grew older the old sailor found it impossible to follow him in his distant rambles, and Jack, who was of a sociable disposition, soon made the acquaintance of every individual of the surrounding population.

While Lieutenant Cumming remained at the revenue station, Jack was constantly out with him and his men in their boats; he was equally intimate with a class of men living on the coast, who, though they professed to be fishermen, either made smuggling their chief business, or were ready on all occasions to help the smugglers. Tom knew very little about their proceedings; indeed, brought up as he had been, had he done so, it is not likely that he would have looked on them with much horror. Captain Askew, of course, knew that there was a good deal of smuggling on the coast, but, except in the case of a few notorious characters, he did not know who were the individuals engaged in it. Jack was a favourite with both revenue men and smugglers, and the latter knew that, should he by chance learn anything of their proceedings, he would not betray them. He used to go off with them when they went out fishing, sometimes with Tom, and sometimes alone, and soon became a very expert boat sailor. One thing is very certain, that his associates did Jack no good. We know from Scripture that “Evil communications corrupt good manners,” and, though undeservedly, he got the character of being a wild lad, likely some day to get into trouble.

Such was the opinion formed of him by Mr Ludlow, his father’s landlord, who consequently seldom invited him to his house, nor did he encourage any intimacy between him and his son, which he would probably otherwise have done. Mr Ludlow, who was a country magistrate, was a stern, self-opinionated, and narrow-minded man, with very little of the milk of human kindness in his composition. He believed, among other things, that he could put down smuggling by force, and he was engaged in an effort to accomplish the task. Stephen, his son, was rather younger than Jack, a good-looking boy, but he was conceited, headstrong, and not good tempered.

He occasionally went over to Stormount, where he was always welcomed, but he and Jack were not especially good friends; indeed, their pursuits were so different, that even then they did not see much of each other. It happened one day that Jack, having betaken himself to the beach, found some of his friends going off a in boat, and begged to go with them. One or two objected, others said—“Let him come, he’s true as gold, he’ll not peach.”

“Yes, yes, for do ye not see if we get into trouble, they’ll not be hard on us for his sake.”

This decided the matter. Jack did not hear these remarks, and went. The boat sailed off till she was out of sight of land, when she met with a long white lugger, and out of her received a quantity of goods, bales of silk, and ribbons, and lace, and then returned towards the shore. Night had come on—certain lights were seen, a signal that all was right, and without hesitation the smugglers pulled in towards the beach. Suddenly from behind a point two revenue boats darted out and gave chase. The smugglers’ galley was put about and pulled away along the coast. Jack’s hitherto peaceable friends were suddenly transformed into fierce savages. Their venture was a valuable one, and they swore that sooner than yield it they would lose their own lives, or take those of their opponents. Jack heartily wished that he had learned the object of their expedition, and had avoided coming. He, by this time, knew enough about the ways of smugglers to make him feel that he ought to have suspected that his friends were about some unlawful work.

Scarcely had Jack left the tower than a post-chaise came rumbling up the steep ascent which led to it. Had it come five minutes sooner Jack would not have gone down to the beach. It contained an old friend of his father’s, Captain Summers, who had come to spend a few days at the tower while his ship was refitting. She was a South Sea trader, generally sailing to the western coasts of America and the islands of the Pacific. Everybody in the household was so busy—Captain Askew in talking to his friend, Mrs Askew and Margery in getting his room ready, and Tom in preparing supper, that no one thought of Jack. It was not till they were seated at their evening meal that Jack was missed. Tom went out to make inquiries. He was not very well pleased when he at length learned that Jack had been seen with Bob Herring and some other men going off in Bill Starling’s galley, Bill being, as Tom well knew, one of the most determined smugglers belonging to Stormount Bay. “Well, Bob Herring would give his life before any harm should come to the lad, and Bill’s a clever chap, and it’s not likely that he’ll be getting into mischief,” said Tom to himself as he returned homewards.

As long as daylight lasted Captain Askew or Tom had their eye at the large telescope in the captain’s own room, ranging over the ocean in search of Bill Starling’s galley, but no where was she to be seen, and at length the captain became more anxious than he had ever before been about Jack. He had done his best to prevent Mrs Askew from being alarmed, but was on the point of going out himself to make inquiries about the galley, when a ring was heard at the gate, and Becky Bott, the maid, came to say that blind Peter, the pedlar, wanted to see the captain. Blind Peter with his dog Trusty traversed the country round, selling needles, thread, tape, and such like small wares. Peter seldom failed, when he required it, to obtain a crust of bread, and a piece of cheese, and a glass of cider for himself, and a few bones for his dog. He had always met with a kind reception at the tower, and seemed to have taken a very great fancy to little Margery. “It’s her sweet gentle voice I love to hear,” he said one day talking to Becky. “That’s what goes to my heart.”

“What brings you here, Peter, at this time of night?” asked Captain Askew, with some anxiety in his voice.

“I wish, captain, I could say it was pleasant news I’ve brought you, and yet when there’s evil it is better to know it, that we may find a remedy,” answered the blind man. “I wouldn’t like to frighten the missus though—but it’s just this—Master Jack has been taken with Bill Starling, Bob Herring, and a lot of other chaps, by the coastguards’ men, with a cargo of contraband, and they are all now on their way to Mr Ludlow’s. He’s long been wishing for such a haul, and he’ll commit one and all of them to prison, and Master Jack too, if you don’t go and bail him out.”

Peter’s news caused a considerable amount of anxiety, for Mr Ludlow’s stern character was well known. However, the only thing to be done was to set off immediately to see him. Fortunately the post-chaise which brought Captain Summers was still at the public-house in the village, and the postboy sufficiently sober to undertake to drive to the hall. The two captains found Mr Ludlow seated in magisterial state, with the prisoners before him, making out their committal for trial.

“I am very sorry for this, Captain Askew, very sorry,” he remarked, as they were introduced. “The case is clear against all the party, and your son was with them. He is young, and may have been led astray by others, but a severe example is necessary, and he must suffer with the rest. He will be sent to prison for a year, or to sea in a ship of war.” In vain Captain Askew and his friend pleaded for Jack. Mr Ludlow would not listen to their explanations. Captain Summers, as a last resource, offered to take Jack away with him to sea, and, to his surprise, Mr Ludlow at once agreed to the proposal. Jack was accordingly allowed to accompany his father and his friend home.

Jack, though he liked the thoughts of going to sea, was very sorry to leave his father and mother and dear little Margery, but he bravely kept up his spirits, that he might not grieve them more than he could help.

Not a word of complaint either did he utter against Mr Ludlow, or those who had brought him into trouble. “It will be a lesson to me through life to avoid associating with those who are doing wrong,” he remarked, and he said but little more on the subject.

There was a void not likely soon to be filled in the old tower, and a greater still in the hearts of its inmates, when Jack Askew went to sea. They occasionally received letters from him, not very often though, and they found that many he had written had not reached them. The last letter they received was dated from a port on the coast of Peru. The ship was about to sail among some of the wide-scattered islands of the Pacific, whose then still savage inhabitants were said to be addicted to the worst vices which disgrace humanity. In vain they waited for another letter—none came. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. Still they hoped, and hoped on, that tidings would come some day or other.

At length rumours arrived that Captain Summers’ ship, the Truelove, with all hands, had been lost on a coral reef. Captain Askew would not allow himself to believe the report, and he took a journey to London to ascertain its truth. “God’s will be done, dear wife,” he said when he came back. “He that gave has taken our child away.” Many a pious parent has repeated the same words, yet with anguish of heart. Still they went on hoping against hope. However, at length it became too certain that the Truelove had been lost, and that not a trace of her crew had been discovered, although a brother captain of Captain Summers had made every inquiry in his power, and a ship of war had been sent to search for them.

Margery was now the sole earthly object round which the affections of Captain and Mrs Askew ere entwined. Tom Bowlby, too, had transferred his love for her brother to her. She was a bright sunny little creature, with light auburn hair, deep blue eyes, and a pure rich glowing complexion, which might have vied with that of the lily, had it not been burnt by the sun and sea breezes. No one who saw her, or heard her joyous ringing laugh, or her voice so soft or gentle when moved by pity or sorrow, could fail to love her. She had learned to think of Jack as of a brother gone on a long, long voyage, whom she should meet again, not for years perhaps, but some day certainly, and so she ceased to mourn for him. The captain had seen so many of his companions launched into watery graves, and knew so well that it is the fate for which all who go to sea must be prepared, that he accepted his lot as common to many another parent, though his gallant boy was not often out of his thoughts. He and Tom seldom, as was once their wont, talked over their adventures and battles, for Jack and his doings was the theme on which, when together, they loved to speak, in subdued tones though, and often with faltering voices and tears springing unexpectedly to their eyes.

Margaret seldom spoke about her boy, but she did not think of him the less, and there lingered yet in her mother’s heart the hope—she knew it was baseless, yet she dared not contradict it—that she should yet again fold him to her heart on earth; she knew that she should meet him in heaven. One thing Margaret bethought herself that she would do. She might assist to save others from the fate which had befallen her own dear boy. The day on which the sad tidings reached her she had retired to an upper chamber of the tower which overlooked the sea, to pray that strength might be given her to bear her deep affliction. To those who pray aright, never are their petitions refused. By labouring for the good of others, the sorrow-stricken heart is greatly relieved. “Surely, if this tower could be seen by night as well as by day, it would show the entrance to our sheltered bay,” she said to herself. She possessed a large bright lamp; filling it with oil and trimming it carefully, she placed it in the window as the shades of evening closed over the then tranquil ocean. Night after night, without fail, she did the same, allowing no one, not even Margery, to share her task. By and by a reflector and more powerful burners were obtained, and the rays of the lamp were thrown still further over the sea. The fishermen out on the waters soon learned whence the light came, and blessed the hand that placed it there.

Chapter Two.

Margaret—Stephen—The Rocks—The Face—Blind Peter—The Storm.

When the old tower of Stormount was being fitted for a modern habitation, the original arrangements of the interior had been in a great measure restored. Entering at the gateway, a narrow passage led to the foot of a spiral stair which ran up to the top of the building. On each story there was a landing-place, into which the rooms opened. Most of them were in shape like a slice of cake, the largest, used as a sitting-room, almost semi-circular. At each window there was a deep recess—the windows themselves in the lower stories being very narrow, having been made rather as loopholes for musketry than to let in light—while in the upper story they were square and low, formed as ports for such cannon as were used in the days of the Commonwealth. Under the ground-floor some of the inmates suspected that there were vaults, as at two or three spots a hollow sound on stamping hard was elicited, but as there was no apparent way down, the captain had not thought it worth while to break up the pavement to examine them. The dining-room, kitchen, some offices and bedrooms were in the newer part of the structure.

Captain Askew’s own room was one of those on the upper story, looking towards the sea. It could not be called his study—for he was not a reading man, and there were but few books in it,—but it contained something of everything, arrayed in the most perfect order on shelves arranged one above another, in cupboards, on tables, and in drawers. It was a workshop, a museum, a laboratory, a model room, a library, a dressing-room in one. Here he sat at work for a large portion of each day, but not often alone, as his wife, or daughter, or Tom Bowlby was constantly with him. In two or three points the captain had changed somewhat of late years. He lived less for himself and more for others than formerly. He took delight in going out among the fishermen and cottagers in the neighbourhood, with his Bible in hand, or with some book on religion, and in reading and explaining the Scriptures. He was also engaged in making the model of a lifeboat, and inventing other apparatus for saving life.

He had likewise been appointed a magistrate, for the especial object of assisting the revenue officers in putting down smuggling, which it was found difficult to do without a strong force of coastguards on shore and numerous cutters afloat. He most unwillingly undertook the office, but having taken it, set about doing his duty, as he was accustomed to do everything, thoroughly. This of course made him enemies among those he had hitherto looked upon as his friends; still, all but the worst characters acknowledged that the captain was an upright man, and that whatever he did, he would take no undue advantage of them.

Captain Askew sat in his room—the captain’s room. It was known by no other name. He was a strongly-built man, with a fine open countenance, florid, or rather sunburnt, with blue eyes—Margery’s were like them—and hair sprinkled thickly with frost. The loss of his leg had prevented him from taking much rapid exercise, and he had grown slightly stout in consequence, but he was still hale and active. Margery stood by his side watching his proceedings, and occasionally, when required, helping him in his work.

They were interrupted by Becky Bott, who put her head in at the door, saying, “Please, there’s young master Stephen Ludlow a come to see you, Miss Margery, with a book he says.” Having delivered her message, Becky popped her head out of the room.

“I don’t like that Stephen Ludlow, father, and I wish that he wouldn’t come here as he does,” exclaimed Margery, pouting. “He never cared for dear Jack, and he has no right to come here, with his proud manners, sneering at everything, and thinking himself the most important person in all the country round.”

“He is our landlord’s son, little daughter, and it is our duty to treat him with attention,” answered the captain. “I have not found his manner un-courteous, though, being an only son, he possibly is spoilt a little at home.”

“He is spoilt a great deal, I suspect,” cried Margery tossing her head in scorn.

“Well, well, ask him if he has a mind to stop to dinner, then tell him that you are engaged with me, and come back here,” said the captain; “he will find means of amusing himself in the meantime.”

Margery found Stephen in the sitting-room. He was a pale-faced boy, with irresolution marked on every lineament of his countenance; the curl of his lip, and a frown marked on his brow, were not pleasant traits. “I have brought this book for you, Margery, as I thought you would like it if you have never read it,” he said, presenting a good thick volume, with a somewhat awkward manner.

Margery took it coldly, saying, “Thank you, I’ll try and read it, but I have not much time to read by myself, as papa likes to be read to, and so does mamma of an evening when she is at work. Oh! by the by, I am to ask you to stop and dine, dinner will soon be ready, and you can amuse yourself in the meantime on the beach. As I think of it, it is really a pity that you should leave the book, I may never look into it.”

“Oh! but this book is not like any other, it is full of adventure. All about a man living on a desert island, with a black called Friday, for I don’t know how many years. If it isn’t true, it ought to be, and so you’d better read it,” said the boy, pressing the book on her.

Margery had become interested with the description of the work, and no longer refused to take it. She thanked Stephen more graciously than before, and, taking the book with her, hurried back to her father. Stephen was satisfied; he liked Margery and the captain, and Mrs Askew, better than most people, next to himself, and he thought that he could pass the hour till dinner-time to his satisfaction on the beach, in picking up shells and other sea curiosities. So, leaving his pony in a shed near the tower, which served as a stable, he strolled down to the shore.

The tide was unusually low, and on turning to the right as he faced the sea, he found that he could get along under the cliff on which the tower stood, by means of a narrow ledge of rock and sand. He had never been there before, and he thought that he should like to see how the cliff looked towering above him. He forgot the danger he was running, should the tide rise and cut off his retreat. He went on and on till he got completely under the cliff, and when he looked up it seemed to bend over above his head, and to reach up to the sky. The rocks were so wet that it was evident the tide had only just gone down, so he thought that he should have abundance of time to get further, and perhaps to get round, so as to climb up the cliff on the west side. Going on, as he happened suddenly to look up, he fancied that he saw, high above his head, a human face looking down on him out of the side of the cliff. He was startled—as well he might—for it seemed impossible that any one could get to the spot. When he looked again the face—if fact it was—had disappeared, and he saw nothing which he could have mistaken for a face. Still he went on; there was novelty in the expedition, and no apparent danger, of which he was not fond, and he thought that it could only be a very little way longer round. Again he was startled, but this time it was by a cry, and hastening on to the spot whence the sound came, he saw a young girl, in the dress worn by the children of the fishermen, holding on to a wet, seaweed-covered rock, on which she had fallen to save herself from slipping off into the water. He was not so devoid of good feeling as not to wish to help her, so he ran on, and taking one of her hands, he dragged her up and enabled her to reach a spot where the footing was more secure.

She thanked him simply but warmly, and then looking at him earnestly, she said, “You are young Master Ludlow, and I think this no place for you: so get back the way you came, or ill may come of it: there is time for you before the tide rises, but none to spare.”

“Who are you?” said Stephen; “I don’t know what you mean; I’ve done nothing to offend anybody.”

“Who I am does not matter,” answered the girl, “It’s enough that you are the son of one who is trying to take the bread out of the mouths of poor folks who never harmed him.”

This remark was sufficient to give Stephen a notion of what she meant, and being naturally timid, thanking her for her warning, he hurried back as fast as he could scramble over the rocks. He saw, indeed, that on account of the tide there was no time to lose, for the tops of several rocks which were before exposed were completely covered, and the ledge along which his path lay was becoming narrower and narrower. He began to get alarmed. It seemed a long way to the broad part of the beach. He could not swim. He wished he could, even a little, because he might then swim from rock to rock. He thought that he was very near the end, when the tide came gliding treacherously up, till the water touched the very base of the cliff before him. There was no retreat either backwards or up the cliff. The rocks on which he stood were evidently covered completely at half-flood, while by the marks on the cliff the water must reach far above his head at high tide. He ran on almost shrieking out with terror till the water completely barred his further progress. He stood trembling on a rock, not daring to plunge in and attempt to scramble across. It would have been better for him had he done so boldly at once, for every instant the water was deepening.

He was about to sink down in despair, when he heard a voice shouting to him. This roused him up, and he saw Tom Bowlby waving the stump of his arm, and standing on a rock not twenty yards off. “Jump in, young master, and come over to me, the water is not up to your middle yet, and it’s all smooth sailing between you and me.”

Still Stephen, paralysed with fear, would not obey, and at length Tom, losing patience, dashed into the water himself, and hooking him through the jacket by the iron hook which he had fixed to the end of his stump, dragged him across, not, however, without having to swim a short distance, and consequently giving poor Stephen a thorough wetting. They had two places of the same character to pass through, but by the exertions of Tom, Stephen, more frightened than hurt, was at length landed safely on the dry beach, and was able to accompany him on foot up to the tower. On their way Tom told him that he had seen him go down, and hearing from a fishwife the direction he had taken, he had come after him to bring him back. On his reaching the tower, Stephen was carried into a room which had never been used since its last occupant, poor Jack, had slept in it; and while his own clothes were drying, others were given him that he might appear at dinner. He guessed at once to whom they had belonged. Tears came into Mrs Askew’s eyes when she saw him, and Margery treated him with more gentleness than she was accustomed to do, forsooth to say, she had generally very little patience with him, he was so far behind her idea of what a boy ought to be. She thanked him again for the book; she had read a few pages and found them very interesting, but would tell him more about her opinion when they next met, and she had read it through. Stephen described the appearance of the face in the cliff, and what the girl he had met had said to him. The captain seemed to think that the face might have been in his fancy, but he was puzzled to account for the girl being where he found her, and not wishing to accompany him, as it was evident that she must have known of some way up from the beach. The captain got a hint which he resolved to make use of as opportunity should occur.

Margery ran off as soon as dinner was over to read more of the book Stephen had lent her, and when she returned to the sitting-room to wish him good-bye, as he was about to leave on his return home, she told him that it was a delightful book, and that she was sure she should like it better than any she had ever read. Stephen did not appear at all the worse for his ducking and fright. Tom brought his pony round to the door, and as he helped him to mount, he advised him to hurry home.—“A storm’s brewing, young gentleman, d’ye see, and a wetting with fresh water will do ye more harm than the one with salt ye got this forenoon,” he remarked.

“I don’t just want to be reminded of that,” answered Stephen, in a tone which showed his annoyance. “But if there is rain coming, I think I had better.”

“Put spurs to your pony, Master Ludlow, and get home as fast as you can,” said the captain, who at that moment appeared at the door.

Stephen took the observation as a hint to him to be off, and he was too proud, fancying this, to return into the house as he was about to do.

“Ah!—he’ll never be what our Jack was,” sighed Tom, as Stephen rode off. Dark clouds were coming up thickly from the south-west, the advanced guard of a dense mass rising rapidly out of the horizon. Stephen, looking round occasionally to see if the clouds were likely to overtake him, galloped on down the steep path which led from the tower to the more level country over which his road lay. He had not gone far when the voice of some one from behind a hedge cried out, “Who goes there? Stop, I charge you!”

Stephen was at first not a little alarmed, but directly afterwards he saw Blind Peter, the pedlar, emerge from his concealment, led by his little dog. Stephen had known Blind Peter all his life, and as soon as he saw him he answered, “I am Stephen Ludlow. What do you want?”

“I warn you that you are in danger, young gentleman,” said Blind Peter. “I have been waiting for you all the morning. I thought that I should know the tread of your pony’s hoof, with your light weight on his back. Don’t go back the way you came, or evil may come of it. Take the round by Fairleigh farm. Be advised, young sir, be advised.”

Stephen was timid, but he was obstinate, and as the rain was likely soon to fall he was in a hurry to get home. He therefore was disinclined to believe Blind Peter. “For what can any one want to hurt me?” he asked.

“Ask your father, young sir. He may guess better than you can,” replied Peter, “But, I say again, go by Fairleigh. Be advised. The round will not increase your ride by more than twenty minutes, and a wet jacket is of less consequence than a broken head.”

At the mention of a broken head, Stephen turned pale. He remembered the warning he had from the girl in the morning, and he now no longer hesitated to take Blind Peter’s advice. Scarcely, however, thanking the pedlar, he turned his pony’s head down a road to the left, and galloped on at full speed.

“He’s a poor-spirited creature, or he would have had a word of thanks, or may be a piece of silver for the poor blind man,” said Peter to himself, shaking his head as he spoke, and then hastened on towards the tower. He had not gone far when down came the rain, driven by a heavy gale which dashed it furiously in his face. Still he struggled on, his faithful dog pulling at his leading-string to induce him to walk faster, the animal’s instinct telling him that the storm had but commenced, and that it was increasing in strength.

Captain Askew had been watching the storm after Stephen left from the window of his room in the tower, occasionally sweeping the horizon with his glass, to see what vessels were passing up and down the Channel, and exposed to its rage. Then he returned to his work, in which he was much interested, and then he went back to the window again. At length he remained longer than he had before done at the window, earnestly looking through his glass. “She’ll be lost to a certainty if they don’t succeed in getting up jury-masts,” he exclaimed. “No chance of that either, she’s driving right ashore. She’ll anchor, but the ground will not hold her. I must get some of our fellows to go off to her with me. They’ve courage enough, if they can be stirred up.”

He was watching all this time a large ship, which, totally dismasted, was being driven towards the coast. He quickly put on his foul-weather-dress, as he called it, with water-proof boots, and a sou’-wester, and went to his wife’s room. He put his head into the room and said, “Margaret, I am wanted out there. God protect you and Margery. I pray that I may be soon back—so will you, I know, dear wife—good-bye.” He did not stay to say more, and before she could ask any questions he had hurried from the room.

Tom saw his master leaving the house. “I know what you’re after,” he said to himself, and with a rapidity which few but sailors can exercise, he had stepped into his rough-weather clothing, and was hurrying after him. Though the captain was superior to Tom in most things, Tom having two real legs, and the captain only one, Tom went over the ground the fastest, and soon caught him up. “You are not going without me, sir, I hope,” said Tom, in a tone which showed that his feelings were deeply hurt. “Did you ever go without me, sir, where there was anything to be done, and the chance of a knock on the head?”

“No! Tom—but you see in this sort of work two hands are wanted, and you haven’t got two, and that’s the long and the short of it,” answered the captain.

“One of them was lost in saving my life. I don’t forget that either.”

“That’s nothing, sir,” answered Tom. “If I haven’t two hands, I’ve got a strong set of teeth, which are pretty well as useful as a hand; and who can say that my on arm isn’t as good as the two arms of many a man.”

“Not I, Tom, not I!” answered the captain; “but it’s just this—if anything was to happen to me, what would my wife and child do without you, Tom, to look after them?”

Tom still, however, argued the point. They were walking as fast as the captain could move down to the beach. Suddenly the latter stopped, looked Tom full in the face, and said—“It’s just this. Are you captain, or am I?”

“You, sir,” answered Tom, touching his hat mechanically, as he was wont in the days of yore.

“Then stay, and do as I order you,” said the captain, walking on. “But I’ll tell you what, Tom; you may go and look out for volunteers, and then come and help to launch the boat.”

The appearance of the captain at the boat was the signal for the inmates of the neighbouring huts to come out to know what he wanted. He showed them the ship driving towards the coast—urged them to come and help him save the lives of those on board; and when he saw that his appeal made but little impression, talked of the salvage money they would receive, and other recompense from those they might save, and from their friends. First one man volunteered—then another, and another, from various motives. Tom had collected more from other quarters, till a fine crew was formed. Once having said they would go, they were not the men to draw back; but they might have been excused had they done so, for it was very evident that the undertaking was one full of dangers of the most formidable character.

The boat, one of the finest of her class on the coast, and fitted with a double row of empty kegs on either side to give her buoyancy (one of the earliest attempts at a life boat), was now hauled up in a cove on the west side of the bay. The captain had ordered as many ropes as could be collected to be brought down. These were now coiled up carefully at the bow and stern, ready for immediate use. The oars were secured by ropes to the sides of the boat, so that they could not be washed away, but would swing fore and aft. “All ready, lads?” cried the captain, “Now altogether, shove, and off she goes!” The united strength of her crew, and some twenty other men, quickly launched her on the water of the comparatively sheltered bay. “Remember!” cried the captain, standing up in the stern-sheets, and looking back at Tom. “Shove off, lads! Give way! We shall be wanted out there before long.”

Bravely the men bent to their oars. Not many minutes had passed when the boat got from under the shelter of the headland, and exposed to the full force of the storm. It seemed scarcely possible that a boat could live amidst the foaming, roaring seas which came rolling in towards the beach. Her head was put at them, and on she went—now hid from view by the seething mass of water—now reappearing on the summit of a wave. On she went, in the teeth of the gale—on—on—rising and falling, every instant in danger of being swallowed up by the fiercely-leaping seas. Many of those who stood on the beach, cried—“The Lord have mercy on them!”

Chapter Three.

The Wreck—Sailors’ Humanity—The Negro—The Young Stranger.

Two persons were watching the storm and the progress of the solitary boat over the foaming water, from one of the windows of the old tower. Both, as they watched, were praying that He who rules the wind would protect the husband and the father, and those with him, from the dangers to which they were exposed. Mrs Askew looked through the telescope at the boat, a mere speck in the troubled ocean, till her eyes grew dim and her heart sank with anxiety, and she was compelled to relinquish her post to Margery.

The dismasted ship was some way to the south-west.

“The boat goes on bravely!” cried Margery.

“Now she is on the top of a wave—now she sinks into the trough—she is rising again though—yes, yes, there she is! But the ship—they will grieve to be too late; yet she is driving fearfully near those dark rocks! and I heard papa say that not a human being would escape from the ship that once strikes them.”

“Heaven have mercy on them!” ejaculated Mrs Askew. “How many have mothers and sisters, or wives and daughters expecting them at home—poor people, poor people!”

“But perhaps the wind will change, and the ship may be driven along the coast and into the bay, and they may yet be saved!” exclaimed Margery, who was naturally more sanguine than her mother.

“I fear that there is no likelihood of that,” said Mrs Askew. “See! the boat is still a long way off, and she makes but slow progress—while the ship is driven on to destruction with even greater speed than at first.”

That the above remarks may be clearly understood, it should be mentioned that the ship was a considerable way to the west of Stormount Bay, and that she was driving almost directly on the coast, so that the boat, after pulling out some way to sea to get clear of the cape, had to steer almost parallel with the coast to cut off the ship, their courses being almost at right angles to each other. All the time, though they looked occasionally towards the ship, the eyes of either the mother or daughter were scarcely for a moment off the boat—difficult as it was to keep her in view. Often they gasped for breath, and their hearts sank within them, when she was concealed by the foaming waves; and more than once they could with difficulty refrain from crying out with agony of spirit as she remained longer than before hidden from view. Still, there she was; but as yet she had encountered only a portion of the dangers she had to go through; the greatest was in getting alongside the ship, and next to that was the return through the breakers which were dashing on the shore.

The brave men on board might venture on yet greater danger, should the ship strike, in attempting to go close to the wreck. Both Mrs Askew and Margery knew enough of the state of the case to be aware of this, for there was no lee side on which the boat could approach; and yet they knew that if the captain saw the faintest possibility of saving the lives of any of his fellow-creatures, he would make the attempt.

“I can still see the boat, mother—I can still see the boat!” cried Margery, when Mrs Askew, pale and trembling, had resigned the telescope to her daughter, unable longer to discern the boat, and tinder the belief that it had been overwhelmed by the seas. “She floats—she floats; but she is still a long way from the ship!”

“The ship! where is she?” exclaimed Mrs Askew. “I do not see her.”

Both, without the glass, looked out in the direction where the big ship had just before been seen floating.

“Oh! mother, the ship is not there!” cried Margery.

“Gone! gone! is it so?” exclaimed Mrs Askew; “The Lord have mercy on those now struggling out there for their lives amid the raging waves!”

The ship had indeed gone down; and it seemed impossible that any but the strongest swimmers could keep afloat till the boat should reach the spot. Still they watched for an occasional glimpse of her, for they were certain that the captain would not return till he had been compelled to abandon all hope of saving life. Since he had gone out the rain had cleared off, but at the moment the ship disappeared a thick driving rain came sweeping on over the ocean, soon shutting out the boat from view. In vain the lady and her daughter waited till the veil of mist should clear off; and at length their anxiety became too great for endurance. They thought that Tom would come in to relieve this impatience, but he did not appear.

“Come, dearest, come! we must go down to the beach,” said Mrs Askew, taking Margery’s hand.

Their cloaks and hats were soon put on, and together they hastened down to the shore, where they saw a group of men, with Tom in the midst. In spite of the rain driving in their faces, they pressed on. The men were eagerly looking out over the sea. Some held coils of rope in their hands, others long poles, while Tom had fastened a number of cork net-floats together to form a life-buoy. They drew aside as they saw the lady and her daughter.

“No fear, marm!” exclaimed Tom, when he observed their alarmed looks. “We doesn’t think anything has happened to the captain, do you see, but it’s just as well to be ready for whatever does happen, and there’s no saying what that may be.”

So poor Mrs Askew and Margery thought; and they were thankful that their friends were making such preparations, as seemed to them, for the worst. Indeed, they might well do so. The huge billows came rolling in towards the shore, breaking with a loud roar on the beach into masses of foam, and then rolling back again, looking as if it must sweep off everything it might encounter. Mrs Askew found that some parties of men had gone along the coast to the eastward with ropes, on the possibility of some of the wreck driving on shore in that direction, for they were not aware that the ship had gone down, the mist having come on almost at the moment of the catastrophe. Some of them shook their heads behind the lady’s back when they heard of it. The captain would be tempted to go looking about round the spot till darkness should come on, and then the return on shore would be doubly hazardous. One thing was certain, that he would select the spot where they were for running in the boat, as it was the only one for miles along the coast affording the slightest chance of safety. This was owing to its being sheltered by the cape from the south-west, a small bay being formed within the bay. Still the sea rolled in even there with great force, and the landing was an undertaking of great difficulty and risk. Mrs Askew heard the men say that in one respect the boat would gain by the delay, as the tide was on the point of turning, and would set up Channel with the wind, thus enabling her to return more speedily, while the sea might not possibly break so much as it had hitherto been doing. Tom wanted Mrs Askew and Margery to return to the tower; but, though the rain pelted down, and the wind blew against them so that they could scarcely stand, they persisted in awaiting the expected return of the boat.

Now the mist cleared off a little; they peered anxiously out, but no boat was to be seen. Now it settled down thicker than ever, and all they could see was billow after billow crested with foam come rolling in, and breaking with loud roars on the beach, making the very ground beneath their feet tremble. They stood with their hands clasped together, Margery partly sheltered by her mother’s cloak. As they could see but a short distance, they listened the more attentively, in the hope of hearing some sound which might give them notice of the approach of the boat. At length Margery started, and bent forward; either her quick ears had distinguished a shout amid the roar of the waters, or she fancied that she heard one. She waited for some time. “Oh! yes, mother, it is—it is! I hear a voice—it is papa’s! He is shouting! He is telling the men to do something! I know it is him!” exclaimed Margery, darting forward. Was it the little girl’s fancy, or not? Surely not her fancy, though no one else heard the voice.

Suddenly the mist again for an instant cleared away, and revealed the boat on the summit of a billow, close in with the shore. Now is the time for the men on the beach to exert themselves if they will save the lives of their friends, though the risk of losing their own is very great. The strongest secure the ropes round their waists, and prepare to rush into the sea that they may seize the boat as she touches the beach, before the sea can draw her back again or those in her.

On comes the boat—the captain steers her with consummate skill; the brave crew exert themselves to the utmost, yet with difficulty can they prevent her from being turned broadside to sea, and rolled over on the beach. Those who are watching hold their breath with anxiety. Margery and her mother stand trembling. Tom can do but little except hold on to the end of one of the ropes. The boat draws nearer—then down she comes. The sea follows, ready to sweep all out of the boat, as if disappointed of its prey; but those on shore each grasp a man. Tom seizes his master with his hook, and drags him up the beach. Others attend to the boat. She is quickly hauled up, and all are safe. Margery and her mother were soon in the captain’s arms: they were recompensed for all they had suffered by seeing him safe. But where were those they had gone out to rescue? Were none preserved? Yes! one person had been discovered alone, of the numbers who had been on board the ship—a black boy, but he could speak but a few words of English, and could give no account of the ship.

The captain, with his wife and daughter, and Tom leading the young stranger, now hurried up towards the tower. The captain stopped, however, for a moment before he went. “Thank ye, lads, for what you’ve done!” he said; “it was your best, and you could do no more; and one life saved is better than none. As soon as you’ve shaken yourselves dry, come up to the tower, and such fare as I can offer you I’ll give it gladly.”

“Thank ye, sir, thank ye!” answered the crew of the boat, “we’ll come by and by, if it’s only to drink yours and the missus’s health.”

Before entering the tower, the captain gave a glance over the ocean. The mist had again cleared off completely, and his keen eye discovered far out a small object—what it was he could not determine. He pointed it out to his daughter. Throwing off her wet cloak, she hurried to the telescope, that she might ascertain what the object was. She looked eagerly, as it was, probably, she thought, a part of the wreck. After watching it a short time, it became evident to her that it was being drifted by the tide and wind towards the shore. She called her father, who by this time had put on his dry clothes. He asked her to point out the spot where she had first seen it. “Yes—yes, it may possibly drift into the bay!” he exclaimed; “but it will be midnight before it can reach the shore. I must go out, however, and set men to watch, for it is large enough to support a dozen or more people, though it is scarcely possible that they should have clung on in that heavy sea out there.”

Once more the Captain and Tom, habited in their foul-weather clothes, repaired to the beach. Darkness was coming on, and the object they were in search of was only for an instant at a time visible as it rose to the foaming summit of a wave. It however remained long enough in sight to enable them to point it out to the men at the huts, several of whom agreed to remain with the captain and Tom on the shore, with ropes, to assist any one by chance clinging to the piece of wreck.

Again Mrs Askew and Margery were left in a state of anxiety, for they knew the danger that must be run in the attempt to draw a person out of such a raging sea. Margery insisted on running down to take her father some food—for he had had none since dinner—and, of course, Becky offered to go, but at that moment Blind Peter came to the door, and he undertook to convey some supper for the captain and Tom; and the black boy, seeming to comprehend the matter, begged by signs to be allowed to accompany him, and to carry the baskets. To Blind Peter day and night were the same, and with every inch of the ground he was well acquainted, so that he had no difficulty in finding the captain and his companions—guided to them by the sound of their voices. Blind Peter was recompensed for his want of sight by the most acute sense of hearing. Accustomed also to be out in all weathers, he cared nothing for the pelting of the storm, or for the clouds of spray which beat over those who stood on the beach, and expressed his intention of remaining till the piece of wreck should reach the shore.

“Then you must share with us the provender you have brought, friend Peter,” said the captain, taking a seat on some rocks rather more out of the reach of the spray than where they had been standing. Some lighted their pipes, and others produced bottles of spirits from their pockets, and, being all of them well clothed to resist the weather, they made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow. Occasionally, one or two got up and ran along the beach, to try to ascertain if the wreck could be seen. Suddenly, Blind Peter started up, exclaiming, “I hear something floating on the water! There is a voice, too, faint, calling for help.”

The captain, and Tom, and the other men, with their ropes, hurried after Peter along the beach. He stopped, pointing over the sea. The moon, which had hitherto been obscured, at that moment broke forth from behind a cloud, and revealed a small raft floating among the breakers. Again the moon was hidden by the cloud, and then once more it appeared, and this time the raft was seen more distinctly, and on it appeared a human form, grasping the planks firmly with one hand as he lay along then he waved the other to show that he was alive. No sooner was he seen than the agitation of the young black became very great; and taking the end of a rope from one of the men, he fastened it round his own body, and intimated that he would swim off with it to the raft. There was no time to be lost, for any moment the lad—for lad he evidently was—might be swept off by the breakers, or the raft might be thrown violently on the shore, and he crushed beneath it. The captain and Tom also fastened ropes round their waists, as sailors well know how to do, and rushed into the surf to help the brave black boy. The raft came on towards them; the black boy sprang on it, and seized the lad, who seemed at that moment to have lost all consciousness. An instant longer, and he would have been swept away. The receding waters rushed back with the raft. The black boy, though an excellent swimmer, could scarcely support his friend as those on shore hauled him in, when the captain and Tom rushed to his aid. The captain stuck his timber-toe in the sand, Tom caught the stranger’s jacket with his iron hook, and all three brought him at length safely up the beach out of the reach of the surf, which came hissing after them as if angry at the loss of its prey.

“Now, lads, carry him up among you to the tower; a warm bed and some hot grog is what the lad now wants!” cried the captain, who possibly felt that it was high time for himself to get to a warm bed, for he was not so strong as he had been, and he had gone through great exertions.

It was too evident, that if the raft had had more occupants, the lad was the only survivor. The light of the moon, as it shone on him as the seamen bore him up to the tower, showed that he was dressed in a sea officer’s uniform jacket, such as is worn by midshipmen—to which rank, from his youth, it seemed probable that he belonged. Tom had hurried on before, so that when the party arrived, Mrs Askew, Margery, and Becky, were busily preparing and warming Jack’s bed for the young stranger. The warmth and rubbing soon brought him to consciousness; but Mrs Askew, observing his exhausted condition, would not let him speak to give any account of himself until he had had some sleep, without which it was evident that food would do him but little good. The captain pretended to be very indignant at being popped into bed as soon as he got home, “like a little boy who had tumbled into the water,” he said; but he was not sorry to drink a glass of hot grog which Margery brought him, after which he fell fast asleep.

Mrs Askew watched by the side of the young sailor lad, who now also slept soundly. She thought of her own dear boy, who might have been as this lad was—washed ashore on some strange land; and as she would have wished him to have been treated, so she desired to treat the young stranger. He was older than Jack would now be—stouter and fairer—not like him, indeed, except in possessing an honest and innocent countenance. She did not for a moment suppose that he was her own boy come back to her, and yet, as she watched him, her heart strings began strangely to coil round him, and she felt that he could never be a stranger to her. She was sure that he would be worthy of her regard—judging by the expression of his countenance—this opinion being strengthened by hearing of the affection shown to him by the young negro. She sat up with some food ready to give him when he should awake, and it was not till daybreak, after he had taken it, that she would allow Becky to take her place. When she opened the door she found the black boy coiled up close to it, on a rug. He had left the snug bed provided for him that he might be near the lad, to whom he was evidently attached.

Margery was the first of the family on foot; she longed to hear more about the young stranger, but he was still asleep, and there was no one else to tell her—the black boy was about, but he could not exchange many words with her—so, to employ the time, they looked through the telescope to ascertain if any more pieces of the wreck were floating about near the shore, but nothing was to be seen. The wind had considerably abated, and the sun was shining brightly on the sparkling waves; though she could not forget that they danced over the graves of so many of her fellow-creatures who that time the day before were full of life and strength, and that probably the only survivors were the black boy and the young lad, now sleeping safely in the tower, who had been on the last night washed ashore.

Chapter Four.

Charley Blount—Peter a Prisoner—Trusty’s Assistants—In Hiding.

“I want to know your name and all about you,” said Margery, addressing the young stranger, who, having eaten a very good breakfast, and obtained permission to use his tongue, had had his clothes dried, and having dressed in them, looked every inch a midshipman, and spoke like one also.

“Why, you see, Miss Margery, for I understand that is what you are called, that matter is quickly settled. My name is Charles, or rather Charley Blount. My father and mother are dead, and I was sent away early to sea, and have been at sea ever since, and as I am very fond of it I know more about it than most lads of my age. I was on my fifth voyage home from India in the ‘Durham Castle,’ and expected before long to become a mate, when just in the chops of the Channel, our rigging being slack, we lost all our masts, and at the same time the ship sprung a leak. We little knew how bad it was, but instead of getting up jury-masts, with which we might have steered the ship up Channel, the crew were compelled to work at the pumps; but the leaks gained on us, and so the poor old ship went down, with upwards of a hundred people on board.”

“Dreadful!” exclaimed Margery. “But how did you escape from the ship?”

“A few of us, when we found that nothing could save the ship, hurriedly put together a small raft, but very few of the rest seemed inclined to venture on it. Just as the ship was going down I sprang on to it with five others; they lost their hold, and were washed off; I retained mine, and was washed on shore, and now I think that I have told you all about myself that you will care to know.”

“Oh no! not by half!” answered Margery. “I want to know why the black boy is so much attached to you, and how it was that papa when he picked him up did not see you?”

“That I can easily account for,” answered Charley, “as the ship went down a thick fog came on, and I had drifted by up Channel; that is to say, nearly east, before the boat coming more from the north had reached the spot; and as to honest, faithful Crambo, I once upon a time picked him out of the water as he last night helped to pick me out, and he has ever since stuck by me, and I assure you that I value his friendship.”

“Oh yes! I can easily understand that,” said Margery. “I am reading about a very interesting person, a great traveller, who had a black servant called Friday, and they lived together on a desert island for a long time—it must have been very delightful—but at last they got away. I have not read the book through yet, but when I have I will tell you more about it, and perhaps Stephen Ludlow will lend it to you. I will ask him, for I am sure that you will like it.”

“Perhaps I may have read it, Miss Margery, already,” said Charley, smiling. “If it is the ‘Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,’ I have.”

“Yes, yes! that is the very book!” exclaimed Margery, “how could you guess so quickly?”

“Because I know of no other book with a man Friday in it, or one so interesting,” said Charley; “but I must tell you one thing. Friday is always spoken of as a black, but that is a mistake, as the inhabitants of all the islands in the part of the Pacific where Robinson Crusoe is supposed to have been wrecked are light brown people; some are very light. Many of them are civilised, and have become Christians, but in those days they were perfect savages, and some of them were cannibals.”

“How dreadful!” exclaimed Margery. “But have you been out in those seas?”

“Yes!” answered the midshipman, “I once came home that way, and we touched at several islands. They are very beautiful, and I should much like to go out there again.”

“So should I,” said Margery, and she sighed. She would like to have told him all about Jack, but he was as yet too great a stranger to her to allow her to speak to him on a subject which was to her almost sacred, so she said nothing; she did not even tell him that she had had a brother Jack, who had gone to sea and been lost.

Charley Blount soon became a great favourite of the inmates of the Tower, as also with most of the neighbours. His history seemed a sad one, and yet he was as merry and happy a fellow as ever lived. He had but few friends on whom he had any claim, and they were in India; the only one he had had in England, an aunt, was dead. She was the sister of his father—a maiden lady of true piety, who had indeed instructed him in the way he should go, and Charley Blount had not departed from it. This was the reason he was so merry and happy. His happiness was within himself. Captain Askew delighted in him. He seemed to him what his own boy would have been, and it was with inward satisfaction he heard that he had no friends in England to whom he could go.

“Then, Charley, you must make this old Tower your home, as long as you can keep off the salt water,” he answered. “We are grave, old-fashioned people, but we’ll do our best to make your stay with us pleasant.”

Charley assured his friends that he knew when he was in good quarters, and that he should be in no hurry to go away. It naturally occurred to the captain that his young guest would like a companion occasionally, so he sent a note inviting Stephen Ludlow to come over and spend a day at the tower, hoping also that Mr Ludlow would invite Charley in return.

Margery was very anxious to see Stephen to thank him for his book, and to tell him how much she liked it. An idea had also occurred to her which she proposed broaching to him on the first opportunity.

Blind Peter was the general messenger as well as the purveyor of small wares in the neighbourhood, and as he happened to call that day, Becky took the captain’s note down to him to carry.

“It’s just to ask the young master at Ludlow to come over for a day,” she observed, as she gave it to him.

“Then just, Becky, do you give him a hint not to wander away from the Tower while he is here, and tell him to go back by the way he went the last time, mind that,” said Peter.

“I’ll do as you tell me, Master Peter,” answered Becky. “But what’s in the wind that makes you say that? You know I am not a woman to go and prattle about other people’s affairs, but I should just like to know, that I should, Master Peter.”

Blind Peter turned his sightless orbs towards Becky, while a smile played round his lips.

“I’ll tell you what, Becky,” he answered, “there’s an old saying, that a secret is no longer a secret if it’s in the keeping of more than one person; so, do ye see, I think as I’ve got it I’d better keep it. Not but what I own that you are a right sensible woman, Mistress Becky, and it’s for your good as much as for my own that I don’t tell it to you.”

Becky was not satisfied, but she knew Peter of old, and that, as she said of him, “he was as close as wax, and if he was determined not to do a thing no mortal power could make him do it.” She made up her mind to abide her time, in the hope that after all she might discover the secret. Blind Peter having received the note, set off on his journey, promising to deliver it either that night or the following morning.

Peter’s reception at the hall was always very different to that at the tower, yet he did not refuse the crust of bread and mug of water offered to him at the former, but meekly took it, and went on his way with a thankful heart. On this occasion, having delivered the note at the hall, and finding that both Mr Ludlow and his son were out, he continued his journey. It was towards evening, as he was within a mile or so of the little public-house, near the coast, at which he intended to sleep, that he was overtaken by a man in a cart.

“Ah, Peter! is that you?” said the driver. “Just get in, and I’ll put you and your dog and your wares down wherever you may wish to stop.”

“Thank you for your offer, Dick Herring—for I know you by your voice,—but my legs are well accustomed to carry me; and they’ll do so as long as I need their services, I hope.”

“Oh, nonsense, man; there’s a storm brewing, and you’ll be wet to the skin, if you keep to your legs; but just do you get in, and I’ll whisk you along to your journey’s end in no time,” answered Dick Herring.

“That’s kind of you, Dick, anyhow,” said Peter; “but as to the storm, I don’t feel as if one was coming, and I’m not often deceived.”

“Just now you are, though, depend on’t, mate. Come, step in, I want to do you a service, and it isn’t the like of me that would do you a harm,” said Herring, in a persuasive tone.

Peter, who was in reality very tired from his long walk, was glad to have a lift, and his doubts as to Herring’s intentions, which from certain circumstances known to him he entertained, having been quieted, he stepped up to the cart to get in. In an instant he felt himself lifted up by strong arms, and placed on a seat next to another man who had not before spoken, and the cart drove on at a rapid rate.

In vain he begged that poor old Trusty might be lifted in with him. “The dog has four legs, and can run as fast as the horse; we can’t stop for him,” said the man, in a gruff and feigned voice, though Peter thought that he recognised it as that of a notorious smuggler living not far off.

“I told you, Peter, that I’d whisk you along pretty quickly over the road, and I am doing so, you’ll allow,” observed Herring, in a tone which the blind man did not like, but he said nothing. He was, however, after some time, convinced that they had gone much farther than the two miles which he calculated would take him to the inn where he had proposed sleeping. He became aware, too, that the cart had altered its direction, by the feeling of the wind on his face. On they went at a rapid rate for some time, when Peter inquired why they were conveying him from the place to which he wished to go.

“We’ve a good reason, Master Peter,” answered Dick Herring, in a still more disagreeable tone than before; “you know a thing or two more than you ought to know, and we intend to keep you out of harm’s way for a day or two; and that’s the fact, if it pleases you to know it.”

Peter was aware that expostulation was useless, so he resigned himself to his fate, believing that Herring, though a daring smuggler and utterly lawless, would do him no personal harm. He felt the cart go up and down several rough places, and he was certain that it doubled several times, and had made a full circuit more than once. The object of the smugglers, it was evident, was to mislead him and to make him suppose that he had gone a long distance. He kept his own counsel, however, and in a short time the cart stopped, and he was told to get out. He called Trusty to come and lead him, but no Trusty came.

“The dog couldn’t quite keep up with us, and maybe he has lost his way,” said Herring. “But never do you mind, Peter, I’ll lead you; here, take my arm.”

Poor Peter did as he was directed, and then he found himself going up some very rough stone steps, and then he knew by the change of air that he had been led through a doorway into a room, and that there were people in it, though they did not speak; and then Dick led him into another room, and told him to sit down on a chair, and that he must make up his mind to remain there for some days to come, and that if he promised to be quiet and to behave well, he should be well treated. Saying this, the smuggler walked out of the room, and bolted the door behind him.

Peter immediately got up and felt about the room. It contained, he ascertained, a low pallet bed, a table and a chair, and had a small lattice window, with a bar across it; but it was so small that even without the bar he could scarcely have got through it had he wished. He opened the window gently. He could hear the sough of the sea on the beach, far down below him. “I thought as much,” he said to himself, “they have brought me to old Dame Herring’s cottage, upon Eastdown Cliff. I was here as a boy more than once, and could find my way from it easy enough, if I had Trusty’s help to keep me from any pits or holes dug of late. I know the reason why this has been done. They suspect that I know what I do know, and perhaps more, and they want to keep me out of the way till they have carried out their undertaking. However, they might have treated me worse; so I’ll not complain, but try and take matters easily.”

Saying this he took off his wallet and the knapsack which contained his wares, and threw himself at his length on the bed, intending to go to sleep. He had not lain there very long when the door opened and some person looked in, and placing something on the table retired again, bolting the door. In a short time several people came into the larger room, most of whom Peter knew by their heavy tread were men in large boots.

“Well! Mother Herring, do you promise us success in our venture, we’ve been waiting long enough for it?” said one of the new comers in a gruff voice.

“If you do as I bid you this time you will succeed,” answered an old woman, whom by her cracked, harsh voice, Peter, even had she not been named, would at once have recognised. “But, as I before told you, if you want to make all secure, get hold of the son of old Ludlow. He dotes on the boy, and you would have the father in your power, if you could get hold of the son.”

“So we should, long ago, if it hadn’t been for blind Peter; howsomedever, we can keep him quiet for some time.”

“I mind the time before the captain came to the Tower, the matter was much more easier than it now is,” said an old man, whom Peter knew as a daring smuggler all his life. “That was a first-rate place, I believe you.”

“Then why not get rid of the captain and his family?” croaked out old Mother Herring; “what business has he to come interfering with people’s rights?”

“More easily said, Mother Herring, than done,” exclaimed another of the party. “The captain is a tough old bird, not to be driven from his perch in a hurry.”

“Ha! ha! ha! May be I’ll put you up to a trick or two, my sons, that’ll make the place too hot to hold him,” croaked out the old woman. “Just you be guided by me, and all will go right, depend on that;” and she gave way to a fit of laughter which almost choked her.

Peter did not hear more of consequence just then, but he had heard enough to show him that the smugglers were prepared to run a cargo of contraband goods on the coast, and in case of failure they wished to get young Stephen Ludlow into their power, that they might make terms with his father. Had it not been for Peter, who had been long aware of their object, they might ere this have accomplished it, and he now guessed that they had discovered that it was owing to him that they had not hitherto succeeded. At length Peter, being very tired from his long walk, to sleep. He had a notion that the people in the next room were taking supper, and indulging in a carouse, of the materials for which their calling afforded them an ample supply.

The smugglers were drinking when Peter went to sleep, and when he again woke some were still at the table, and talking loudly and wildly, though others had, apparently overcome by the liquor, dropped off to sleep. They spoke as men do when the wine is in their heads, without fear or caution. The wildest proposals were made to carry out their objects. One man suggested that if they could get rid of their two principal opponents, Mr Ludlow and Captain Askew, they would have no one to interfere with them. The idea was taken up by others, who did not scruple to talk of murder; though, tipsy as they were, when they spoke of so awful a deed, they sank their voices so low that Peter did not clearly hear all they said. His ear, however, caught one or two ominous expressions, such as—“over the cliff,” “sink him out at sea,” “entice him from the house,” “the sooner the better.” These words convinced him that the speakers would not scruple to commit the most atrocious crime if they fancied it would advance their interests. They made him also very anxious to get away to warn those who were threatened of their danger.

But how to get away was the question. He might fancy that no one was observing him, and yet be watched the whole time. One thing he hoped was that Herring and his associates, trusting to his blindness, fancied that he did not know where he had been carried to, and that he could not possibly get away. By degrees the speakers dropped off, and the loud snores which came from the room showed that the occupants were mostly asleep. He hoped that all might be so. Considering what he should do kept him broad awake. He had not remained so long, when his attention was drawn to a scratching under the window. The night was warm, and the lattice had been left open. He went to the window and put out his hand, and directly he did so he felt it licked by the tongue of his faithful Trusty. He put down his hand still further, and calling the animal by name, it leaped up and he was able to drag it in. Poor Trusty showed his delight at meeting his master by jumping up and licking his face and hands all over. “But can you help me out of this, good Trusty?” said Peter, whispering in the dog’s ear.

Trusty, as if he understood the meaning, immediately went to the window, and leaped up on the sill.

“He thinks that I can get out,” said Peter to himself. “He is seldom wrong—I will try.” Suiting the action to the word, he put his head out between the bars. “Where my head can go my body can follow, but my body must go first just now.”

After twisting his body a variety of ways, he worked his way between the bars, to which he held on while he lowered himself to the ground. The leading-string was still attached to Trusty’s collar, and taking it in his hand, he said, “Go on, Trusty.” Trusty, pulling hard, led the way, as if he was conscious that there was danger in delay, and Peter set off as fast as he could venture to move.

No sound came from the cottage, and he had every reason to hope that he should completely effect his escape. Trusty, that good sagacious dog, worthy of his name, pulled on as if he well knew that it was important to leave old Dame Herring’s cottage far behind before daybreak. Peter decided on going first to the tower, that he might consult with the captain, to whom he knew he could speak as to a friend. Should he go to Mr Ludlow, he was afraid that the magistrate would perhaps immediately send off to Dame Herring’s Cottage, and attempt to apprehend the whole body of smugglers. “If he does, what will be the advantage? None at all. I know what I heard, but I cannot swear to the voices of any one of them and they will all escape, and revenge themselves on me; not that I care for that if I can do others a service, but it’s hard to suffer and do no good to any one.”

The captain was an early riser. He had scarcely been a minute on foot when he heard blind Peter knocking at the door. Peter was admitted, and his story soon told. “I will consider what is to be done, and will give due warning to Mr Ludlow,” answered the captain. “But one thing is certain, Peter, that you must lie by for a while, and take up your abode in the tower. The ruffians would treat you with little ceremony if they were to catch you as you were wandering about the country, but they would scarcely venture to molest you while you are here—indeed, there is no reason that they should know that you are here.”

There was a small vacant room on the ground-floor of the Tower—into this the captain conducted Peter, and told him that he must consider himself a prisoner there till the smugglers were captured or driven out of the country, and it was safe for him again to go out by himself. He promised him, however, that he should not be without visitors, and that Margery and Charley Blount should come and read to him.

Captain Askew, having made these arrangements for the safety of the poor blind man, considered how he could warn Mr Ludlow of the danger threatening Charley Blount was the best messenger he could select. The hall was nine miles off, but Charley said that the distance was nothing, and that he would be there and back by dinner-time; so having received his instructions he set off, with a stout stick in his hand, in high spirits, observing that should the smugglers wish to stop him, they would have to run very fast before he was caught.

Chapter Five.

Hopes—The Sailor’s Story—The Smugglers—Guests at the Tower—Ghosts.

About an hour after Charley Blount had left the Tower, Stephen Ludlow trotted up on his pony, not having met the young sailor on the way. He said that he had come over early, to spend the day, and that if he was asked to sleep he might do so. Of this the captain was very glad as he did not wish him to run the risk of going back alone, and at the same time he had not sufficient confidence in his discretion to tell him what he had learned from Blind Peter; so he said, “I am very glad to receive you, my young friend; but I must exact a promise that you will not go beyond the open beach, or the downs in sight of the windows of the Tower, unless with Tom or me. I have my reasons, which I need not mention now.”

Stephen thought this rather odd, but as he wished to stay, he readily gave the required promise. Margery had for some time been wishing to see him, to talk to him about the book he had lent her, and which she had now read completely through.

“Oh, Stephen!” she exclaimed, when she saw him, “it is such a delightful book. I have never read anything I have liked half so much. It has given me an idea—but I cannot talk to you about it here. You must come out on the beach, and we will sit on a rock and look out over the sea, and then I shall be able to say all I wish.”

So they went out together, and easily found a spot to suit Margery’s taste.

“Well, Margery, what is it that you have to tell me about my old book?” said Stephen, in a tone which would have told her, had she not been herself so engrossed in her subject, that she was not likely to have a very sympathising hearer.

“Pray do not speak of it in that way, Stephen,” she answered. “It’s a dear, delightful book, at all events; and since I read it I have been thinking more than ever of dear Jack. You know that he went away in a ship to the Pacific Ocean, and the ship was wrecked, just as Robinson Crusoe’s was, and though he was not a supercargo, he was a midshipman, and I don’t suppose there is much difference; and at all events, if Robinson Crusoe was saved, and lived on a desert island for many years, though everybody else in the ship was lost, why should not dear Jack have been cast on some island, and be still alive, though not able to get away, or I am sure that he would, and would come home and tell us all about it; for he knows how we all love him and think about him every day.”

“What a strange idea!” said Stephen, somewhat coldly. “I thought that it was settled that Jack was dead long ago. Do you really believe that he is alive?”

“Of course I do,” answered Margery, with some little impatience in her tone; “it was only those who don’t care about him settled that he was dead. I have always, always, been sure that he is alive, over the sea there, a long, long way off; but he will come back when we can send for him.”

“Very strange!” muttered Stephen. “But what, Mrs Margery, would you have me do?”

“Stephen, you knew dear Jack well,” she answered, fixing her large blue eyes on him; “you used to call him your friend, and friends ought to help each other. If I was a boy, whether or not I was Jack’s brother—if I was his friend,—I know what I would do: I would go out and look for him.”

“But where would you look?” asked Stephen. “The Pacific is a very wide place, even on the map; and I have a fancy that in reality it is wider still. There are many, many islands no one knows anything of.”

“Ah! that is the very thing I have been thinking of,” exclaimed Margery. “I am certain that Jack is living on one of those very islands.”

“How can you, Margery, be certain of any such thing?” said Stephen, in his usual cold tone, which contrasted curiously with the enthusiastic manner of little Margery.

“How can you ask that question, Stephen?” she exclaimed, half angry that he should venture to doubt the correctness of her most cherished belief. “Robinson Crusoe was wrecked on a desert island and so Jack may be, and I want you to go and look for him, and bring him home! There! I will not be refused! You are old enough and big enough to go,—bigger than Jack was—and you have plenty of money; and your papa always lets you do just what you like, so you say; and besides, you often speak to me of Jack as your old friend; and if he was your friend I ask you to prove it by bringing him home.”

When Stephen heard this he first thought that Margery was joking, but the matter was too serious for that; then the idea occurred to him that she had gone out of her mind; but she looked so calm, and quiet, and earnest, that he banished it immediately, and promised to think over her proposal, and speak to his father. He, however, very well knew the answer his father would give, and he himself had no wish to go wandering about the world in search of one for whom he cared but little. Had Margery known what was passing in his mind how she would have despised him. But she did not; she fancied that he must be as enthusiastic as she herself was, and that it was only necessary to mention her idea for him to take it up warmly. She therefore was prepared to wait patiently, under the belief that Stephen would soon be able to give a favourable answer to her request.

Margery’s belief that Jack was still alive received a very remarkable and curious confirmation that very day, after she had parted from Stephen. She was on her way to the village to carry some food to a sick child, when she encountered a rough sailor-like man, who, taking off his hat, begged for assistance, as he was on his way to join his ship at Plymouth, and had spent all his money; and if he did not make haste she would sail without him. He had come last from the Pacific, and complained that he had had but very little time on shore to amuse himself. The mention of the Pacific made Margery instantly ask him if he thought it possible that her brother Jack might be living, cast away on one of the numerous islands of that vast ocean.

“It is a very strange question for you to put to me, Miss, for a curious thing happened as we were steering southward from Vancouver’s Island, on our way home. What should we see but a small boat floating, all alone, hundreds of miles, for what we knew, from any land. We made towards her and picked her up, for there was a man in her, or what once had been a man, for he was lighter than a baby, and that I found out, for I lifted him upon deck myself. He was still alive, though the life was going fast out of him, and he couldn’t speak above a whisper, and only a few words then. He had been living on fish, we guessed, may be for weeks, by the number of scales we saw at the bottom of the boat. Now this is what he told me. His name was David King. He had been shipwrecked with another young man—a gentleman’s son, I know he said, and they were the only survivors of all the crew. He had gone out fishing in their boat, and had been blown off the island. I made out this by fits and starts, as it were, for he couldn’t speak without pain, it seemed. Poor fellow! he was far gone, and though the doctor poured all sorts of things down his throat, it was no use, he never lifted up his head, and before the evening he was dead. Maybe if we had seen him a day or two before he’d have lived, and been able to tell us more about himself.”

Margery was, of course, deeply interested with this account of the sailor. She imprudently gave him all the money she possessed, and then begged him to come up to the Tower that he might repeat the story to her father. He, however, was in a hurry to proceed on his journey, and declined coming, possibly not aware of the importance which might have been attached to his narrative, and perhaps selfishly indifferent in the matter. Margery at length hurried home and told her father, and he and Tom went down to look for the sailor, but he had disappeared, and notwithstanding all their inquiries they could gain no trace of him. The captain, indeed, suspected that the man was some begging impostor, who had heard of the loss of his son, and had concocted the tale for the sake of getting money out of the young lady. This was especially Mr Ludlow’s opinion of the matter.

Charley Blount stepped boldly out towards Ludlow Hall, singing as he went, not from want of thought, but from joyousness of heart. He reached the hall without interruption. Mr Ludlow was much pleased with his manner and appearance, thanked him warmly for bringing the message, and said that he would accompany him back to the Tower, with a couple of men on horseback. Charley, like most sailors, could ride; that is to say, he could stick on and let his horse go. He did so on the present occasion. They had got within two miles of the Tower, when a number of men, rough-looking fellows, were seen standing in the road before them.

As Mr Ludlow and his party drew near, their gestures became threatening, and it was evident that they meant mischief. The squire was not a man to be turned aside from his purpose. “Charge the fellows, and if they attempt to stop us, fire at them,” he exclaimed, putting spurs to his horse. Charley and his men followed his example. Those most frequently succeed who bravely face dangers and difficulties—the timid and hesitating fail. Mr Ludlow dashed on. The smugglers, for such there could be no doubt that they were, had black crape over their faces, and most of them wore carters’ smock frocks, which still further assisted to disguise them. This made it yet more evident that they had collected with evil intentions. There could no longer be any doubt about the matter when two or three of them stretched out their arms to stop the horses, but when they saw the pistols levelled at their heads, most of them sprang hurriedly back again. One, however, more daring than the rest attempted to seize Mr Ludlow’s rein. Fortunately for the ruffian the magistrate’s pistol missed fire, but he dealt the man’s wrist so heavy a blow with the butt-end of his weapon that the smuggler was glad to let go his hold lest he should have had another such a blow on his head. Charley laid about him with his thick walking-stick, and in a few seconds the whole party were out of the reach of the smugglers. They galloped on, however, without pulling rein till they reached the Tower.

“Never in the whole course of my life have I been subject to so daring an outrage, Captain Askew,” exclaimed Mr Ludlow, as he dismounted—“It is more like the doings of ancient days than what we have a right to expect in the nineteenth century. I dread to hear what has happened to my boy. Has he reached you safely?”

Stephen, who had just come up from the beach, answered the question for himself.

“So far the smugglers have gained no advantage over us,” observed Mr Ludlow, addressing Captain Askew. “But with your leave, my good neighbour, I will take up my abode here with you for a night, that we may the better consult as to the further steps it may be necessary to take to put a stop to these proceedings. I have written to Captain Haultaught, the new inspecting commander of the district, requesting him to meet me here with two or three of his lieutenants, and it will be very strange if we cannot manage to get to windward, as you would say, of these smuggling gentlemen.”

Captain Askew could only say that he was happy to put his house at the disposal of Mr Ludlow and those he thought fit to invite, on a public matter of so much importance. He had forgiven, and he believed from his heart, the unfeeling way in which Mr Ludlow had acted towards Jack, under what, he acknowledged, might have been his stern sense of justice; yet he, as a father, could not but remember that he was indirectly the cause of Jack’s loss. He felt this, but did not allow his feelings in any way to bias his conduct. Tom and Becky were therefore directed to make all necessary preparations to do honour to the guests present and expected. Mrs Askew and Margery were also not idle in arranging the provisions and the rooms for the guests. Tom was a man of a single idea; that was, that it was his business to obey the captain in all things without questioning. He had learned that lesson at sea and it would have been impossible for any one to persuade him out of it. Becky, however, not having been under similar discipline, did not consider herself bound to obey in the same way as did Tom.

She therefore grumbled very much when she heard that Mr Ludlow was to remain during the night.

“It’s bad enough to have the young cub come prowling about the house, but when the old wolf comes and sits down in the hall, it bodes ill luck to the family,” she muttered to herself, though loud enough for her mistress to overhear her.

Mrs Askew made no remark, but of course knew to what she alluded.

“I’d be ashamed to show my face inside the doors, if I were he, after sending the only son of the house away over the sea to die in foreign lands, and then to come up laughing and talking as if he had never done any harm to any one of us.”

“We are taught to forgive our enemies not only seven times, but seventy times seven, Becky,” observed Mrs Askew, feeling that she ought at length to check her attendant. “Even had Mr Ludlow wantonly or intentionally inflicted an injury on us, it would be for us to receive him as a guest. What he did was under a sense of duty, and we have no right to complain.”

“A sense of duty, indeed,” muttered Becky, “what would he have said if his precious son had been packed off to sea like poor dear Master Jack? I should care little if the food I have to cook should choke him. I only hope that he’ll not get a wink of sleep in the bed I have to make for him. Towards the boy I have no ill will; but I only hope when he grows bigger that he’ll not be thinking he’s worthy of our Miss Margery—that’s what I have to say.”

The last words were addressed to Tom, Mrs Askew having left the room.

“What need have you or I to trouble our heads about the matter, Mistress Becky,” he observed. “What the captain thinks fit is fit, that’s what I have to say.”

“I don’t gainsay that, Mister Tom,” answered Becky, “but what I ask is, why this Mr Ludlow, who has behaved so shamefully to the captain and the missus, dares to come to the Tower, and why they let him?”

“Why, to my mind, Mistress Becky, it’s just this—the captain’s a Christian of the right sort, and real Christians don’t bear malice, and so, do you see, the captain doesn’t bear malice,” answered Tom, giving a tug to the waistband of his trousers, a nautical trick he had never lost. “If he was a make-believe Christian, like too many folks, I can’t say what he might do. Becky, does you say your prayers? Now I do, since the captain taught me, and I know that I axes God to forgive me my trespasses as I forgive others as trespasses against me; and I’ll moreover make bold to declare that the captain says that prayer every night of his life, and has said it too, blow high or blow low, ever since he was a little chap on his mother’s knee. There, Mistress Becky you have what I calls the philosophy of the matter, and if I’m not right I don’t know no better.”

Becky acknowledged that Tom’s arguments were unanswerable, though she did not altogether comprehend them. She resolved, however, to dress the dinner as well as she could, and to make up a comfortable bed for the magistrate.

Everything went off as satisfactorily as could have been desired. Mr Ludlow did his best to be agreeable, and Stephen was pleasanter than usual, and listened with interest to the accounts Charley Blount gave of his voyages, and the countries he had visited. The inspecting commander, however, did not arrive. Late in the evening a revenue cutter came off the coast, and put on shore a very stout lieutenant, who came puffing up to the Tower, and announced himself as Lieutenant Dugong, of the Coast Guard. The captain received him cordially, but Becky surveyed him in despair.

“He’d break down the strongest bed in the house if there was one to spare for him,” she exclaimed, when she and Tom were next alone. “What can you do with people like him, Mr Tom, at sea? What sort of bedsteads have they got to sleep on?”

“Why, Mistress Becky, that depends whether they are berthed forward or aft,” answered Tom. “If forward, they swing in a hammock; and if aft, in a cot. We’ll soon sling one or t’other for this here Lieutenant Dugong, and depend on’t he’ll have no cause to complain.”

As may be supposed, every room in the Tower was occupied. Tom took charge of Blind Peter, and Charley Blount was put into the room he had occupied on the ground-floor, and the stout lieutenant had another small room on the same floor, while Stephen was placed in a small one near the first landing, and his father had a room not far off.

The whole family and their inmates retired to rest and to sleep. No one in the old Tower was awake. The hour of midnight had been struck by a clock constructed by the captain. The evening had been calm, but now the wind began to moan and sigh and whistle round the walls, and through any crevice into which it could find an entrance, while the dash of the sea on the beach grew every instant louder and louder, and ever and anon the shriek of some wild fowl startled from its roost was heard, as it flew by to find another resting-place; giving the notion to the ignorant and superstitious that spirits of evil were flying about intent on mischief.

The clock struck one when Stephen Ludlow awoke with a start, and saw standing close to his bed a figure clothed in white, and from it proceeded a curious light, which, while thrown brightly on him, darkened everything else around. His first impulse was to hide his head under the bed-clothes, but then he was afraid that the creature might jump on him, and so he remained staring at it, till his hair stood on end, and yet not daring to scream out. At length it stretched out an arm, with a long thin hand at the end of it, shook a chain, which rattled and clanked on the floor, and growled forth, “Out of this! out of this! out of this!”

Stephen’s teeth chattered. He could not speak—he could not move. He thought for a moment, and hoped that the apparition might be merely the phantom of a dream; but he pinched himself, and became too truly convinced that it was a dreadful reality. There it stood glaring at him; he was too frightened to mark very minutely its appearance. “Out of this! out of this! out of this!” again repeated the phantom, slowly retiring towards the door—a movement which would have been greatly to Stephen’s relief had he not felt sure that it would come back again. His eyes followed it till it glided out of the door as noiselessly as it had entered. Poor Stephen kept gazing towards the open door, which he dared not get out of bed to shut, lest he should encounter the phantom coming back again.

About the same time that Stephen saw the phantom, Charley Blount was awakened by a strange noise in his bed-room of clanking of chains and horrible groans; then all was silent, and a voice exclaimed—

“Out of this! out of this! out of this!”

“What do you mean by ‘Out of this! out of this! out of this’?” cried Charley, quietly leaning out of his bed, and seizing one of his heavy walking shoes. “Explain yourself, old fellow, whoever you are.”

“Out of this! out of this! out of this!” repeated the voice.

“That is no answer to my question,” said Charley, undaunted, and peering into the darkness, in the direction from whence the voice appeared to proceed.

“Out of this! out of this! out of this!” said the voice.

“I say, you had better get out of this, or I’ll be trying the thickness of your skull with my walking-stick.”

There was a loud groan and a clanking of chains; a light flashed in Charley’s eyes, and at the same moment he saw at the further end of the room, near the door, a tall figure in white. The instant he saw it the young sailor’s shoe was flying across the room, and he following it with his stick in his hand; the ghost, if ghost it was, made a rapid spring through the doorway, and fled along the passage. Charley, having no light, could not follow, so he returned to his room, and took his post behind the door, hoping that if the ghost should come back he might have the satisfaction of trying the strength of his stick on its head, supposing ghosts to have heads. In this case, at all events, it showed that it possessed some sense, as, though he waited till he was almost as cold as the ghost might be supposed to be, it never came back, so he picked up his thick shoes, and with them and his trusty stick by his side, ready for any emergency, got into bed again.

Meantime, Lieutenant Dugong had been sleeping soundly in a cot formerly used by the captain, which Tom had slung for him in the unused room. He was contentedly snoring away, when suddenly he felt a tremendous blow under his back, which almost sent him flying out of his cot, which immediately afterwards was violently shaken from side to side. “Hullo! what’s got hold of the ship now?” he cried out, only half awake. “Steady, now! Steady! All comes from bad steering.” However, directly afterwards awaking, he struck out right and left with his fists, hoping to catch those disturbing him.

A loud, hoarse laugh followed, and the next moment a light flashed in the room, and a figure in white appeared before him, and he heard, amid rattling of chains and groans, the words, “Out of this! out of this! out of this!”

“Get out of this indeed! I’ll see you at the bottom of the Red Sea first!” exclaimed the fat lieutenant, “I’ve done my duty; and so if you are a ghost I don’t fear you; and if you are not, just wait a bit, and I’ll give you such a drubbing that it will be a long time before you venture again to awake a naval officer out of his first sleep.”

Whether or not the ghost understood this address it is difficult to say; but at all events, as the gallant officer began to get out of his cot, an operation he could not very rapidly perform, it vanished from his sight, so he drew in his stout legs again, rolled himself up, and under the impression that he was suffering from nightmare from having taken too much lobster at supper, was in two minutes fast asleep, to be awakened again in a minute by the loud report of a pistol, which made him start up and look about him in earnest, not to see anything, however, for it was nearly dark, as a faint glimmer of starlight alone came through the long, narrow, and only window in the room.

What befel the other inmates of the Tower on that memorable night must be narrated in another chapter.

Chapter Six.

Mr Ludlow disturbed—Maggie Scuttle and Blind Peter—Margery disappears.

How the slumbers of several of the inmates of the old Tower of Stormount Bay were disturbed has already been described. The ghosts, if ghosts they were—for that may be doubted—were of a daring character, for they ventured to appear even to Mr Ludlow. He was awakened by a groan close to his head, a chain clanked, and a deep voice uttered the words, “Out of this! out of this! out of this!”

Though broad awake by this time he made no answer, but endeavoured to pierce through the gloom with his eyes to ascertain who was in the room. A minute or more passed by, and he also suspected that he had been dreaming; at the same time he quietly stretched out his hand to take hold of a pistol which he had placed on a chair by his bedside—a dangerous, and in most instances very useless practice. He kept his finger on the trigger, peering into the dark in the hope of seeing the person who was attempting, he suspected, to play off some trick on him. His hand began to ache with holding the pistol in an uncomfortable position. Suddenly a bright light flashed in his face, and a voice groaned, “Out of this! out of this! out of this!” He pulled the trigger, aiming at the point whence the voice came, but the cap alone exploded, a hoarse laugh at the same time bursting forth, when a fearful looking figure for an instant appeared, surrounded by a blue flame, and then again all was dark and silent.

Mr Ludlow was a man of nerve; springing from his bed he rushed towards the spot where he had seen the figure, but nearly fractured his head against the wall. He sprang to the other side, but only upset some articles of furniture which seemed to have been placed purposely in the way; and at length, after groping about for some time, he was glad to get back, utterly baffled, to his bed. He had no matches in the room, or he would have lighted a candle and gone in search of the disturbers of his slumbers. He could not go to sleep again very easily, so he lay wondering who could have played the trick. “Not Stephen, my own son,” he thought, “but that other boy, Charley Blount; he seems up to anything. Still he would not have the audacity to come into my room and attempt to frighten me.”

Thus thinking, he was dropping off to sleep when a deep groan awoke him—he listened, all was silent; he thought that he must be mistaken, but he tried to keep awake to listen, directing his eyes at the same time towards the door. Once more there was a groan, and directly afterwards, at a spot where a gleam of starlight came through the window, he caught a glimpse of a tall figure gliding across the room. He fired at the instant; this time his pistol went off. There was a hoarse laugh as before; but when he sprang up, hoping to seize his untimely visitor, the figure had disappeared, and he ran his head against the edge of the door which had been left open. So unusual a sound as the report of a pistol in a quiet household at midnight soon brought most of the inmates to his room. The captain came stumping down in a red nightcap and an old pea-coat; Tom had quickly slipped into a pair of trousers, and had a yellow handkerchief round his head; Becky appeared, her countenance ornamented with huge curlpapers, in a flannel petticoat and piece of chintz curtain over her shoulders; while the stout lieutenant, unable to find his garments in the dark, had groped his way up wrapped in a blanket, when coming suddenly in front of Becky, she shrieked out, “A ghost! a ghost! a ghost!” and ran off, nearly upsetting her master in her flight.

“Stop! stop! I’m not a ghost, my good woman,” cried out the lieutenant; “I only wish that you would tell me where I could find any of the gentlemen, and I would break their heads for them, for not a wink of sleep have they allowed me for the last two hours.”

The captain and Tom having brought lights, search was made throughout Mr Ludlow’s room, and in the other rooms where the noises had been heard, but not a trace of any one having been in them could be discovered. Still, both the captain and magistrate were convinced that not only one person, but several, must have been in the house during the night for nearly two hours, and probably were still there, for the front and the side doors were closed, and no windows were found open by which they could have escaped. The lieutenant was rather more doubtful as to the character of their visitors, and Becky and Tom shook their heads and declared that they did not believe mere mortals could play such pranks, and get away without being discovered. “If my visitor was a ghost, we shall find the pistol bullet, but I rather suspect that the fellow withdrew it while I was asleep, or he would not have ventured to have remained in the room after he knew I had a fire-arm,” acutely observed Mr Ludlow.

On examining the room, not a trace of a bullet could be discovered, though a piece of paper in which it had been wrapped was picked up unburnt. This confirmed the magistrate in the opinion that his surmise was correct, and it proved also the daring character of the people who had played the trick. How they had managed to get into the Tower was the question. The magistrate was puzzled, so was everybody else. Neither the captain nor Tom, who knew the building better than anybody else, could solve the mystery. Charley, hearing their voices, came out of his room, and Stephen crawled out of his, still pale and trembling, and both had accounts to give of their ghostly visitant. Stephen gave the most dreadful account of the ghost he had seen, of the spiritual character of which he seemed to have no doubt. “Tut! boy, ghosts, if there were such things, would not spend their time in trying to shake a stout gentleman like myself out of his cot, in drawing bullets out of pistols, in using dark lanterns, and groaning and growling with the rough voices of boatswain’s mates,” exclaimed Lieutenant Dugong, with a look of contempt at poor Stephen. “The people who have been in here deal in spirits, I have no doubt, for they are smugglers, and pretty stupid ones too, if they fancy that by such mummeries they can frighten officers and gentlemen as we are.”

“You don’t mean to say, Mr Dugong, that those are not ghosts which we have been seeing to-night,” exclaimed Stephen.

“I wish as how I thought they weren’t,” cried Becky, “for it’s awful to think that the old Tower where we’ve lived so long in peace should be haunted.”

“Fiddlestick, woman, with your haunted Tower!” said the magistrate, who was apt soon to lose his patience; “I suspect that you and your one-armed companion there, who looks as scared as if he had a real goblin at his heels, have been leaving some door or window open by which these ghosts, as you call them, have found an entrance, and if they have not got out by the same way they came in they must still be somewhere about the building, and you must be held responsible for any mischief they may commit—you hear me, sirrah!”

“Beg pardon, sir, and no offence, I do hear you,” said Tom, stepping forward and giving a pull to his red nightcap, and a hitch to his wide trousers: “but I’ve served his Majesty—that’s three on ’em and her Majesty, that’s Queen Victoria—man and boy for better than forty years, afloat in all seas, and all climes, and never once have I been told that I wasn’t attending to my duty, and doing the work I was set to do as well as I could. Now I know it’s my duty to see that all the doors and windows are fast at night, not to keep out robbers, because we’ve no reason to fear such gentry down here, but to prevent Mister Wind from making an entrance, and I say it, and again I begs pardon, I did close the doors and windows as securely as I ever did in my life.”

“Oh! very well, very well, my good man, I do not doubt your honest intentions, but assertions are not proofs; if you were to set about it, and find the ghost, I should be better pleased,” said the magistrate.

“I really think, Mr Ludlow, that you are somewhat hard upon Tom,” interposed Captain Askew; “I can answer for his doing his best to find the ghost if he is to be found, and if not I will leave him in charge of the deck while we turn in again; and you may depend on it no ghost will dare to show his nose while he is on duty.”

This proposal was agreed to, and, as after a further search no trace of the nocturnal visitors was discovered, the family once more retired to rest, and Tom, with Mr Ludlow’s pistols in his belt, and a thick stick in his hand, kept watch—walking up and down the passages, and into all the empty rooms, and should he see anything he was immediately to call the captain and the rest of the gentlemen. Once, as he was walking slowly along a passage on the basement story, he saw on the ceiling a faint gleam of light, as if it had been cast from somewhere below, but as he proceeded it vanished, and though he looked about carefully he could not discover the spot whence it had come. He however noted it, that he might prosecute his examination in the morning. He was walking on, when a deep groan came from almost beneath his feet, as it seemed. Tom was not altogether free from superstition, but though he did not disbelieve in ghosts and other foolish notions, he was too brave to be frightened by anything, and consequently cool and capable of reflection.

“Ho! ho!” he thought, “if that was a ghost which groaned, he has got a light to light himself about with anyhow; and he must be stowed away in some hollow hereabouts, under the floor or in the wall, and there he shall remain till morning light if he doesn’t want a broken head or an ounce of lead sent through his body.” So he posted himself in the passage to watch the place whence the sound had come. After waiting for some time he took a short turn, when directly his footsteps sounded along the passage there was another groan. “Ho! ho! old mate,” he muttered, not aware that Hamlet had used the expression before him; “groan away as much as you like, you’ll find it a tough job to work your way through the hard rock, I suspect, and I’m not going to let you frighten me away from my post, let me tell you; the pistol has got a bullet in it this time, understand.”

The ghost evidently considered discretion the best part of valour, for after this not a groan or any other sound was heard. Tom watched all the night, hoping that somebody or something might appear, that he might get a shot at it; but not even a mouse crept out of its hole, nor were the inmates of the Tower again disturbed. Everybody was on foot at an early hour, and the old Tower was thoroughly examined inside and out, but no possible way by which the visitors could have entered could be discovered.

Tom’s account of his having seen a light and heard a groan was disbelieved; it was thought that his imagination had deceived him. “Maybe it did,” muttered Tom to himself, “howsomdever, I’ll keep a bright look-out thereabouts, and I’ve a notion that some day I’ll catch the mole coming out of his hole.”

The next day the inspecting commander of the coastguard, and another magistrate and two more lieutenants arrived, and a grand consultation was held. Plans were resolved on by which it was hoped that the smugglers would be completely put down. It did not occur to them, possibly, that while the temptation to smuggling was so great that would be a very difficult matter.

Margery had never seen so many people at the lower before, but she acted with as much propriety as if she were every day accustomed to receive guests.

It was supposed at length that the anger of the smugglers against Blind Peter would have passed away; and at all events, as he could not for ever be kept a prisoner, he begged that he might be allowed to go out again with his faithful dog Trusty. “There is One watches over me and takes care of me, and He has sent that good dog and given him sense to guide my steps, and so I trust in Him and do not fear what can happen to me,” he observed, when one morning, not without Captain and Mrs Askew feeling some misgivings, he went forth from the Tower. He had, as usual, his pack on his back and his staff in his hand, as he wound his way down the hill to the hamlet on the seashore. As it was not his custom to tell the people whence he had last come, they, naturally supposing that he had been at a distance, asked him if he had heard of the awful doings up at the Tower since he had last been there? “What are they, Maggy Scuttle?” he inquired of the old woman who asked the question.

“Terrible! Peter, terrible!” she answered, shaking her head; “not but what the captain is a good man, and a charitable man, and a kind man; that I’ll allow. He comes down here and reads to us out of a book, and preaches to us, and talks to us about our souls; but do all he can, he can’t keep the devil out of his house. It’s haunted; no doubt about that. They say that ghosts and hobgoblins, and all sorts of bad spirits go wandering up and down night after night, and won’t let the people in the Tower sleep. It’s believed that the captain is so vexed that he’ll give up the Tower and go away, and ’twill then soon turn back into the ruin it was when he came to it.”

“I hope not,” said Peter, “he’s a good customer of mine and a good neighbour to you, and so we shall both be the losers; and as for the ghosts, he’s not a man to be frightened by such nonsense. I don’t believe in ghosts, and I’ll tell you why—I couldn’t see them in the first place; I couldn’t feel them, because they are spirits; and if they are spirits, I couldn’t hear them, because, do ye see, spirits haven’t got the power of speaking; they’ve no throat nor lungs, nor tongue, nor lips. I’ve thought of these things as I go along on my solitary way with my good dog Trusty to guide me, for there is nothing to draw off my thoughts such as those who can see have, by what is passing around. My idea is this—that God made everything in order, and keeps everything that He alone has to do with in order—though He leaves man free to do what he likes—be it good or evil. Now God alone can have to do with spirits or ghosts, and I’m very sure that He wouldn’t let them play the pranks and foolish tricks all the ghosts or spirits or hobgoblins, and such like things I’ve ever heard of, are said to have played. I’ve never yet met a man who has seen a ghost; and what’s more, I’m very certain that I never shall.”

“What do the people up at the Tower say to the ghosts, which have been appearing there night after night I’m told?” asked Dick Herring, who had the moment before walked into old dame Scuttle’s, but unseen by Peter.

“They say, Master Herring, that the ghosts are clever ghosts to get into the Tower as they did; but they are not so clever as they fancy themselves, and that if they don’t look sharp they’ll be trapped one of these days. You’ve seen a mole-trap, Master Herring, such as the farmers use—when the mole is caught the end of the stick flies up with him, and there he hangs dangling in the air. Perhaps your ghosts wouldn’t approve of a fate like that!”

“I don’t see what you’re driving at, Master Peter,” answered Dick Herring, in a growling, displeased tone; “but I’ll tell you what, those who know more than they ought to know are likely to come to grief some day.”

“Maybe, Dick, if they make a bad use of what they know,” said the blind man, turning his face towards the smuggler; “and I have something to tell you—there is One who watches over the poor blind man, who puts his trust in Him; and He is able to keep him from all harm.”

“That’s what you say, Master Peter, you’ll have to prove it some day, maybe,” growled out the smuggler, anxious, however, to change the subject of conversation.

“I have proved it,” answered Peter, with a firm voice; “and now good-bye, Dick, I must be round and see who wants anything from my pack.”

And the blind man went fearlessly on his way, showing that the confidence he spoke of in God’s protecting providence was real, and not assumed.

The subject of the ghosts had by this time pretty well been dropped by the inmates of the Tower, although it was still a matter of wonder how they, or rather the people who acted them, could have got inside. Stephen had come over again to see them, attended by a groom, for he was not allowed to ride about by himself. He said that he must go back early; indeed, it was clear that nothing would tempt him to spend a night in the Tower—and he wondered how Charley Blount could venture to sleep on by himself after the dreadful sights he had seen. “I never have found that sights or sounds could do a man any harm, and so I do not mind them any more than the Scotch Quaker, who, when a fellow was one day abusing him, observed quietly, ‘Say what ye like, friend, with your tongue, but dinna touch me.’ If the ghost had come with a dagger, or pistol, or bowl of poison, I should have had good reason for wishing him to keep his distance.”

“Oh! Charley, you are so fool-hardy,” drawled out Stephen; “I, for my part, don’t see any fun in trifling with such serious matters.”

Charley Blount burst out into a hearty fit of laughter. “Why, Stephen, I thought from what I have heard, that you were more of a man than to believe in such nonsense,” he exclaimed.

“What is it that you have heard that makes you think so?” asked Stephen.

“That you were going to persuade your father to let you go to the South Seas, that you might try and find out what has become of Jack Askew.”

“Yes, I know that is what I thought of doing,” answered Stephen; “that is to say, Margery wished me to go; but, in the first place, I know that my father wouldn’t let me go; and in the second, I don’t think that I should like the sea, and my health wouldn’t stand it, and altogether I have made up my mind not to go.”

“Have you told Margery this?” asked Charley; “at present she fully believes that you are going and that you are certain to find her brother alive in some desert island, like that Robinson Crusoe lived in; as you knew him so well, she thinks that you are more likely than any one else to find him out.”

“Oh! that is a mere fancy of Margery’s,” answered Stephen, in a tone which showed great indifference to the subject. “It is a hundred to one that Jack is alive, in the first place, and equally unlikely that I should stumble on him, even if he is. The captain does not think so, or he would go out himself, or send out, I should think.”

“As to that I do not know, but I do know that you ought to tell Margery; at least, I know that I would, if I had made up my mind as you seem to have done.”

“You had better go, then, instead of me, if you think so favourably of the little girl’s wild scheme,” said Stephen, in a sneering tone, which somewhat tried Charley’s temper.

“She has not asked me,” he answered; “it would make them all very happy if Jack was to be found, and I should think no trouble too great if I could bring him back, that is all I say.”

“Oh! you are very generous,” sneered Stephen who would have been very glad to please Margery if he could have done so without any risk or trouble to himself.

There are a good many people in the world of similar character: the test of love or friendship is the amount of self-sacrifice which a person is ready to make for the object of his regard. Stephen had at length, at Charley’s instigation, to confess to Margery that he had no intention of becoming a sailor for the sake of trying to find Jack. Her countenance expressed as much scorn as its sweetness would allow, as she answered, “Oh! I feared that you did not care for him, and am certain that you do not care for me. Here is the book you were polite enough to lend me, and I suppose that you will not very often come over to the Tower, as we shall have no longer that subject to talk about.”

Stephen could say nothing, but looked very sheepish, and soon afterwards ordered his horse and rode homewards.

The next morning the family assembled in the breakfast-room for prayers; but Margery, usually the first on foot, had not made her appearance. She slept in a little room on the first floor, with a window looking out over the sea; it was prettily papered, and had white dimity curtains, and everything in it looked fresh and nice, like herself. Charley ran up and knocked at the door, but got no answer; then Becky went to the room, the door was not locked and her heart sank with an undefined alarm when she found the room empty. She scarcely dared to return to the breakfast-room to tell Captain and Mrs Askew, fearful of the effect the announcement might have on her mistress. She hunted about the room. The little girl had slept in the bed, but neither her night things nor her day clothing were there. Several other articles appeared to have been removed from the room. Becky had an observant eye, and quickly discovered this; otherwise she might have supposed that she had merely gone out unobserved to take a morning walk. As to her having gone away of her own accord, without saying anything to her father and mother, or allowing even a suspicion that any plan was running in her head, that was so unlike dear little, loving, tender-hearted Miss Margery that Becky dismissed the notion as altogether improbable; but then again, how could anybody have got into the house to carry her off? Poor Becky, with grief and perplexity, would have sat down on the bed and cried her eyes out, but she felt conscious that the so doing would not assist in discovering what had become of Margery; so at length, mustering courage for announcing what she would, she told Tom, rather have cut out her tongue than have had to do, she slowly returned to the breakfast-room. Her prolonged absence had produced some anxiety, and she met Mrs Askew coming to see what was the matter. Becky’s face alarmed her.

“Is my child ill? is she dead? oh! speak—speak—tell me the worst!” she exclaimed.

“Oh! don’t take on so, marm, Miss Margery isn’t ill, and she isn’t dead, that I know on; but, oh dear! marm, she isn’t there,” she answered, bursting into tears. It is needless further to describe the sorrow and consternation which everybody in the house felt when this fact became known, and very soon it was ascertained to be a fact, for, hunting high and hunting low, not a trace of dear little Margery could be discovered.

Chapter Seven.

The Search for Margery—The Slipper—The Vault—Tom and Charley disappear.

Captain Askew was a man of action, and, while the search for Margery was being carried on in the Tower, he hurried down to the hamlet, to ascertain if she had been seen by any one there, or if any one could give him any clue by which to trace her. He went, in the first place, to Dick Herring’s cottage, for though of late Dick had always met him with a sulky, surly expression on his countenance, they were once good friends, and he thought that under the present circumstances the heart of even the rough smuggler would be softened; but Dick was away, and Susan, his wife, said that she did not know when he would return—she never did know. Their daughter Polly, whom he met bringing in a bucket of fresh water from the neighbouring spring, also said that she had not seen Miss Margery, though the captain fancied that there was an odd expression on her countenance when she spoke. He therefore cross-questioned her, but not a word to show that she could even guess what had become of Margery could he elicit. He next went to Molly Scuttle’s cottage, but the old woman could give him no information; she could only suggest that the ghosts must to a certainty have had something to do with it. When he replied that he did not believe in such things, she answered that they had evidently carried off his daughter to punish him for his incredulity, and to prove their existence to him. He hurried round from cottage to cottage, but the people only opened their eyes and mouths wide with astonishment, and gave him no information likely to be of the slightest use. Disappointed, he returned to the Tower. There the search had continued with unabated diligence; Tom had made a discovery, but it seemed doubtful to what it would lead. He had found one of the little girl’s slippers in the dark passage on the ground-floor, near the spot where he had fancied that he had seen the light and heard the groan on the memorable night when the pretended ghosts had appeared. How it had come there, however, was the question. He carried it to Becky to consult with her on the subject. It was not likely to have been dropped by Margery, because had she been walking she would naturally have stopped to put it on again. Indeed it was absurd to suppose that she had run away of her own free will; it therefore seemed most probable that she had been carried along by some one, and that her slipper had fallen off unobserved. Still the questions, how those who had committed the outrage had got into the house, and how they had got out again, remained unanswered. Becky could solve neither. She was of opinion, “though she would not like to tell the captain or the missus, that the ghosteses had done it, and that they hadn’t got in by either of the doors or windows, but somehow or other out of the ground, for that’s where them things, I have heard say, always comes from; but it’s dreadful to think that poor, dear, sweet Miss Margery should have been carried off into such a place as they lives in,” she observed to Tom in a low voice.

“That’s all nonsense, Becky,” responded Tom. “The captain says as how there’s no such things as ghosteses, and therefore it’s my belief that there isn’t; besides, don’t you know that this here old Tower stands on the solid rock? Why there isn’t an inch of ground all round it, into which I could run a spade if I tried ever so much, and I should like to see the ghost who could work his way through that: it’s all very well for them as is put under the soft black mould of a churchyard, of course, if they has a mind to take a turn or two about the world at midnight, there’d be nothing to prevent them that I sees, except that the captain says it’s impossible.”

“Oh, dear! Tom, don’t go on to talk in that way; it makes me all over in a cold shiver to think what has become of poor dear Miss Margery.”

Neither Tom nor Becky were possessed of any education of the most ordinary sort, so they may be excused talking the nonsense to which it must be confessed they gave utterance on the subject. Poor Mrs Askew was bewildered with grief and dismay and anxiety as to what had become of her beloved child. Charley could not believe that Margery would be guilty of any foolish act, yet when he remembered her conversation in the morning with Stephen about going to look for her brother in the South Seas, and her indignation on finding that he would not go, he thought it just possible that she might have set off by herself with some wild scheme of the sort in her head; and yet such a proceeding was so unlike herself that he dismissed the idea as soon as he had conceived it, and did not even mention it to Captain Askew. If she had gone, it was not likely that she would get far without being discovered, and they would soon hear of her. Although Captain Askew was himself a magistrate, it was necessary to give information of the strange event to Mr Ludlow, that he might assist in discovering the perpetrators of the outrage, and Charley Blount volunteered to go over to the Hall for that object. Some time had already been spent in fruitless search, so Charley, after he had snatched a hurried breakfast, set off as fast as his legs could carry him. He was a good runner at all times, but on the present occasion, believing that the faster he went the sooner dear little Margery might be recovered, he ran as he had never before run in his life. Had he been dilatory he might never have reached the Hall at all, for those who were on the watch for any one leaving the Tower, believing that he would have gone at an ordinary speed, happily missed him.

Mr Ludlow was highly indignant at what he heard, and sorry too, for even he admired little Margery, and he at once proposed sending to London for a detective officer. “One of those sharp-witted gentlemen is far more likely than are we thick-headed country-folks to discover how she little girl has been spirited away,” he observed. “Of one thing I am certain, that the smugglers are at the bottom of it, and of another, that if they have not a confederate in the house—and old Tom and Becky look honest enough—they have the means of getting in unknown to us. I will write for the officer, and then you and Stephen shall ride over with me and we will look into the matter.”

Captain Askew was very grateful to Mr Ludlow for coming over so speedily, but though they again made a thorough examination, as they supposed, of the whole tower, they could not throw any fresh light on the mysterious subject.

“The detective officer, when he arrives, will soon ferret out the truth, however, depend on that,” observed Mr Ludlow, as he and Stephen mounted their horses to ride back. But neither the captain nor Charley were inclined to wait till the said detective should arrive to win back what they valued so much. Charley thought again and again over the subject, and talked to Tom about the light, and the groan, and the dear little slipper, and suddenly Tom slapped his leg and said that he remembered when the Tower was being put in order that one of the workmen had told him that there was a vault or cellar under a part of it, from which a passage was said to lead down to the seashore. He was not certain whether the captain had heard the account, at all events he did not appear to have believed it, and of course had forgotten it altogether. Tom confessed that he was very stupid not to have thought of it before, though he was not even then much inclined to believe in the truth of the story.

Charley thought differently, and resolved at once to search for the opening—if such existed—to the vault. He charged Tom not to tell the captain, as it would be a disappointment to him should they fail to make the discovery they hoped for. At that very juncture blind Peter, having heard a rumour of the supposed abduction of Miss Margery, came to the Tower to learn whether or not the story was true.

Charley immediately took him into his counsels. Peter thought over the subject. Yes, he had heard the account of the vault under the Tower, and what was more, he knew an old mason residing about two miles off who had worked there, and who was, he rather thought, the very man who had told him of it. He would go off at once and fetch John Trowel and his tools, and they would very soon burrow into the molehill if one existed.

Charley and Tom occupied the time of Peter’s absence in preparing with a rope and a lantern to explore the cavern they hoped to find. They forgot at first that they might possibly encounter opposition, as it was certain that if the cavern did exist it had had occupants, and probably had still, who would not welcome any intrusion on their privacy. Charley, however, at length thought of this. It did not for a moment make him hesitate about carrying out his plans, but he thought that it would be wise to provide himself and Tom with arms. The captain had a brace of pistols and a fowling-piece, and Tom had an old French cutlass which he had taken from the enemy, and treasured as a trophy of his fighting days. Charley at once went up to the captain, who was writing to the officers of the coastguard, and to others who might possibly hear something of his little girl. “Any news? any news?” he asked, as Charley entered.

“No, sir, but if we could find our way into some of the smugglers’ hiding-places, we might learn more than we do now, and as I would rather have a weapon in my hand than trust to my fists with such gentry, I beg that you will lend me your firearms.”

The captain made no answer, but pointed to them over the fireplace, where they hung, with a flask of powder and a bag of bullets.

Charley hurried off to avoid having any questions asked him. Tom was delighted to get the weapons, and declared that, although he had but one arm, he could use his cutlass as well as any man. He then put on a belt that he might stick a pistol in it, and advised Charley to do the same, that he might hold the gun ready for use. At last old John Trowel arrived with Peter. He remembered perfectly all about the vault, had once been down it, and thought that he could find the entrance without difficulty, though it had been been blocked up; but as to a passage leading down to the beach—of that he could not speak with any certainty.

“No time is to be lost, though!” exclaimed Tom, when he heard this. “Come along, and mind you make as little noise as possible.”

The old mason went at once up to the very spot where Tom had seen the light, and he began immediately to work there, scraping away the mortar from between the stones, Charley and Tom helping him, while blind Peter held the lantern. They worked on patiently, knowing that by such means people have frequently let themselves out through the thick walls of a prison. More than half-an-hour had been thus employed when Charley felt the stone on which he stood move; jumping off it, with but little difficulty he lifted it up, when a regular wooden trap-door appeared below. This it was soon found was made to open downwards and how to force it open without making a noise was the question.

Again Charley had to hurry off to the captain’s room to borrow a centrepiece, a small saw and a file, and by labouring with these steadily the bolt which held up the trap was cut round, and Tom then having securely fastened a rope to it, the trap was noiselessly lowered and a dark vault appeared below. There could now be little doubt by which way the pretended ghosts had found their way into the Tower. On a lantern being lowered a ladder was seen, on to which Charley immediately jumped, and fearlessly descended into the vault. As a sailor, he knew the importance of securing a fresh hold before letting go of the first, so he held on to the beam above till he had found a firm rest for his feet. He thus descended for a considerable depth, while Tom let down the lantern by a rope that he might see the nature of the place into which he had got. He at length reached the bottom, and taking the lantern from the end of the rope, commenced an examination of the place in which he found himself. It was a large roughly-hewn vault, which looked as if it had been the quarry from whence the stone with which the fortress was built had been taken. Around it were cells, where some rusty iron bars and ring bolts let into the rock showed that it had been the prison of the castle, and Charley shuddered as he thought of the unhappy people who had once been confined there, where not a gleam of light nor the slightest sound could pierce through the solid rock. As soon as Tom found that Charley had reached the bottom, he also descended—holding his cutlass in his teeth—as actively as most men could have done with two hands. Peter and old John Trowel were directed to wait above. Peter said that from his acuteness of hearing he should be able to judge what progress they were making, and to let Captain Askew know where they were gone.

Blind Peter and old John waited on the top of the ladder leading down into the vault, expecting the return of Tom or Charley, or else to receive some signal from them announcing the progress they had made. Peter listened attentively—“I hear them going round and round the vault to look for the passage,” he observed to old John. “It must be a large place, larger than I thought for, and they don’t seem to be able to find the passage.”

“Maybe there’s no passage to find,” said John sagaciously.

Still they did not come back, and Peter declared that he could no longer hear their footsteps. They waited and waited, but the explorers did not appear. Old John suggested that there might be some pit or hole into which they had tumbled, and perhaps nothing would ever again be heard of them; but the idea was too terrible to entertain, for Peter had a sincere regard for Tom, and Charley’s blithe voice and kind manners had won his heart. They ought at once to have gone to Captain Askew, and procured proper assistance, with lights, ropes, and ladders. Old John was scarcely able to descend the ladder, and did any hole exist, the blind man would most probably have fallen into it. Notwithstanding this he proposed descending, till old John persuaded him to give up the idea, and at length, when it would very likely be too late to save the lives of the explorers, they agreed to summon the captain. Captain Askew could scarcely understand the account he heard. That there was a vault under the Tower he was ready to believe, as he now remembered hearing the report that one existed, but that his young friend Charley and old companion Tom should have gone into it and been irretrievably lost he would not believe. He would immediately have descended himself to look for them, but that his timber-toe and a rickety ladder did not suit each other. He considered whom he could summon in the village, but they were all more or less connected with the smugglers. He however determined to ask the assistance of some of the most trustworthy among them. He took his hat and was hurrying down the hill when he met one of the men of the coastguard going his rounds. He at once agreed to accompany the captain, but said that by the delay of twenty minutes or so he could obtain the assistance of two or three of his mates, and as he could be of little use by himself, the captain begged him to get them as soon as possible.

The captain then went back to the Tower, and found blind Peter and old John waiting at the trap-door. They had heard sounds, they said, but had got no answer to their shouts. In vain the captain also hailed as a sailor alone can, though his voice had perhaps lost something of its strength. All remained silent below, and his fears for the safety of his friends increased to a painful degree. At last the coastguard men arrived—stout fellows, well armed—with their lanterns and ropes; they were not likely to be baffled in the search. As, however, they stood over the entrance of the dark abyss, the countenances of most of the party turned pale. They were ready to face smugglers or pirates, Russians, Frenchmen, Turks, or savages of every description, all the enemies of their country; but they had heard of the Tower being haunted, and suppose any of the ghosts, or spirits, or imps, who frequented the spot, should start up and confront them! The captain saw what they were thinking about. Following the system he had always adopted where danger was to be incurred, he exclaimed, “Lower me down first, my lads, I’ll see what is to be seen.” Suiting the action to the word he fastened a rope round his waist, and, with the help of it and the ladder, soon reached the bottom. The men now followed without hesitation, the captain leading the way, and looking round and round the vault. “It is very extraordinary,” he exclaimed at length. “I can scarcely believe that they came down here, there is no hole into which they could have fallen, no outlet through which they could have passed.”

“It’s vary terrible, vary terrible indeed, sir,” said Sandy MacGregor, an old Scotchman and the chief boatman. “It’s the spirits or the bogies ha’ carried them off, there’s na doubt about that, and it’s only to be hoped that they’ll na come and carry us awa’ too.”

The fear thus expressed very soon communicated itself to the other men, and had a rat started up, although they would not have deserted the captain, their knees would certainly have shaken as they had never done in the presence of a mortal foe.

“Nonsense, my man,” exclaimed Captain Askew. “There are no spirits in this vault to hurt us, and depend on it if our friends have been carried away spirits have had nothing to do with it; still, I tell you, I cannot account for it.”

It was indeed strange. Every cell, every nook and corner was examined. The sides of the vault were either solid rock or masonry. There was no place through which two people could have passed by any visible means. At length, most unwillingly, Captain Askew told the men that he should return into the Tower. The order was obeyed with wonderful alacrity, and they were well pleased when he told them that he would be the last man up. They were all soon out of the vault, and ready to assist him up in the way he had gone down. He had to confess himself thoroughly baffled. When he talked the subject over with Mrs Askew, they could neither of them account for the way in which their dear child had been so cruelly carried off, nor how Tom nor Charley had disappeared, and yet they were fully convinced that human agency alone had been at work.

Meantime Becky had taken charge of the coasts guard men, and blind Peter and John, and was able, in spite of her grief, to serve them with bread and cheese and cider. As they continued to discuss the matter, Peter was the only one who persisted in asserting that human agency alone had been employed, while Sandy MacGregor as strongly maintained that spirits of a very disreputable nature had a finger in the pie. That, however, like other matters of mystery, was one day to receive a solution.

Chapter Eight.

The Smuggler’s Cave—Taken Captive—A Terrible Situation.

As soon as Charley was joined by Tom, he commenced a more thorough examination of the vault; but no outlets could they discover, and they began to doubt whether their nocturnal visitors could have got through it into the Tower. Could there be another passage independent altogether of the vault? They went round and round and could find no door or trap, or opening of any sort.

“I doubt if we are right, after all,” observed Charley; “we must try and find some other way down—for way there is, of that I am certain.”

“We are right; still, though,” answered Tom, “that ladder has had other feet on it of late besides ours; and just let me see how the bolt of the trap-door could have been fastened from below if there wasn’t some one to do it. It wasn’t the ghosteses, I suppose, Mister Charles? and look here—what’s this?” he added, as stooping down he picked up another small slipper, the fellow to the one which was known to be Margery’s.

The sight of it induced Charley to renew his search, and directly afterwards he discovered in one of the cells a ring, which looked, he thought, as if it was intended to serve as a handle to a stone door. He pulled it with all his strength, and slowly turning on a pair of heavy rusty hinges it opened, and showed a flight of steps cut in the rock, and leading downwards.

“Come along,” he whispered to Tom, “we shall soon solve the mystery.”

He led, Tom following, and holding the lantern with a torch ready to light at the end of his hook arm, while he held a pistol in his other hand. At first they descended by very steep steps cut in the rock, then the passage was almost on a level and turned and twisted considerably, showing that it had been formed in the first place by nature, and had been simply enlarged by the hand of man.

Charley was, however, thinking all the time far more of little Margery, and how frightened she must have been when carried along it, than of the way in which the passage had been formed. He was expecting also every instant to find himself confronted by a number of fierce smugglers, who would naturally be exasperated at having their long-concealed haunt at length discovered. There could be no longer any doubt as to who represented the ghosts, nor how they had entered the Tower and so speedily disappeared. The passage was somewhat slippery from the moisture which here and there trickled through the rock, and was clearly not often traversed, which it would have been had the vault above been used as a store-house.

It was pretty evident from the words the smugglers had used that their object was to get rid of the inhabitants of the Tower that they might occupy the vaults as a store-house, and have free egress from it for their goods. They had probably hoped, could they have attained their object, to have baffled the revenue officers for years to come. They must have felt that they had been completely defeated, and, either in revenge or in the hopes of making some terms with Captain Askew, had carried off Margery. Still, Charley could not believe, that, savage and lawless as they might be, they would wish to injure the innocent little girl, and was nearly sure that he was on the right track to recover her.

Charley now proceeded very cautiously, for he thought it possible that the passage might lead to the edge of a precipice to be descended only by a ladder, and an incautious step in advance might send him tumbling headlong down; and he had the sense to know that people even when engaged in the best of enterprises must guard against accidents and failure, and that they have no right to expect success unless they do their best to secure it. Tom wanted to lead, but Charley would not let him.

“No,” he answered, “make fast the rope you’ve got round my waist, then if I slip you’ll haul me up.”

Tom did so, and they once more advanced. They had gone some way further when Charley again stopped and listened. He heard a low, murmuring sound—it was that of human voices. He and Tom crept on more cautiously than ever. A gleam of light shone on them as if through a crevice. There was evidently either a door or a curtain hung across the passage. This would enable them perhaps to see what was going on within, before entering. Shading their lantern and making as little noise as possible, they got close up to what seemed to be a door or a number of planks nailed together, and placed so as to lean against the entrance. Charley was afraid that while searching for a hole to look through he might knock it over.

At length he found a chink through which he could look into what appeared to be a cavern of some size, but the hole allowed him the command only of a very limited range of vision. In front of him were two men seated on casks at a rough table, made apparently of pieces of wreck. There was a lantern on the table, and they had account-books and some piles of money, with a bottle or two and some tin mugs. From the way in which they were occupied, Charley supposed that they were principal men among the smugglers, settling their accounts. They were both strangers to him. He was afraid to ask Tom whether he knew them, for fear of his voice being heard. The plan he at once formed was to rush out on them, seize and bind them, and hold them as hostages till Margery should be given up; for it did not occur to him that a young lad like himself and a one-armed man were scarcely likely to overpower two stout, hardy ruffians like those before him. He drew Tom back a little distance where it was safe to speak, and asked him if he would make the attempt. The old sailor was ready for anything. It would certainly be a grand matter to capture the leaders of the gang. He only wished that the captain was there to lead them, then there would be no doubt about it.

Charley’s chief anxiety was with respect to Margery. If she was in the cavern, and any of their pistols were discharged, she might be hurt. As regarded the risk he and Tom ran, he did not reflect a moment. The outlaws were to be captured, and he had undertaken the task of seizing them if he could.

“Now, Tom, are you all ready?” he asked; “I will take the man on the right side, you the man on the left—knock them over and hold our pistols to their heads, while we march them up the passage into the Tower.”

“Yes, I’m ready, Mr Charles,” answered Tom. “But leave the gun where we are, it will be only in our way, and I’ll stick to my cutlass. We must be sharp about it, though, for they don’t look like fellows who’d stand child’s-play; and yet I’ve known in the war time, two staunch fellows take a ship out of the hands of a prize crew of ten men: and so I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to clap into bilboes two big ragamuffins like those there. Come on!”

The hearts of the bravest must beat quick when they are about to engage in a desperate struggle with their fellow men. Charley Blount felt his beat a great deal quicker than usual when he and old Tom were about to rush on the two smugglers in the cavern, and, as they hoped, overpower them. They got close up to the door, and pressing with all their might against the upper part, sent it flat down before them on the floor of the cavern, and rushing over it threw themselves instantly on the smugglers, who, astonished at the sudden noise, had not time to rise from their seats when they felt their throats seized, and saw the muzzles of a brace of pistols presented at their heads.

Nothing could have been better done, and the two smugglers would have been made prisoners, but at the same moment a dozen stout fellows, who had been sleeping round the cavern, and had sprang to their feet at the noise of the falling door, came round them; the muzzles of the pistols were knocked up, Tom’s going off and the bullet flattening against the roof of the cavern, and they found their arms pinioned, and instead of capturing others were themselves made captives. Charley felt bitterly disappointed and crestfallen, but not for a moment forgetting the object of his expedition, he looked round the cavern for Margery. She was not to be seen. “Where have you carried the little girl to?” he asked; “we came to fetch her. You had no business to carry her off. Take her back to her father and mother, and you may do what you like with us.”

“You are von brave young rogue, mon jolie garçon!” exclaimed the man (the captain of a French lugger), whom Charley had seized. “You have no fear, it seems, for ghosts nor for men; but you give me von terrible gripe of my neck. Ah, not you tink we do wid you?”

“I don’t know, and don’t care,” answered Charley, recklessly; “only give me back Miss Margery—that’s what I want.”

“Ah! is it? She long way from dis, mon garçon,” said the captain, in a mocking tone; “Vould you like go see her?”

“Yes, I would,” answered Charley; “and let me tell you that if a hair of her head has been injured, you will all have to pay dearly for it.”

“Vary well, vary well,” said the Frenchman, still mocking at Charley; “Ve vill take you wid us, eh?”

“Come, enough of this, mounseer,” growled out the other man, who was only then recovering from the effects of the iron grip Tom had taken of his throat. “If we don’t look out, mates, we shall have a whole gang of the coastguard down on us while we stay chattering here. Just settle what’s to be done with the old man and the lad, and then the sooner we are away from here the better.”

“Give us up the little girl, and neither coastguard nor police shall molest you if we can help it,” exclaimed Charley.

“Then no one is following you?” asked the man.

“No,” answered Charley, without thinking of the consequences of his reply.

“Then come with me, lads, and we’ll stop up the entrance to our burrow in a way which will give plenty of work to any one to find it!” exclaimed the man; “but we’ll put irons first on the claws of this young fighting-cock and his companion.”

The smugglers were deaf to all Charley’s expostulations, and he and Tom speedily found their hands in heavy manacles, which would effectually prevent them from making their escape. Tom did not at first deign even to speak, but now lifting up his manacled hands he exclaimed, “Thank ye, mates, for these pretty gloves; we had intended to put your hands into some like them before the night is over, and just let me advise you, or you’ll be caught as it is.”

Charles and Tom were left standing by themselves to indulge in meditation, while one-half of the smugglers hurried off to stop the entrance to the passage, and the other half packed up the goods which lay about the cavern, ready to carry them off.

Charley’s meditations were not altogether pleasant, but though grievously disappointed at the failure of his expedition, he kept up his spirits with the hope that something might still turn up to enable him either to see Margery, or to learn where she was. He was, however, greatly concerned with the thought of the additional anxiety Captain and Mrs Askew would feel when he and Tom did not return. “Of course the vault will be explored, and if the smugglers stop up the passage as they intend the entrance to it will not be found, and no one will be able to guess what has become of us.”

The smugglers were not long about the work, and as soon as they returned they blindfolded Charley’s and Tom’s eyes, the Captain observing that though they had found their way into the cavern, they should not be able to boast that they knew their way out again. Most of the men were strangers, and by their appearance French; but Charley thought that he recognised the countenances of a few, though as there was but a dim light in the cavern, and they kept out of his way, he could not be certain. As they led him along he heard them muttering in angry tones, and, as he thought, consulting what they should do with him and Tom.

“He knows too much already,” said one.

“Dead men tell no tales,” growled another.

“A slip over the cliff—nothing could be proved against us,” muttered a third.

Similar pleasant remarks continued to be made while he was led up and down passages, and, he was convinced, more than once turned completely round, till at last a rope was fastened round his waist, and he felt himself lowered down what he concluded was the side of a cliff, for the wind blew strongly against him. He was then led along the bench to the westward; this he knew by hearing the surf beating on his left hand, and feeling the wind on his left cheek. He heard the footsteps of several people, but he could not ascertain whether Tom was of the party, and he began to be afraid that they were separated from each other. The way was very rough, and he had great difficulty in keeping his feet. The wind too was getting up, and he heard the men grumbling at having to lead him along, and at being unable to embark; from which he concluded that their original intention had been to send him and Tom off to the coast of France with the French captain.

After going a considerable distance, the wind still increasing, he found that they turned inland up a steep ravine. He was now in a part of the country with which he was unacquainted, he supposed, but still he endeavoured to remember each turn he took, that if necessary he might be able to retrace his steps. More than once, as he went along, he thought that he heard Tom’s voice, and he was about to shout to him, but the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his cheek, and a hint from a gruff voice, that if he hallooed his brains would be blown out, warned him that it would be wiser to hold his tongue.

Poor Charley had never taken so unpleasant a walk in his life; he had attacked the smugglers first certainly, and—though he did not know it, as he had no warrant—in an illegal manner, and they could if they had chosen have brought an action against him and Tom for an assault and battery; but, on the other hand, as they were themselves engaged in illegal transactions, this they could not venture to do, as it would have brought their own misdeeds to light.

On the party went, now turning rapidly to the right, now to the left, till Charley felt convinced that they were attempting to mislead him. At last, strong as he was, he was almost ready to drop with fatigue. The men who held him were frequently changed, as if they too were knocked up with their work. Suddenly they stopped, declaring they could go no further, and that there could not be a more convenient place for getting rid of their prisoners.

“Heave them over the cliff!” said one, in a low, savage tone. “The water is deep, and they will be soon washed out to sea.”

“Not so certain of that,” said another; “better make some stones fast to their feet to sink them.”

“Just to prove that they came to their end by foul means!” observed a third with a sneer. “No, no, heave ’em over here, they’ll never speak again after they reach the bottom, and no one will be able to tell but what they fell over of themselves.”

This agreeable discussion afforded Charley the first intimation that old Tom was near him, and directly afterwards he heard his voice saying, “Do what you like with me, mates, but let that young lad go free. How would you like to have one of your own boys or young brothers treated as you threaten to treat him? There’s life and work and happiness in him, and you’d just knock it all to pieces for the sake of a paltry revenge. What good can killing the boy do to any of you? Why, I’ll tell you—murder will out, and you’ll all be hanged, every one of you.”

“Hold your jaw!” exclaimed one of the smugglers; “we’ve made up our minds, and you’ll both go the same way.”

Neither Charley nor Tom were of a disposition to beg for their lives; besides, they believed that if the ruffians had determined to kill them, no entreaties would make them alter their minds. Charley, not to lose precious time, tried to prepare himself for death; he thought of the sins he had committed, and endeavoured to repent of them; he forgave all his enemies, even those who were about to kill him, and then, claiming no merit for anything he had ever done, he cast himself at the feet of One he knew to be full of love, and mighty to save. Such is the way a true Christian and a brave man would prepare himself for that great change which must come on all of us.

“Are you going to say your prayers, young man, before we heave you off?” asked a smuggler, in a gruff voice.

“I have said them, thank you,” answered Charley, calmly. “Tom, have you said yours? Have you made your peace with Heaven in the only way it can be made?”

“Yes, Mr Charles, I’ve done that for many a day. When I first came to live on shore with the captain, ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘we must all die, and as we know not the day we should always be ready,’ so he showed me the way to be ready, and I’ve kept ready ever since.”

“Now, friends,” said Tom, addressing the smugglers, “what do you intend to do? I’ve again to tell you that you’ll gain nothing by committing a cruel murder, and you’ll repent of it as long as you live, and longer, far longer.”

“Stop his canting mouth, and over the cliff with him! let him preach to the lobsters and crabs if he’s a mind!” exclaimed one of the smugglers, and others joined in the vindictive cry.

Charley and Tom on this found themselves dragged along by the shoulders till their feet were over the cliff.

“Now, over with them, let them drop!” cried one of the men.

“No, no,” exclaimed another, “let them grip on to the edge with their hands. They’ll have time to think about that where they’re going, and pleasant thoughts to them!”

This last sally of wit produced a roar of laughter from the savage smugglers who, passing their lives in systematically outraging the laws of their country, seemed no longer to be moved by any of the better feelings of our nature. Still Charley and Tom felt grateful for the few moments of existence allowed them, and clutched the edge of the cliff with all the energy of despair. No sooner had they been lowered into their perilous position than they heard the smugglers, with heartless indifference to the agony they were suffering, moving off, some actually laughing, as if enjoying their misery, though none of them apparently were so utterly inhuman as to wait to see them dashed to pieces by their fall.

Charley, light and strong, felt that he could hold on for some time, but at the same time was afraid of struggling and endeavouring to get up on the cliff lest he should lose his gripe altogether. Tom had stuck his hook into the earth, but he in the same way knew that in attempting to climb up on to the top of the cliff, he might slip, and fall to the bottom. Their hope was that somebody might come by and help them, but that was very unlikely.

“Hold on, Mr Charles, hold on, my lad!” cried Tom. “If I could but just get the point of a rock to put my knee on, I would soon be on the firm ground and have you safe in a moment.”

“I’m doing my best to hold on,” answered Charles, “but the edge is terribly crumbling; I would make the attempt to get up, but I am nearly certain that I should fail.”

“Then don’t try, Mr Charles,” said Tom, “I’ll shout, and may be one of the coastguard men or somebody else will hear us. Help, ahoy! help! help ahoy!” he shouted in a voice which age had not weakened, and which might have been heard nearly half a mile off, had any one been near enough.

Charley then joined him in shouting, but no answer came, and Charley felt as a person does in a dreadful dream, every instant growing weaker and weaker.

“Tom, I don’t think that I can hold on many seconds longer,” he at last said; “good-bye—I must let go—the earth is crumbling away—I am going—oh?”

At that instant Tom, feeling that Charley’s safety depended on his being able to get on the ground above, made a desperate effort—his hook became loosened, in vain he tried to dig his fingers into the earth, and at the same moment that Charley gave his last despairing cry and lost his hold he lost his; down he came, but not as he expected, on the hard rock a hundred feet below him, but into a shallow pool not five feet from where he had been so long hanging.

“Why, where am I?” exclaimed Charley, who, at the same time, had lodged safely on a green mound close to the pool, and tearing off the handkerchief from his eyes he looked about him; “after all, those smugglers are not so bad as we thought them.”

“We are at the bottom of a chalk-pit, Mr Charles,” answered Tom, “the fellows have played us a somewhat scurvy trick, but I cannot but say that it was better than sending us over the cliff and breaking our necks; howsomdever, the sooner we get out of it the better as I’m wet to the skin, and would like to take a brisk walk homeward to get dry.”

A bright moon was shining, though obscured occasionally by the fast driving clouds which came up from the south-west, and by its light they had no difficulty in clambering out of the pit. They were on the top of some downs, at some distance from the edge of the cliff. However, they could see the now foam-covered sea, and distinguish vessels far off running up the Channel before the gale, and thus could take a tolerably direct road homeward, though neither of them had before been thus far from the Tower. They hurried on, being certain that the smugglers could not leave the coast, and hoping that even if one could be captured he would give information where Margery was to be found.

“Margery! poor dear little Margery, she to be all this time in the power of these ruffians!” Charley kept saying to himself as he and Tom hurried on.

Chapter Nine.

A Friend in Need—Margery escapes—Margery’s Mission.

Tom and Charley had gone through so much that they could not calculate at all what hour of the night it then was. They had not noted the hour when they commenced their adventure, but remembered that it was then daylight; they had had no dinner, and they felt very hungry. They were hurrying along a path which led through a hollow, when on the hill above them they saw a female figure. She stopped and looked about, either to find the path or in expectation of some one. What could she want at that hour of the night, in so lone a place? They were under the shadow of a stone wall, and she evidently did not see them. They hesitated whether to remain concealed, as it occurred to both that her appearance there was in some way or other connected with the smugglers. However, after waiting a minute, she came down the hill with the light step of a young girl; when, catching sight of them, instead of retreating she came boldly forward. “Oh, Tom, oh, Mr Charles, I am so glad to see you all right!” she exclaimed, as she got near enough for them to recognise the features of Polly Herring, the smuggler’s daughter. “I heard that something dreadful was going to happen, and I came along to try and stop it.”

“And you thought, Polly, that your father was in it, and may be James Trevany, and you did not wish them to get into trouble. Was not that it, Polly?”

“Yes! Tom, that was one reason,” answered the girl, frankly; “another was that I wanted to save you and Mister Charles from coming to harm; and now I’ll ask you, if father or James get into trouble, to speak a good word to the captain to help them out of it.”

“The captain is a just man, and will return kindness with kindness, no doubt of that,” answered Tom. “But I say, Polly, if any one can find out where Miss Margery is, you can, for I am as certain as I stand here that your father, or James, or some of your friends, had a hand in carrying her off. Come, speak the truth, girl; you’ll gain more by helping us to find her than by any other way.”

“Yes! it was a cruel shame to carry her away,” she muttered, in a low voice; “but I dare not indeed I dare not.”

“Dare not do what, Polly?” asked Tom, in a soothing tone.

“Tell where she is, or help you to get her,” answered the girl, promptly.

“Then you do know where she is, Polly, and may be who took her away, and all about her,” said Tom. “Now what I’ve got to say is this, that just do you do what’s right, and never do you fear what any one can do to you.”

The girl still hesitated.

“Just let me ask you a question, Polly,” continued Tom. “Is your father in trouble, or James? Tell me that.”

“Yes! the revenue men have got some information against them, and are after them both.”

“Then depend on’t, Polly, the best thing for them is to give up Miss Margery before they are caught,” said Tom; “they’ll gain nothing by giving her up afterwards. The law doesn’t make terms with people.”

“But they’re terrible people who’ve got her,” answered Polly. “They’d as soon shoot you, or me, or anybody, as look at us, if we came near them.”

“We don’t fear terrible men,” said Tom, laughing, “just do you put us in the way of getting back Miss Margery, and we’ll say as many good words as we can for thy father, Polly, and for James too, if he needs them.”

“But you’ll do no harm to those who have got her, and all you’ll say is that Polly Herring, Dick Herring’s daughter, helped you to get her back,” said the girl, in a tone which showed that she still feared the consequences of what she was about to do.

Charley had not before spoken, but he now thanked her, and urged her to lose no time in restoring Margery to them.

“Come on, then,” she said, in a firm voice; “it’s a long way from here, but you may be there and back at the Tower with the little girl before daybreak.” These words made Charley’s affectionate heart beat with joy. Polly added, however, “We must be careful, though, for if we were to fall in with any of our people it would go hard with you and me too.”

Polly had well-knit limbs, and, being accustomed to active exercise, led the way at a rapid rate. She seemed well acquainted with the road, for she never stopped or hesitated as to which path to take, and Charley soon totally lost the direction in which he was going, and Tom had no little difficulty in keeping up with her.

They had thus gone on for some distance, when Polly stopped and stood as if listening.

“I hear some coming; we must hide, and quick too, for if they are those I fancy, and they catch us, our lives are not worth much.”

A high bank with a hedge on the top of it was on one side, and as she spoke she led the way through a gap, and the adventurers found themselves perfectly concealed from any one passing along the road. Scarcely had they got behind the hedge, when a party of five or six men appeared, talking in subdued tones, but high enough to allow some of their words to be heard. They were uttering oaths and breathing vengeance against the revenue officers and others, by whom their plans had been defeated. From the mood they were in, Charley felt that it would have been very unpleasant to have again encountered them. Polly waited for some time before she ventured into the road, and then she led on, without speaking, as fast as ever. The ground became very rough, and they went up and down hill till the sound of the surf told that they were once more approaching the sea.

As they were ascending a steep, rocky hill, covered with loose stones, a light appeared before them. They crept on cautiously, imitating Polly’s way of proceeding.

“They have taken her there,” she whispered, pointing to a cottage, the dim outline of which could be seen. “This very night, if the weather had been fine, they would have carried her across the Channel. There’s no time to lose, for they won’t let her stay long, and if we don’t get her to-day, to-morrow she may be far off from this.”

Again she moved on, till she reached a low stone wall, which formed a fence to the garden of the house. “Stay still as death here,” she whispered. “There’s a terrible woman lives there. If she was to find out what I was about she’d kill me though I am her own flesh and blood, and you too, and, may be, in her rage, the little girl too.” Saying this, Polly stole on towards the cottage.

Charley had expected that he should have been called on to run some personal risk, and to carry off Margery from the grasp of half-a-dozen fierce smugglers or so, and he felt somewhat disappointed at the inactive part he was called on to play. From the words Polly had dropped he guessed that the cottage was the one inhabited by old Dame Herring, who was looked upon by the inhabitants of the country for miles round as a witch, and known to be a very bad character. She took advantage of her evil reputation, and practised on the credulity of the people. It is not necessary to mention her bad practices. A few years before she would very probably have been burnt as a witch; she now ran a risk of being ducked in a horse-pond.

Polly seemed to be a long time absent. Tom had the gift of patience, and was accustomed to wait, and so, though he was fully as anxious as Charley to have Margery safe under his charge, he made no complaint; but Charley began to lose patience, and to wonder what could have become of Polly, contemplating even going to look for her. Those who have had experience in life know that it is much more difficult to wait for an event than to rush forward to meet it; passive courage is therefore often the greatest. Still, when difficulties occur, the wisest course is boldly to face them at once. To the eyes of the multitude the soldier who rushes onward into the thickest of the fight may appear the bravest, and yet he may be a positive coward, urged forward by despair. The truly brave is he who can stand undaunted to meet the shock of the onset. Charley had to wait and wait till his patience was taxed to the utmost. At length his ear caught a light footstep approaching, and Polly came up to him. “I couldn’t get the little girl out, for she is shut up in a room by herself,” she whispered. “I had to wait till they were all asleep, and then I crept out to tell you. Still, I think if you are careful you may manage to get her. I will show you the window of the room where she is shut up, and if you can climb in and awake her without making any noise you may do it; but understand that there are several men sleeping in the cottage with loaded pistols under their heads, which they are very quick to use; and remember that the slightest noise will alarm them. Come along, but you must wait ten minutes to let me get into the cottage before you begin your business.”

Charley and Tom, of course, promised to attend to Polly’s injunctions, and eagerly followed her through the garden to the back of the cottage. She showed them the window, which seemed a very small one, about eight feet from the ground; and then, with her finger on her lips, disappeared round the corner. Charley waited what he considered a very long ten minutes, but Tom, who could calculate better, held him tight, as a sign that it was not yet time to move, and at last bent his back with his head against the wall, and signed to him to get on the top of it. This Charley did with alacrity, and grasping the window-sill, drew himself up till he got his knees on it, and he was then able without noise to open one side of the lattice window. There was barely room for him to creep through, but he managed to do so without making any noise, and at length he stood inside. He looked round anxiously into the room. At that moment a gleam of moonlight burst through the passing clouds, and showed him a small bed, and Margery, completely dressed, sleeping soundly and peaceably on it. He was afraid if he awakened her suddenly she might speak or cry out; so taking off his shoes he crept softly up to her, and kissing her brow, whispered low in her ear, “Margery, Margery, don’t speak—a friend—Charley has come for you, to take you home.”

She opened her eyes, which Charley could see, for the moonbeam cast its light directly on her countenance; a sweet smile came across it, and he thought that she had never looked more lovely; but she evidently thought that she was dreaming.

“Dear Margery, wake up; Charley has come to take you away from this place,” he repeated.

“Is it possible?” she asked, in the same low voice in which he spoke, and took his hand. The touch assured her.

“Yes, yes! I am ready; oh, thank you, thank you!”

Charley helped her to rise, and to step softly across the room. He then got through the window, and holding on, as only a sailor or a cat could, to nothing, helped her through and lifted her down to Tom, who couldn’t refrain from giving her a hearty kiss in his joy at recovering her. Charley then put on his shoes, and dropped noiselessly to the ground. “They brought me here without shoes, and would give me none for fear I should run away,” she whispered; “but I will try to walk without them.”

“Not for worlds, Margery,” answered Charley. “We’ll carry you all the way, never fear.”

“Aye, aye, Miss Margery,” said Tom; “I’ve carried you many a mile when you was a baby and you was no heavier than a feather, and I’ve still strength left in my old arms to carry you now that you are a young lady nearly grown, I may say.”

Margery could only murmur her thanks, as Tom bore her in his arms across the garden and down the hill at a rapid rate, Charley bringing up the rear, and ready to do battle should they be pursued.

Polly had so far proved faithful, and Charley hoped sincerely that the part she had played in the affair might not be discovered by her associates. Still, he cast many an anxious glance behind him as they descended the steep, rough hill side, lest any of the smugglers should have been aroused, and have come in pursuit. Their chief difficulty was to find the way; but they guessed pretty correctly the direction of the Tower, the moon still affording them the assistance of her light. They did not even stop to rest, Tom declaring that Miss Margery was still almost as light as a feather, if not quite as light as when she was a baby. They had thus made good progress, when Charley said that he heard footsteps.

“May be,” answered Tom; “but they must be stout fellows who will dare to take our Miss Margery from us.”

“I am not at all afraid of anybody now,” said Margery. “I am sure, Charley, that you and Tom would not let them take me from you.” Charley of course promised that no one should, and as they did not believe that any smugglers would venture to interfere with them, should any be met, they continued their course. However, before they had gone much further, two very suspicious-looking personages overtook them and asked various questions, as to whence they had come and where they were going.

“Easily answered, mates,” said Tom; “we are coming from the place we last stopped at, and we are going home, and our business is nobody else’s, do ye see?”

Whatever had been the intentions of the men, Tom’s firm bearing, and Charley’s determined air, as he brought up the rear, following Tom as a bull-terrier does the heels of his master, ready to fly at any one venturing to interfere with him, made them alter their purpose.

“I thought as how those piratical craft would sheer off if we showed a bold front,” said Tom, as the men turned down a lane on one side. “It’s a great point to show an enemy that you are wide awake and not afraid of him. Mind you that, Master Charley. There’s a great enemy, too, who is always going about seeking whom he may devour; and if he finds that we are prepared for him, and know how to resist him, he’ll be off like a shot.”

At length the door of the Tower was reached. Becky, who opened it, instead of welcoming them as they might naturally have expected that she would, stared wildly at them, and then throwing her apron over her head ran back screaming, “There are ghosts—there are ghosts—there are ghosts at the door!”

“No we ain’t,” said Tom, bluntly, as he entered; “but we’ve brought back Miss Margery all right, and she’ll be glad of some grub presently, and so shall we by and by I’m thinking,—eh, Master Charley? But just do you first, as soon as you have got your five senses back, run up and tell the captain and missis. They’ll not be sorry to hear the news, at all events.”

In another minute Margery was in her parents’ arms, and they were thanking Heaven that she had been safely restored to them.

Little Margery had kept up her courage wonderfully, from the moment she was seized till her return home. She said that she was awake and thought that she saw Becky collecting her clothes, when suddenly she was taken up in the arms of a woman; she supposed her mouth was gagged and her eyes blinded, and she was carried swiftly along, down into some damp place and along passages into the open air, and finally into the cottage where Charley had found her. She had had no fear about being ill treated, for she did not think any one would hurt a little girl like herself. She was very grateful, however, to Charley and Tom for all the risk they had run to rescue her.

Tom and Charley’s adventures created great surprise, for the captain could not conceive how they could have got out of the vaults; and it was not until they had all together paid another visit to it that they discovered the aperture lately blocked up with loose stones, and then at length guessed that it had been done by the smugglers to cut off pursuit. The result of the whole proceeding was the very reverse of what the smugglers had expected. In their foolish ignorance they fancied that they could frighten away a sensible man, like Captain Askew, from the Tower by their notable scheme of making it be supposed that it was haunted.

We may be surprised at their gross representations of ghosts and spirits, but which were undoubtedly exact imitations of their own conceptions of such things; nor does it at all follow, that because some of them ventured to appear in the character of ghosts, they did not firmly believe in their existence. Probably their own superstitious fears would as easily have been worked on as they hoped to work on those of others.

A considerable amount of the property of the gang, which they had not time to remove, was seized when they left their chief stronghold and place of rendezvous on the coast, where they had long defied the vigilance of the revenue officers, and many of them were driven away from the coast. The entrance to the cave from the sea was carefully blocked up, so that no one could again undermine the Tower, and attempt to play off such tricks on the inmates.

Mr Ludlow, accompanied by Stephen, rode over to the Tower to congratulate his tenants on the recovery of their daughter. “I am very glad to see the young lady back, and safe, and well; but,” he added, “I have a bone to pick with her. What do you think, captain? She has actually been endeavouring to persuade my only son to go to sea, that he may spend his life in searching for your poor boy, whom she asserts is still alive in some island of the Pacific, either in consequence of reading a child’s book, or from some cock-and-bull story which she heard from an old sailor one day, who was never afterwards to be found to corroborate the truth of his narrative. I wish bygones to be bygones, and I would rather not have alluded to the subject, but I really do not know what powerful influence she may exert over him, though I cannot say that at present he has any fancy for the undertaking; but I wish, at all events, to nip the project in the bud.”

As may be supposed, Captain Askew was not a little astonished at this address, while he could not but be sensible of the want of feeling of the man who could thus coldly speak of his long-lost son, that son who had been banished in consequence of Mr Ludlow’s own stern decree. “I was not aware that my little Margery entertained any such notion,” he answered mildly. “Did she, I should have supposed that your son, Stephen, however much she may esteem him as a friend, was the very last person she would have selected for the scheme.”

“Oh, the foolish boy lent her a book, a copy, I believe, of Defoe’s ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and as he describes a person living on an island for a number of years by himself, she has taken it into her head that her brother may have escaped shipwreck, and be still alive on one of the many islands which I understand stud parts of the Pacific.”

“I have only to repeat that my daughter has not mentioned the subject to me, and I will undertake that she does not induce your son to act contrary to your wishes,” answered Captain Askew.

“Very well, neighbour, I will trust to your word,” said Mr Ludlow, in his usual supercilious manner, which, to a man of a temper less mild than the captain, would have been very galling. “I, of course, have other designs for him than to lead the life of a sailor.”

When Mr Ludlow and Stephen had taken their departure, he could not help repeating to himself, “he may be alive on one of the many islands which stud parts of the Pacific. The sailor’s story may be true, or it may be only dear Margery’s fancy. It is but natural that she should indulge in it; I would that I had health and strength, and the means to go out and search for the dear boy—dear whether alive or dead.”

That evening the captain spoke of their boy to his wife. He would not venture to raise her hopes. He scarcely hinted at the possibility of his having escaped from the wreck, and yet he spoke of such things having happened to others. Margaret’s reply was, “God’s will be done. He knows what is kept for us in all respects.”

In the meantime, Stephen had told Margery that his father objected decidedly to his becoming a sailor, that he might go and look for her brother Jack; an announcement which the young lady received with much dignity, and an expression of contempt on her pretty countenance which it was not wont to wear.

“Of course, Mr Stephen Ludlow, you are right in doing what your father wishes,” she observed; “and now I think over the matter you are not at all fitted to become a sailor. Sailors are true friends—generous, brave, kind, and liberal; I was mistaken when I supposed that you were likely to possess those qualities. Good-bye. I do not want to quarrel with you, but now you know what I think.”

Margery was not aware how severe her words might have sounded. Stephen did not fully understand their meaning, but he felt very sheepish, and had an idea that it would probably be some time before he again paid a visit to Stormount Tower. Margery had, however, far from abandoned her idea. She had for some time naturally thought that Charley Blount would be the proper person to perform her behests, and she felt certain that he would very gladly undertake the task she might assign him. She put the matter before him, and to her great delight he at once undertook her mission.

“I cannot say that your brother Jack is alive,” he observed; “but this I promise, that if he is I will do my utmost to find him and bring him home.”

Chapter Ten.

Charley goes to Sea—A Gallant Comrade—Coolness of Islanders—The Savages.

“May Heaven bless and prosper you, my boy!” said Captain Askew, as Charley Blount was prepared to start for Liverpool, where he expected to get a berth on board some ship bound for the shores of the Pacific. He had letters of introduction to Jack’s old friend, now Captain Cumming, who resided at Birkenhead, on the other side of the Mersey, and to other friends of Captain Askew, so that his way would be likely to be made smooth.

His parting with the inmates of the Tower need not be fully described. Neither Mrs Askew nor Margery dared trust themselves with words. Becky gave him a hug, such as he was not accustomed to receive as she whispered, “Bring him back, Mr Charley, bring him back, oh do!”

“If the lad’s above board you’ll find him out, I know you will, Mr Charles,” said old Tom, heartily wringing his hand. He modestly replied that he would do his best; and that, with a person of spirit and energy, signifies a good deal.

He was not going altogether without pecuniary means. Captain Askew had raised every shilling he could for the undertaking, and he felt sure that Captain Cumming would get friends at Liverpool to help him yet further. He soon reached that city, and when his object became known, although many declared that it was visionary, he had, from the liberality of merchants and others, ample supplies placed at his disposal, which he was to employ as he considered best. He without delay obtained a berth on board the Southern Cross, Captain Harper, as fourth mate, with the understanding that he should be allowed to quit the ship after she had reached the coast of Peru, where she was to take a fresh cargo on board.

The Southern Cross was a well-found ship, Captain Harper, an upright man and a good seaman, and with the other officers and the crew, Charley was on his first acquaintance tolerably well pleased.

He enjoyed the sensation, which few but seamen can enjoy after some time spent on shore, when he once more trod the deck moved by the buoyant waves, as the good ship pursued her southward course over the Atlantic, and he thought of the enterprise in which he was engaged. Most of his shipmates, as many people on shore had done, thought his undertaking preposterous, and said that to search for a lad he had never seen, among the thousand and one isles of the Pacific, and who probably had been drowned, or eaten by the savages years ago, was more ridiculous than looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Charley, however, kept, if not to his own opinion, to that which Margery, at all events, entertained, and got two young shipmates, midshipmen, to join him in it. Hugh Owen, an enthusiastic Welshman, and Edward Elton, a quiet and unpretending English lad who had been three years at sea. He was pale-faced and small of his age, his eyes were blue and his features regular, and in a crowd he would have been the last selected to do a daring deed; and yet no bolder or braver lad was to be found on board, and there was no act of heroism of which those who knew him would not have believed him capable.

Charley Blount was not much senior to either of the lads, but having been to sea longer, was their superior in rank. Off duty he treated them as equals, and the three young men soon formed a sincere friendship for each other.

The Falkland Islands were visited to obtain a supply of fresh provisions and water, and then the ship steered west round Cape Horn into the Pacific. Just, however, as that mighty headland was sighted there sprang up a fierce gale from the westward, which drove the Southern Cross back into the Atlantic, the huge billows rising up like mountains to bar her progress. But her captain well knew that perseverance alone could overcome this as it can conquer most difficulties, and she was kept under close-reefed sails, now with her head to the south, now to the north, ready to take advantage of any slant of wind which might enable her to work her way to the westward. The wind had fallen, and once more sail was made.

It was night, and Charley Blount had a watch on deck, when without warning down came the gale on the ship with greater fury than before. With a crack like a clap of thunder the main-topgallant-yard parted and hung by the lifts, dashing furiously against the topsail, and threatening to carry away the topmast. “It is my duty to clear that,” exclaimed Charley, not waiting to be ordered or asked to go, for it was a task of the greatest peril, which only volunteers alone would be expected to attempt. Seizing an axe, he flew aloft.

“Heaven protect the bold fellow!” exclaimed the captain, who had hurried on deck.

Young Elton had also come, up from below. One part of the task was done when Charley’s axe was torn from his grasp, and he was seized by the coils of a loose rope, lashing furiously, while the remaining part of the spar came whirling round his head. His terrific position could be seen from the deck, and the great danger any one would incur in going near him could be equally well perceived. Not a moment, however, did young Elton hesitate. Scarcely had the accident happened than he was flying up the ratlines amid the clouds of spray which drove across them. The ship was heeling over and pitching into the seas as if never to rise again, the masts were bending and straining, and the broken spar was flying round, now in one direction, now in the other, and threatening to render the brave young Elton’s attempt useless, by hurling Charley Blount to destruction before he could release him, while the least want of vigilance would have proved equally fatal to himself. He had, amid the darkness of the night and the heeling of the ship to watch the movements of the threatening spar, and to dart forward as it receded and left a spot for an instant free from its attacks. His first aim was to release Charley, whom the rope was encircling every instant more closely in its deadly embrace. He watched his opportunity; he sprang along the yard, and with two blows of his axe the rope was severed, and Charley was released, and able to join him in the still more difficult task of clearing away the broken spar. Together they climbed the mast. “Stand from under!” was the cry, but there was no need of it. Again their sharp axes were at work; the spar fell clear of the ship into the foaming ocean, the topmast was saved, and loud cheers greeted the young seamen as they descended safely on deck.

This incident united Charley Blount and Elton in still closer friendship, and gained the support more completely of the enthusiastic Hugh Owen, who became now more than ever eager to follow their fortunes.

At length the ship got to the westward of the Cape, but she had been driven far to the south, and it was some time before the wind allowed her to steer a northerly course. She had already got into warm latitudes, when a high, cocoa-nut-covered, reef-bound island was discovered ahead. The savage character of the inhabitants of the isles of the Pacific had frequently been the subject of conversation on board, among those who had never before been in that part of the world, and it was naturally supposed that those living on the island in sight were deserving of the same description. As they coasted along, however, they could distinguish with their glasses numerous neat white buildings, and a wide extent of cultivated ground, and here and there towers and steeples, and edifices which had the appearance of ordinary school-houses; indeed, the land wore a wonderfully civilised aspect.

The captain, ordering the chief mate to keep the ship standing on and off, invited as many as two boats would contain to accompany him on shore. He carried an assortment of goods, not beads and looking-glasses and spear-heads, as would once have been the case, but cottons, and useful cutlery, and writing materials, and leather, and other articles in demand among civilised people. The boats arrived at a well-constructed wharf, where several decently-clothed natives stood ready to receive them. They were greeted with the salutation of “Blessings be on your head!” and one stepped forward and introduced himself as the trading-master, and requested to know what articles they wished to purchase. The captain gave a list of what he wanted, which were very soon brought down, and, the trade-master acting as interpreter, equitable bargains were soon struck, and all that was required by the voyagers was obtained at a reasonable rate. They were then allowed to visit any part of the island they chose with licensed guides. They expressed their surprise to the native interpreter at the state of things.

“Yes! great indeed is the change,” he answered. “Thirty years ago we were among the most degraded of savages; but the good missionaries came, and though we would have driven them away, they persevered in remaining till they had taught us better things; and now you see us sitting clothed and in our right minds.”

On inquiry, Charley found that there was not a heathen native in the whole island. There were churches always regularly attended, school houses, printing presses, lecture halls, a well-constituted government, and a perfectly educated native ministry. Not only were there no heathen, but, as far as human discernment could discover, true Christian principles were professed and practised by a large majority of the population. Few islands were in a more satisfactory state than this one; at the same time Charley heard that the inhabitants of a very considerable number had become Christians by the instrumentality of English missionaries, and still more by that of Christian natives, eager to impart to their countrymen the glad tidings they had themselves received.

“It was to this island, many years ago, that a native missionary swam on shore with a few books, wrapped up in a cloth, on his head. Our savage fathers stood on the rocks with clubs and spears, ready to kill him, but his life was preserved by the mercy of God, who loved our souls though we knew Him not. At first no one would listen to what the missionary had to say, and laughed him to scorn; but by degrees one stopped to hear, and then another and another, and found what he said to be very good, till by degrees as they understood more clearly the tidings he brought, hundreds flocked in and believed, and were converted.”

Captain Harper corroborated all Charley had heard, and stated that whereas once it was dangerous at most of the islands to land unless in a strong body, well armed; now, throughout the whole of the eastern groups, the inhabitants were as kind and courteous to strangers and as well conducted as any people he had met on the face of the globe. One day after they had left the island, the officers of a whaler becalmed near them came on board, and complained bitterly of the altered state of things, abusing the missionaries for being the cause of the change to which they so much objected.

The surgeon of the ship, who ought to have known better, was especially very indignant with them.

“Once we could go on shore, and for a few beads or a knife not worth twopence buy as many provisions as we required, or any other article, and we could play all sorts of pranks with the natives, and nobody interfered with us. Now, if we ask them to buy or sell, or to dance, or to do anything else on a Sunday, they won’t do it, and we can have no fun of any sort; and they say that we have lost our religion, and pull long faces at us, and ask us all sorts of strange questions about our souls. As a fact, these savages know more about religion than we do; and they can write books, and print and bind them, and some of them can preach for an hour at a time; indeed, I don’t know what they can’t do. The missionaries have done it all—spoilt them, I say; they were jolly fellows as savages, but they are desperately stupid now. To be sure, they did now and then murder a whole ship’s company if they had the chance, and roast and eat them too, and they would steal anything they could lay hands on; and they were always fighting among each other; and they worshipped curious logs of wood and stumps of trees, and figures made out of rags, matting, and feathers; but we had nothing to do with that, it was rather fun to see them.”

And so the surgeon of the whaler ran on, not at all aware that he was condemning himself and his companions, and their practices, and praising the long-benighted savages.

Charley observed that he could not help thinking that the change was for the better, and he could not help asking himself, “Where will the white man and where will the brown man be found standing at the day of judgment?”

He inquired of the doctor if he had heard of any young Englishman residing among the natives, or on any island in the eastern Pacific.

The doctor laughed, and said that there were a good many who had native wives, and were the prime ministers and privy councillors of the kings and princes who ruled the islands, especially those which still remained heathen.

Charley scarcely wished to find Margery’s brother among these unhappy men. No! he was certain that if he was alive he was living on some unfrequented island, unable to get away. The Southern Cross touched at several islands, for the captain had a roving commission, to go where he thought best. At each of them Charley left on shore a number of cards on which he had written, “Jack Askew, a friend of your father’s, Charley Blount, is looking for you. Send word to Callao, on the coast of Peru, and he will assist you to return home.”

Captain Harper gave every assistance to Charley, but not a trace could they discover of the missing one. Two uninhabited islands had been visited; a third was sighted. Charley’s heart beat high in anticipation of finding him whom he sought. Yet, why he expected to find Jack there more than at any other place he could not tell.

On the island, though it was a small one, there was a mountain and three or four lesser heights, which might prevent a person on the opposite side from seeing a ship; the captain, therefore, though he could not spare much time, agreed to sail partly round it, and to land Charley, Elton, Owen, and some of the men, to explore it. They landed in high spirits, on a sandy beach, and pushed on to the highest point whence they could survey the whole island, and where a flag they carried could be seen by any inhabitant on it. They reached the summit of the mountain. There were valleys and rocks and cascades, and cocoa-nut and other tropical trees and plants; indeed it was very like the description of Robinson Crusoe’s island. They waved the flag and shouted, though shouting was of no use, as no one in the valley could have heard them. At length they descended towards the east, the point from which the ship was to take them off. Still they hoped that some one might appear.

“He may have been all the time watching the ship, and not have looked up towards the mountain,” observed Owen, who had assumed the fact of Jack’s existence, even more than Charley himself. They reached the beach without meeting the trace even of a human being. All the party looked blank at each other; it was very clear that that was not Jack’s island.

Disappointed they returned on board. “Don’t let us despair,” cried Charley. “There may be, in the latitude where the Truelove was lost, fifty other islands, and Jack can only be in one of them, so that we cannot hope to find him in a hurry.”

“No! of course not,” cried Owen; “but we will find him notwithstanding that. Just let us get our little schooner fitted out and we’ll visit every one of them, and twice as many if necessary.”

Captain Harper had most liberally and kindly done his best for Charley’s object. Captain Askew’s friends at Liverpool had promised a reward of a hundred pounds to any man or ship’s company, half to go to the master, who should discover and bring off young Askew, and half that amount for the discovery of any of the crew of the ill-fated ship. This information he gave to every whaler and other vessel the Southern Cross fell in with. Whalers especially, visit so many out-of-the-way spots while searching for their prey, to obtain wood and water and vegetables, essentials for the support of the health and life of the crew, that it was possible some of them might be tempted to make a more thorough examination of islands near which they might find themselves, than they would otherwise do. At length Callao was reached, and Charley with his two friends obtained their discharge.

The next thing was to find a vessel suited for their purpose. After inspecting a number, a beautiful little Spanish schooner, of about eighty tons, which had just come into the harbour, was purchased, and a motley crew engaged. The crew consisted of one Englishman, who had been twenty years from home, a negro, a Tahitian, and a native Indian; but still they all pulled wonderfully well together. Charley Blount was captain; Elton, first mate; and Hugh Owen, second. The schooner had been called the Boa Esperanza, and so they called her the Good Hope—an appropriate name.

Never had a happier party put to sea. They were in prime health and spirits, and had a good object in view, so that they could venture to pray for the success of their expedition. They had an ample crew for the size of the vessel; she was well-found, and sailed like a witch, and was altogether a first-rate little craft.

The Good Hope went out of harbour at the same time as the Southern Cross, the latter steering south on her homeward voyage, the former west, to explore all the islands known and unknown in that direction. Charley had given his utmost attention to navigation since he left England, and from the time Elton and Owen had agreed to accompany him, they had also studied the subject more carefully than before. They were, therefore, all three very fair navigators; indeed a good knowledge of navigation was very necessary for the work in which they were about to engage.

Away went the Good Hope on her adventurous and perilous voyage. The Pacific, though often calm, shows that it does not deserve its name at all times. After they had been a week out, the weather gave signs of changing: dark clouds appeared in the west, though the wind was still blowing from the east. They continued their course to reach an island which rose high out of the sea ahead. With the fair wind they then had they rapidly neared the island. Their glasses showed them that it was a beautiful spot, very like the island they had before visited, but larger. Just, however, as they got abreast of it, the gale, which had for some time been brewing, broke on them with great fury. Fortunately they were able to run back for shelter under the lee of the island, where, though they still felt the wind, the sea was comparatively smooth. Great vigilance was, at the same time, necessary, lest the wind changing suddenly she might be driven on the reefs which surrounded the island. Still they kept as close as they could, looking out for an opening through which they might pass and anchor inside.

Hugh Owen had a remarkably sharp pair of eyes, and was the first to espy, some way to the northward, a space of clear water with a sheltered bay beyond. The schooner was steered towards the spot. Owen was right. A slant of wind enabled them to stand through the passage. The sea dashed in foam over the coral reefs on either hand; careless steering, the parting of a rope, or a sudden change of wind would have hurled them to destruction. The dangers were passed, and she rode safely in a little bay, which had a sandy beach, and a fringe of rocks and trees above. No huts or dwelling-places could be seen, yet it seemed scarcely possible that so fine an island should be uninhabited. Still people might exist on the other side of the island, or more inland.

They had been advised not to venture on shore on any island, unless the inhabitants had become Christians, without arms. Owen and Elton proposed on this occasion going without them, as they were heavy to carry.

“No, no!” said Charley. “A rule is a rule, which, if a good one, should never be broken through.”

This was the first island where, by their calculations, they had the slightest chance of finding Jack Askew, at least, it was about the longitude that the Truelove was supposed to have been lost.

Owen took charge of the schooner while Charley and Elton and three men went on shore, all sufficiently armed with rifles, pistols in their belts, and cutlasses by their sides. They hoped by starting early in the day to accomplish the tour of the island before dark. Having drawn up their boat on the beach, they pushed on for the highest point of land in the neighbourhood. On reaching it they saw in the valley below, on the further side, wreaths of smoke ascending from among a grove of trees. Charley and Elton agreed that there must be inhabitants, but wisely determined not to approach them without first ascertaining, if possible, their disposition. They therefore continued along the height, so as to avoid the valley, proposing to cross over by a route which appeared open to the opposite side of the island.

As they advanced they saw more signs of the island being inhabited: tracks leading in various directions, ruined huts, and marks of fires and native ovens. Some natives were also seen in the distance, but whether or not they were observed they could not tell. Charley and Elton speculated as they went on as to the probability of Jack being on the island. Wherever they went, in all conspicuous places they left the cards, with a notice that the schooner, on the east side of the island, was waiting for him, hoping that possibly he might see one of them, should they themselves miss him.

At length they reached the west side of the island, where the full strength of the gale was felt, and they were thankful that their vessel lay snugly in harbour, and sheltered from its fury. Here they found a group of huts and patches of cultivated ground, for the production of the taro root, but the inhabitants had hastily fled. This was unsatisfactory, as they must have had cause to dread the appearance of white men. They saw, therefore, that it would be prudent to return by the most direct route to the bay, where it would be safer to attempt establishing friendly relations with them; for should they fail, unless they could fight their way, they would probably be cut off. Keeping close together, they therefore marched rapidly westward.

Several times they saw natives armed with bows, spears, and clubs, hovering on either side, but none of them came within speaking distance. They seemed to increase in numbers as the party approached the bay, and Charley felt thankful when they came in sight of the schooner. Their first care was to get the boat afloat, that they might retreat if necessary. They had brought a number of useful articles for barter—knives and pieces of cotton cloth, and handkerchiefs, and nails, and some of them they placed on the rocks, beckoning the natives with friendly gestures to approach and take them. No sooner had Charley and his party retired to the boat, than nearly forty savages started up from behind the rocks and rushed towards the goods, eagerly seizing them, and as quickly retreating again under shelter. After this, nothing could tempt the savages from their cover. One thing was certain, that Jack could not be on the island, or the savages would have learned to treat white men in a different manner. Charley, therefore, determined to return to the schooner. No sooner, however, had his men begun to shove off the boat, than the savages, fearing to lose the treasures they possessed, made a furious rush in a body towards her, flourishing their war-clubs, and holding their spears ready to throw.

“Shove off, lads, shove off, for your lives!” cried Charley, seizing an oar. “Let not a shot be fired unless I give the word.”

The savages, however, seeing that their expected prize was about to escape them, rushed on with greater speed, some hurling their spears, others, with clubs uplifted, threatening the destruction of all in the boat.

Chapter Eleven.

The Right Way to treat Savages—The Missionary and his Converts—The Boy on the Island.

Charley Blount’s great wish was to avoid injuring any of the natives. In spite, therefore, of the spears which came flying around him, and the array of warriors with their war-clubs, he refrained from firing, and directed all his efforts to get the boat completely afloat. Just as a savage had got one hand on the stern and with the other was about to deal a blow with his club which would have killed Charley, the boat glided off into deep water, and the savage warrior toppled down with his nose in the surf. He was up again in a moment, but blinded by the salt water, and not seeing that the boat had escaped him, struck out with his club and again fell over as before, and would possibly have been drowned, had not some of his companions hauled him up and set him again on his legs. This circumstance assisted the escape of the boat, which was now getting away from the shore. Charley, anxious not to injure any of the savages, had ordered his men not to fire till the last extremity. Not a shot therefore was fired, and the boat got well off out of danger.

The question was now, how to show the savages that the white men possessed power, but had mercifully not employed it against them. They had on board an empty cask, in which some of the articles left with the savages had been brought off. This was ballasted and put in the water with a short flag-staff, and a handkerchief as a flag fixed in it. Pulling away a short distance Elton and Charley, and one of the men, who was a good shot, repeatedly fired and hit it, till at last the flag and staff were shot away to the astonishment of the natives, who stood looking on. Fortunately, a tree grew near the beach on one side, where there were no natives. Charley next made this his target, and the white splinters which flew out on either side must have convinced the savages that the missiles which produced them would have made, with greater ease very disagreeable holes in their bodies. Charley now once more pulled in towards the beach; the savages ran off. He had a few more articles left; he landed, spread them out, and then, returning to the boat, beckoned to the people to come and take them.

At length they seemed to comprehend his humane intentions, for several of them, leaving their clubs and spears on the bank above, approached the water, holding out their hands as if to welcome the strangers. Charley, on seeing this, telling Elton to be ready to support him if necessary, leaped boldly on shore, and advanced with extended hands towards the savages. They understood him, and now seemed to have banished their fears, and to have no treacherous intentions.

His first object gained, he endeavoured to make them understand that he was looking for one of his own countrymen. By signs he showed how a vessel had been wrecked, and that two of the people had swam on shore, and how he was looking for them; but they shook their heads, and he felt certain that this was not the island where Jack was to be found. While he was speaking several of the people brought down cocoa-nuts, plantains, taro, and other roots and fruits in baskets, as a proof of their friendly feelings, and showing, also, that they knew what the wants of white men were. How different, however, would have been the conclusion of the intercourse with these people, if the schooner’s crew had fired on the first alarm, and the blood of the poor savages been shed?

The Good Hope laid at anchor for two days, when, the gale abating, she again sailed. There was still a good deal of sea, but as Captain Blount found that he could lay his course, he was unwilling to delay any longer, and, like most sailors, he believed that his craft could do anything. He ought before to have been called captain, though it must be owned that he was rather a young one, and captain of a somewhat small craft. He and his companions regretted that they had not brought an interpreter with them, that they might communicate without difficulty with the natives.

“We might have obtained some information from the poor savages we last visited about other islands lying to the westward,” observed the captain; “I suspect, too, that they would have had to tell us, that some former visitors had taken them unawares and killed some of them, and so they had thought all white men were enemies, and had determined to kill the next they could get in their power.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Elton, “how different these are from the inhabitants of the first island we visited; I have been thinking that I should like to tell some of their missionaries of these poor people, and get them to send one of their number to instruct them.”

“What, do you think that you could hope to make Christians out of such naked savages as those are?” exclaimed Hugh Owen, who had not turned his mind to the subject.

“Of course; those well-behaved, well-clothed people we saw, were quite as wild and ignorant as the naked savages we have just left, but a very few years ago. Not fifty years since there was not an island in the wide Pacific which had risen out of a state of the most complete savagedom. Now, in the eastern part of the ocean, whole groups have embraced Christianity. The Sandwich Islands are rapidly advancing in civilisation, and King George of Tonga, himself a man of much talent, though once a savage, ruled over a large population of enlightened men, a large number of whom possess a better knowledge of the Scriptures, and would be able to give better reasons for the faith that is in them than would nine-tenths of the population of any country in Europe, England not excepted.”

“Who told you that?” asked Owen; “I have heard a very different account.”

“I heard it from my late captain, who spent three years cruising among the islands of all parts of the Pacific,” answered Elton. “Captain Harper, too, said the same thing, and neither of them can be accused of being in the interest of the missionaries.”

“Certainly not; I fully believe the facts,” exclaimed Charley. “If I had not undertaken to carry Jack back to his family, I should like to volunteer to convey missionaries to all these islands. I could not wish for a better employment for the little schooner or for myself.”

“The very thought that was in my head,” said Elton. “When our present enterprise is accomplished, I will offer my services for the work. I think that a sailor could scarcely be engaged in a better.”

Faithfully did young Elton keep his promise.

Just then the man on the look-out exclaimed that he saw an object floating on the water ahead, but what it was he could not make out. As the schooner got nearer, the object was pronounced to be a raft, and to have living people on it. On getting still nearer, it was seen to be not a raft, but one of the double canoes of those seas, which consist of two canoes joined together by a platform. This platform extends across the entire width of both canoes and the greater part of their length. Several people were on the deck. Some were kneeling, one was standing up, and others were lying at their length, their heads propped up, as if in a state of exhaustion. As the schooner hove-to close to them, those on board her were startled by hearing, among sounds strange to their ears, the name of Jehovah clearly pronounced.

The people were dark-skinned, undoubtedly natives, though clothed in garments, either of native cloth or cotton, several of them wearing hats. They, however, it was evident, did not regard the appearance of the schooner with satisfaction, and several of them hung down their heads with apprehension at seeing her. As there was still too much sea to allow of the schooner going alongside of the canoe, a boat was lowered, and Elton and two men pulled up to her.

“We are friends; we, too, worship Jehovah,” he shouted, holding up his hands as if in prayer. In an instant the aspect of the whole changed. Those who had been hanging down their heads lifted them up with a smile on their countenances, and the man who was standing in the midst of them exclaimed in return, “Yes, yes; friends—all who worship Jehovah are our friends!”

Elton was soon on board the canoe. The condition of the crew was truly piteous. Their last drop of water was exhausted—their last taro-root-their last cocoa-nut,—yet they were not desponding. They had done their utmost: they had prayed earnestly for deliverance, and were calmly waiting the result. Their canoe was in so battered a condition, that before Elton asked them any questions he advised that they should remove at once on board the schooner. Though only one of them spoke a little English, several of them understood what he said. They gladly assented to his proposal, begging him to take the most feeble first. These were quickly conveyed to the deck of the schooner, where Charley and Owen were ready with food and water to administer to them.

It took several trips before they were all safely placed on board the schooner, and, not long after the last party left the canoe, she slowly settled down to her platform, from which all on it would soon have been washed away, even with the sea there was then running.

When the whole party had been carefully attended to, Charley inquired by what means they had been brought into the condition in which they had been found. The chief man among them answered in broken but still intelligible English, that he was a native missionary, that he and his companions, two of whom were catechists and one a schoolmaster, had started to visit an island to the westward, which they had expected to reach in a couple of days, but that they were caught in a gale, and their mast and sail being carried away they were driven past it, and onward before the gale utterly unable to return, or even to stop their frail vessel.

Day after day they had been driven on, anxiously looking out for reefs ahead, knowing that if driven on one, their canoe must be dashed to pieces. Their rudder and oars had been lost, so that they had no power of directing their vessel. Several islands were passed on which they might have landed if they had had their paddles to guide the canoe to the shore. “One of them,” said the missionary, “we passed so close, that we could clearly see a man on shore. It was a small low coral island, with a lagoon, or lake in the centre, and cocoa-nuts and other trees growing round it. By his dress and appearance we judged the man to be a white. We also saw a hut of some size built under the trees. He waved his hands wildly, as if entreating us to take him off, and seemed to be shouting, and then he went down on his knees and lifted up his hands, as if imploring mercy. Helpless ourselves, we could render him no aid.”

“That must have been Jack!” cried Charley and his two friends in the same breath. “If we had not heard this, we might easily have overlooked such a spot. We might have run past it at night, or within ten miles, and not have seen it. What a dull and solitary life the poor fellow must have dragged out in such a place.”

“If a man’s mind is at peace, and he can converse with his God, he need not be sad or solitary,” observed the missionary, calmly.

The young men then inquired how far off he should suppose the island to be.

The missionary answered that they had passed it about ten days before; that at that time they had been driving very fast before the gale, but after it had abated, much slower. So eager were Charley and his friends to follow up their search, that they debated whether or not they should continue their course to the west, and look for the island which had been described.

Elton was opposed to this while they had so many strangers on board. “No, no,” he exclaimed; “do not let us be carried away by our zeal in the cause of our lost countryman; we have another duty to perform. We were but lately wishing that we could send a missionary to the ignorant inhabitants of the island we have lately left. Here is one presented to us—a man in every way fitted for the work. Let us put the matter before him.”

They did so. Directly the missionary had heard the account they gave of the wild islanders, he, without hesitation, expressed his readiness to go among them, and said he was sure that all his companions would be ready to join him in the work. He was not mistaken in the zeal of his friends, “When souls are to be saved, and the glorious tidings of salvation to sinners to be conveyed, we are ready to go,” they answered.

The schooner was therefore at once put about, and a course at once steered for the island. They were all curious to see how the wild natives would take their speedy return, and whether the missionary would be able to communicate with them, though he seemed to have no doubt on the subject. The next day the schooner dropped her anchor in the sheltered bay she had lately left. The natives were seen assembling from all quarters, and soon a large number collected on the beach.

Charley and Elton, Mark, the missionary,—for so he was called—and two other natives, went in the boat. Instead of pulling at once for the beach, the missionary begged to be landed at a point where some trees grew. From these he cut down some branches and distributed them among the party, when the boat was steered in for the place where the natives were collected. The branches were waved as the boat approached the beach, when the natives were seen cutting down branches and waving them in return. “It’s all right,” exclaimed the missionary, in a cheerful voice; “we shall be friends.”

He then shouted to the natives, who replied in the same language; and without landing, as the stem touched the sand, he began an address, which appeared from his tones to be full of eloquence. They listened to it with profound attention, and then several of them stretched out their hands, and gave indubitable signs that they were eager to welcome him on shore. He and his companions accordingly landed, and were surrounded by the natives, who appeared as eager to listen as before. Captain Blount determined, however, to remain till the following day, as he had heard that these island savages were seldom to be trusted, and that, though they might appear friendly at one time, the next instant they might turn round and destroy those who had trusted them.

The night was an anxious one to Charley and his friends, as well as to the natives on board; but the next morning, when they went on shore, Mark gave so good a report of the islanders, that the whole of the strangers agreed to land and remain. Mark, however, recommended one young man, who understood English, though he could not speak it, to continue on board the Good Hope, that he might tell the natives of any islands they might visit who the strangers were, and also to assist in discovering the small coral island where the solitary white man had been seen. Captain Blount gladly accepted the offer.

“Tell my friends,” said Mark, “that we have begun the work, but some years may pass away before all the inhabitants of even this small island understand the Glad Tidings, which they at present appear to receive so readily. When the work is accomplished, then I may return home.”

Charley found that Mark, who was thus ready to devote himself to the work of the Gospel, was the son of a powerful chief or prince, and that he had thus literally given up much and all for its sake.

Both officers and men of the Good Hope had enough to do in keeping a proper look-out ahead for the numerous dangers in their course. Those who have only sailed in seas navigated for centuries with excellent charts of every rock, shoal, and current, are scarcely aware of the anxiety those experience who have to sail across an unknown ocean where numberless small islands exist, and reefs, some under the water and some just above it, on which the incautious voyager may run his ship and lose her, with little or no warning. At night, except when there was a moon, the schooner was hove-to, lest she should run on a reef, or past Jack’s supposed island. The native, who said that his name was Peter, was as eager as any one, and was constantly aloft looking out for it.

Such an island as it was described might very easily be passed by without being observed. Charley, Elton, Owen, or Peter was therefore always on the look-out, for they would not trust one of the crew. Their difficulty was increased by a foul wind which sprung up from the westward, and compelled them to tack across their course. This greatly increased the distance they had to go over, and completely baffled Peter’s calculations.

One night, having stood farther than before to the northward, a bright light was seen in the distance, which was pronounced by all on board to be a ship on fire. Sad must be the fate of all on board if no assistance arrived! Making all sail, they stood towards the spot. The red glare increased, the reflection extending over the whole sky. While they looked, expecting every instant to see the supposed ship blow up or the light suddenly cease by her sinking, Charley exclaimed that it was a burning mountain. His companions doubted the fact. Still they thought that it was a burning ship; the light was decreasing—again it blazed up. The sky over head appeared peculiarly dark. “Hillo! what is this coming down on us?” exclaimed Owen.

They felt the tops of their caps—they and the deck were gritty. It was a shower of ashes; the mystery was explained; the light was that of a burning mountain. As there was no object to be gained in going nearer to it, and Peter gave them to understand that he had not seen it when on board the canoe, they tacked and stood to the southward. More than once Charley thought of the remark people had made to him, that his expedition was like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. “Never mind,” he repeated; “if the needle is in the bundle, by diligent searching it may be found. A solitary white man has been seen on an island, we must first find out who he is.”

The wind baffled them frequently, but still they perseveringly plied to windward, though next night they were again in sight of the burning mountain, which was to the north-east of the schooner, showing that they had made but little way to the west. Once more the wind turned in their favour, and they rejoiced that they were able to make better way than they had done for a long time. It was getting dusk, but at sunset no land had been seen ahead, and, eager to get on, they continued their course without shortening sail. Suddenly, Owen, who was forward on the look-out, shouted at the top of his voice, “Breakers ahead! Starboard! Down with the helm! Haul aft the sheets! For your lives be smart about it!” All hands flew to the sheets. The little vessel came up to the wind, and turned aside from the danger with a rapidity no larger one could have accomplished; but, even as it was, as she went about the white spray was seen dancing up in the darkness close under her counter, while beyond was a mass of foaming-breakers, among which had they been thrown, in vain would they have struggled for their lives, their career would quickly have been over.

Owen confessed afterwards that he was very weary, that he was fully under the impression that he was keeping a very bright look-out, and that certainly his eyes were wide open, but that it was on a sudden he became aware, from hearing some unusual sound, that breakers were dancing up directly ahead of the schooner. In another minute her doom would have been sealed.

Thankful for their merciful preservation, they agreed that at night two people should be on the look-out, and that they should be relieved every hour. The appearance of the reef made it probable that they were in the neighbourhood of other reefs and low coral islands, and they anxiously waited for daylight in anticipation of discovering the particular island of which they were in search. Standing to the south they cleared the reef, and once more, having shortened sail, they stood on their course.

The sun was just rising, a vast globe of fire, out of the purple ocean, when Elton, who had gone aloft, shouted, “Land! land! A low island, with palm-trees on it!” One after another, everybody on board went aloft to look at the long-wished for island. Peter came nodding his head, with a pleased smile, exclaiming, “Dat is land! dat is land!” for he had already learned some words of English.

The island, as the schooner drew near it, appeared to be of an oval form, under a mile in length and half that in width, with a large lagoon in the centre, having one entrance from the southern end and an outer reef, on which the surf broke, curling upwards like a wall of snow, and then falling back in wreaths of foam; the outer reef thus saving the islet from being overwhelmed during every gale of wind which raged. Inside the reef, the water was calm as a mirror and of the deepest blue; then came a line of glittering white sand, and then a circle of green of the brightest emerald, surrounding a basin of water even of a deeper blue than that on the outside.

Carefully the schooner approached; frequently she hove-to and sounded, but no bottom was to be found, and consequently there was little hope of her being able to anchor. She stood closer and closer in; with their glasses the adventurers examined the island in every part, but no one was seen moving. Still Peter insisted that it was the island on which the white man had been seen; indeed, he pointed out what certainly appeared to be a hut under the trees. The only way to ascertain whether the man was still there was to land, and that was a work of some difficulty. The boat, fitted with empty casks and pieces of cork round her sides to serve as a lifeboat, was lowered; the captain steered, Elton and three other men rowed. A narrow space of clear water presented itself through the surf: “Give way! give way!” cried Charley, and they dashed on, the water foaming and leaping up on either side, and they were safe within the outer reef.

The safest landing was within the lagoon. As they pulled up to it and looked over the sides of the boat, so pure and transparent was the water that they could see down to the very bottom, and beautiful indeed was the sight they beheld. Masses of varied coloured coral, sea-plants of every conceivable tint and of the brightest shells—some with their living inhabitants, others deserted—of the most lovely forms, while fish of curious shapes and beautiful colours glided noiselessly in and out amid the rocks and groves of this submarine fairy land.

Charley, however, was thinking of Jack, and was eager to land to ascertain whether he was really an inhabitant of the islet, or whether they had yet further to continue their search. The whole party was soon on shore, and hurrying up towards the spot where they expected to find the hut.

“Jack Askew! Jack Askew! are you there?” cried Charley, thinking that this was the best way to bring out the inhabitant of the hut should there be one, but there was no reply. “Alas!” he said to himself, “I am afraid that we have come too late to save him. Dear Margery, how bitter will be her disappointment; how it will grieve the hearts of the good old captain and Mrs Askew to hear it!”

And Charley walked on in silence towards the hut, which just then appeared between the cocoa-nut trees.

Chapter Twelve.

Jack Askew found—His Adventures.

Was the hut deserted, or was the person whom Peter had seen waving his hands as the canoe drove past still its occupant? The hut was rudely built, partly of pieces of coral but chiefly of drift-wood, and thatched with the broad leaves of the pandanus, a species of palm growing on the island. Charley entered:—yes, it was inhabited. On a rough bed of dried leaves lay a young man; his cheeks were pale and hollow, his eyes sunken, but he breathed. “Water, water,” he muttered; “oh mercy, water!”

Happily, Charley had brought a flask with some weak brandy-and-water; he poured a few drops down the sufferer’s throat, while the men dispersed to try to find water on the island. Charley repeated his remedy, and by the time the water was found the sufferer was able to sit up long enough to take a refreshing draught of it. He looked around him with a surprised and bewildered air. “Who are you all?” he asked at length, in a low voice. “Where do you come from? I thought that I was left alone to die.”

“Friends and countrymen; but don’t speak,” answered Charley, for though he was burning to learn if the sufferer was Jack Askew, he saw that he was in so weak a state from famine and sickness that any agitation might prove fatal. Suppressing therefore his curiosity, his great wish was to get him on board the Good Hope, where such food as was best fitted for his weak state could be procured. Still it seemed very important to give him some hot food before an attempt was made to remove him.

“I will manage it,” exclaimed Elton, producing a calabash. “Let us get a fire lighted first, and see if any shell-fish or crabs, or perhaps even a young turtle may be found; I will make some soup, and though it may be blackish, it will not be the less wholesome.”

As soon as the fire was lighted, while the men went to search for the fish, Elton collected a number of clean rounded stones from the beach and placed them in the midst of it. He then half-filled the calabash with water, into which, by means of a cleft stick which served the purpose of tongs, he put the red hot stones, and quickly made the water boil. By the time this was done the men returned with a very respectable sized turtle, which they had caught in a pool, into which he had been unwittingly washed. Some strips were immediately cut off him and put into the boiling pot. As soon as their goodness was supposed to be extracted, they and the stones were taken out with the cleft stick, and hotter stones and fresh strips put in. In a very short time a thick and nutritious soup was formed, which, though it would have been improved with salt, pepper, lemon, and a few other condiments, was well calculated to restore the vital energies, aided with small doses of brandy-and-water. Such, at all events, were the only means that Charley and Elton could think of for giving the sufferer the strength he required. Whether or not the turtle soup would have served the purpose without the spirit, or the spirit without the soup, it may be difficult to determine; at all events, the two combined had a most beneficial effect.

In the course of two or three hours he was able to sit up of his own accord, and then, gazing earnestly at those surrounding him, he asked, “What made you come to look for me? I have watched several ships pass, but no one saw me; no one thought that on this little island there was a human being longing to be at home with his friends, who must have long thought him dead, perhaps forgotten him altogether.”

Charley saw that now was the time to speak, and that if the stranger should prove to be Jack Askew, the news he brought would do him good. “But, my friend, do you think that a fond mother so easily forgets her sailor son?—do you think a young loving sister forgets her brother?—do you suppose that an old sailor father does not know that a person may be cast on shore on a desert island in these little-known seas, and remain for years undiscovered?”

“Why do you ask those questions?” asked the lad, leaning forward with earnest eyes, and eagerly seizing Charley’s arm—“How do you know that I have a sailor father, a fond mother, and a young sister?”

“If you are Jack Askew I know it very well, for your parents and dear little sister Margery have never ceased to think of you,” answered Charley.

“I am! I am!” exclaimed the lad, throwing his arms round Charley’s neck. “You tell me that they are alive still, father and mother, and Margery—dear, dear Margery! And are they well?—do they ever expect to see me?—can they believe that I am alive? All you tell me nearly turns my head with joy, but it won’t kill me; I must live to go back to them.”

Charley assured Jack that all were well, and that the only drawback to their happiness was his absence.

“And Margery! dear, dear little Margery; you must tell me all about her,” exclaimed Jack, after a lengthened pause. “Is she grown?—is she as fair and bright and beautiful as she was? You don’t know how I loved that little girl. I have often dreamed of her as an angel coming to look for me and take me home; and I have thought that she was flying away with me, holding my hand, over the sea and over the land; and oh, how bitter was the disappointment when I awoke and found that I was alone.”

“You see, Jack, that she was constantly praying for you, and going in spirit to look for you, and her prayers were heard in heaven, as I am sure that sincere prayers, rightly prayed, are heard,” observed Charley. “But you must not talk any more just now; have a little more soup, and go to sleep, if you can, for a short time, and then we will go on board.”

“Thank you; you are very kind indeed, quite like a brother; and I want to know more about you—who you are, and why you came to look for me?” said Jack.

“Time enough for that when we get on board,” answered Charley; “we have a somewhat long voyage before us, and it will be well to keep something in store to talk about.”

Jack made no reply, he was indeed too weary to speak. Charley even now, as he watched over him, felt far from sure that he would ultimately recover, he was so thin and wan, and when he slept he looked more like a dead person than one alive.

Two or three anxious hours passed away, and every moment, as Charley watched the poor lad, he dreaded to see him heave his last sigh; but the food he had swallowed began to take effect permanently on his system—a slight colour spread slowly over his cheeks, his breathing became more regular, and when he awoke there was a brightness in his eye and a cheerfulness in his voice which Charley had not before observed. He wished that they could remain some days longer on the island, that Jack might regain more strength before going on board; but the weather was uncertain, and a gale might spring up and drive the schooner off, or perhaps wreck her; and, besides this, Jack entreated that he might be taken on board, and that no time might be lost in commencing their homeward voyage.

Hugh Owen was feeling somewhat anxious at the long delay of the boat, and was standing close in shore with the schooner to look for her, when she emerged from the passage through the reefs. His delight at seeing Jack was very great, and he declared that he could scarcely believe his senses when he found that what they had been so long talking about had really come true. By standing to the south they should be able to touch at one of the Harvey or Society Island groups, where they were certain of a hospitable reception, and of obtaining such provisions as they might require.

To refit the schooner properly, and to obtain stores for their long voyage home, it would be necessary to touch at Valparaiso, or some other port on the coast of Chili. It was a satisfaction to feel that wherever they touched among the groups of islands which have been mentioned, they would find civilised men and Christians ready to welcome them as friends, instead of as formerly savages, who would have taken every opportunity of murdering them and plundering their vessel. Still, as the noble-hearted Elton observed, as they looked over the chart of the Pacific and noted the numberless islands which dotted it in often thick-clustering groups, there must still exist a great deal of work to be done, and that he trusted to be able to engage in doing it.

Some days passed before Jack was able to speak much, and even then not beyond a whisper, or to listen to the account Charley had to give him of his expedition, and the way it had been brought about. Then, of course, he also wanted to hear of the doings at Stormount Tower, and how Margery had been carried off by the smugglers, and how Charley and Tom had recovered her. “Tom, dear old Tom, how I shall like to wring his horny fist again; it’s as honest a palm as any in England!” cried Jack. “And you, Charley, what a fine fellow you are; I don’t like to talk of giving Margery to any one, but I would rather give her to you, when the time comes, than to anybody else in the world; and I suspect that she wouldn’t say nay if she was asked.”

Charley said that he hoped so, and turned the conversation.

And now Jack was asked to narrate his own adventures, for hitherto the subject had been avoided, and he seemed in no way inclined to allude to it.

“It has been a terrible time indeed, as you may guess,” he observed; “but now that it is over, I ought to think of it with gratitude to the good God who has preserved me safe through all my dangers. You know how I sailed in the Truelove with Captain Summers, and how, after touching at Callao, we steered westward, to visit various islands on our way to Japan. We were in high spirits, for we thought nothing of the dangers of the voyage, and only of seeing so many beautiful and strange islands and their inhabitants. A good look-out was always supposed to be kept ahead, and we were running one night, in the first watch, believing that the whole of our voyage would be as prosperous as the commencement, when the cry arose, ‘Breakers ahead! Breakers on the starboard bow!’ followed by ‘Breakers on the port bow!’ The helm was put down, the sheets hauled flat, but before the ship could by any possibility come about, she struck—then forged ahead, to strike again more heavily.

“Directly every one on board knew that there was not the slightest hope of saving the ship, scarcely of escaping with our lives. We had a long night before us, and the wind was increasing. The order was given to lower the boats, but two were swamped and the hands in them carried away. We heard their shrieks, but could not help them; besides, we knew that their fate would soon probably be ours. Then the sea began to beat over the ship, and soon made a clean breach across the waist, washing away the captain and the first mate and several more of the men. Just then a bright light burst forth to the north-east; two or three of the men who were clinging to the taffrail with me thought that it was a ship on fire, but after watching it for some minutes we became convinced that it was a burning mountain. We argued that if there was a mountain there was land; and I had heard that such lands were generally the most fertile, and so we hoped that if we could reach it we should find support.

“There was a light burning in the cabin, and the captain’s supper was on the table; I managed to reach the companion-hatch, and slipped down below. I quickly snatched up whatever provisions I could find—a compass, a quadrant, and navigation book, and returned with them on deck. A small boat hung astern; two of the men, David King and another, agreed to lower her, for the water astern appeared occasionally to be comparatively smooth, and we fancied that she might swim where a larger boat might be swamped; at all events, we believed that the ship was about to break up, and that this would be the only chance of saving our lives. There was no time to be lost; we put everything necessary we could find into the boat, and, jumping in, lowered her down. As she touched the water, the other man, crying out that we should be swamped, swarmed up the falls, and in an instant King and I were carried far away from the ship. I thought his words would come true, but we were driven on right through the surf, and once more floated in smooth water.

“What would happen next we could not tell, so we lay on our oars, waiting till daylight. It was very long of coming; we thought that it never would come—at least that we should never see it. When it broke, we could no longer see the burning mountain, nor any land in that direction; nor could we have reached it had we seen it, for the wind was blowing strong from the quarter in which the light had appeared. Still more anxiously we looked for the ship; not a portion of her remained entire, but the numerous pieces of wreck which floated about near us, told us plainly what had become of her and our shipmates. We looked about, hoping that some of them might be floating on bits of the wreck, but no living being was to be seen. In the distance we observed the bodies of two poor fellows; we pulled up to them, knowing from the first that they were dead; they were those of two men who had been holding on to the ship when we left her.

“It would not do to remain where we were, and as we could not sail in the direction we proposed, we agreed to run before the wind till we could fall in with some island on which we could land. For four anxious days we ran on, till some palm-trees appeared ahead rising out of the water, and we knew that we we approaching a coral island. The wind had happily fallen, but the surf ahead showed us our danger in time, and putting down our helm we stood to the southward till we came to the end of the island; keeping away again we found a passage through the reef, by which we safely entered the lagoon.

“Here, for the present, we were safe from the dangers of the sea; the island was uninhabited, and we found a spring of water, but provisions were not likely to be plentiful. There were cocoa-nuts for one part of the year, and turtle and their eggs occasionally, and roots and shell-fish; and after a time it occurred to King that we might be able to catch some fish. Having walked round and round the island, or rather, almost round and back again, and considered how we should procure food, our next care was to build a hut to shelter ourselves from the sun by day, and the dews by night.

“And now commenced a solitary life, the end of which we could not see. Years might go by before a vessel might pass that way, and if one should pass, what little chance was there of our being seen! Still, I do not think a day went by without our talking on the subject, and looking out for a sail. King, poor fellow, was not much of a companion, as we had few ideas in common; but we never grew tired of talking of the probability of our getting away. He had a wife and family in England whom he longed to see, as much as I did my friends. How many months or years went by while he was with me I could not tell, for our life was a very monotonous one.

“We had kept our boat in as good repair as possible, not with the hope of making our escape in her, for she was too small for that, but for the purpose of putting off to get on board any ship which might appear. We were, therefore, chary of using her, but occasionally we went out fishing in her, when the supply we could get in the lagoon or from the shore ran short. One day I was ill, and King said that he would go out by himself. I warned him not to go, for from the appearance of the sky I thought bad weather was coming on. He laughed at my fears, said that he would bring me back a good dinner, and rowed round to the eastward of the island.

“He had not been gone long before my prognostications were verified; the wind began to rise. I went to the beach and beckoned him to return, but he was busy hauling up fish and did not see me, or observe the altered state of the weather; I shouted, but my voice did not reach him. He had already drifted out farther than usual; suddenly the movement of the boat as she got into rough water made him look up. By some carelessness one of his oars slipped overboard, and before he could recover it the squall had caught the boat, and whirling it round had sent her far from it. I saw his frantic gestures as he endeavoured to scull the boat back toward the island. Now he tried to paddle her with his remaining oar as an Indian does a canoe, but in vain. Every instant the gale was increasing and driving her farther and farther away.

“I watched her with a sinking heart growing less and less to my sight, till she was lost among the foaming seas in the distance. I then for the first time felt with full force my lonely position; I wrung my hands like a child; I burst into tears; I bemoaned my hard fate, and thought that I was forsaken of God and man. Not only was my companion taken from me, but the only means that I saw by which I could effect my escape. He might possibly reach some other shore; I should never leave that on which I was drawing out my weary existence. I see now, from what you tell me, how short-sighted I was; that our kind Father in heaven chooses His own way in carrying out plans for our benefit, and that what I thought was my ruin would ultimately prove the means of my rescue.

“For several days after King had gone I could neither eat nor sleep, or if I slept I dreamed that I saw him floating away, and tried to follow and could not. By degrees I recovered a portion of my tranquillity. Still I watched more eagerly for any passing ship. It might have been nearly a year afterwards, one morning as I arose a sail hove in sight. My heart leaped within me: I thought in my folly that those on board were coming to look for me. Oh how eagerly I watched her as her masts rose out of the water! On she came; I could see that she was a ship, a large ship, a man-of-war by her square yards. She must have sighted the island, and I thought that she would approach to survey it more carefully, when suddenly—perhaps some reef unknown to me intervened—she turned aside, and after hovering in the distance to tantalise me the more, she slowly stood away to the northward. I was almost as much overcome as when poor King was blown off the island. I now passed my days in a dull state of apathy; I had no books, no writing materials. Had I, as I might when I visited the cabin, brought away a Bible I saw on the captain’s table which he had been reading for the last time, what a blessing and a comfort it would have, proved to me! I had a knife and an axe, and I often began to make various articles, but I had not the heart to finish them, for I always thought—‘No one will see them, of what use will they be?’ So the days passed on. Two other vessels appeared at long intervals, but passed at too great a distance to see me. One of them was becalmed off the island for some hours, and had I still possessed the boat I could without difficulty have pulled off to her. At length I fell sick; I had long been ailing, and it is my belief that had you not appeared at the moment you did, my career on earth would soon have been over.”

“God, who in His kind mercy had resolved that you should be saved, so directed our movements for your speedy rescue; so that you owe us no gratitude,” observed Elton. “But I am surprised at the description you give of your sensations, I had thought that a solitary life on an island might be made very pleasant and satisfactory.”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Jack, “do not believe any such thing. We are not born to live alone, of that I became convinced. An older man might have found the life less irksome, but when I took it into my head that I should never get away it became perfectly terrible. Even had I not been ill, I do not think that I could have survived many weeks longer.”

Such was the outline Jack gave of his life on the island, but when once he had begun the subject he described many adventures and other details which showed that there had been rather more variety it his existence than he had at first led his hearers to suppose, and that had he had books and paper and pens, he might probably have kept up his spirits better than he appeared to have done.

“Still, all is well that ends well!” exclaimed Jack, after he had one day been talking on the subject. “I now feel sure that what I have gone through was for my ultimate benefit, and I can thank God for the merciful way in which He has dealt with me.”

The Good Hope touched at several islands, the entire population of which had become Christians not only in name but in deed, as they evinced by their lives and their totally changed characters. She got a thorough refit at Valparaiso, on the coast of Chili, to prepare her for her voyage round Cape Horn, and five months after Jack got on board she sighted the shores of Old England. Captain Blount felt sure that he could pilot her safely into Stormount Bay, but the wind fell somewhat, and the shades of evening came on before the schooner could beat up to it. Just then a fishing-boat was sighted, and a signal was made to her that a pilot was wanted. She was soon alongside, and a stout, middle-aged man stepped on board.

“Can you pilot us into Stormount Bay, friend?” asked the captain.

“I should think I could, since I’ve sailed in and out of it, man and boy, for pretty nigh forty years,” answered the man. “It makes no matter night or day to us now either. You see that bright light just now, beaming out from the top of the cliff it seems? That’s the light the lady who lives in the tower burns every night, that (as they say) her lost son who went away to sea and has never since been heard of, may see it when he comes up Channel, and find his way into the bay. Poor lad, I’d give pretty nigh all I’m worth to see him come back, for I was the main cause, I fear, why he was sent away; and bless his honest old father, he has never owed me a grudge for it, but on the contrary, has done me all the kindness in his power,—he has taught me to be an honest man.”

The fisherman might have run on much longer had not Jack, who overheard him, exclaimed, “Nor do I owe you a grudge, Dick Herring; but tell me, old friend, how are my father and mother, and sister Margery, and old Tom, good old Tom?”

“Why, bless my heart! Master Jack, is it you? Well, it’s hard to believe my senses,—and you to be alive all this time!” exclaimed Dick Herring, seizing Jack’s hand and wringing it nearly off. “They’re all well, every one on ’em, and they will be glad to see you, that they will.”

Dick now recognised Charley, and right proud he was to pilot the Good Hope into Stormount Bay, nor would he receive a shilling reward, not even a glass of grog to drink Jack’s health, for since he had given up smuggling and all its accompanying sins, he had become a strict temperance-league man.

“No, Master Jack, I won’t drink your health, but I’ll pray for it, and that’ll do us both more good,” he observed.

Little did Mrs Askew suppose whose vessel her lantern was guiding into Stormount Bay that night. The schooner’s anchor was dropped and her sails furled before nine o’clock. The voyagers had purposed waiting till the morning before going on shore, but Jack’s impatience would brook no delay. Charley went first and announced himself to Becky, who immediately exclaimed under her breath, “Is he come, Master Charles?”

“Never mind,” answered Charley, “Do you go in and say Charley Blount has come.”

Somebody heard his voice, and that somebody, forgetting that he was not Jack himself, rushed into his arms. “Has Jack come? has Jack come? Dear Charley, have you brought him?” exclaimed Margery.

“I can’t keep you in suspense, my sweet Margery, he has come, and is not far off,” answered Charley and before he could say more, Tom, who had followed Becky to the door, darted out into the darkness, and was soon heard exclaiming, “Come in, come in, my dear boy, joy does no harm to no one!”

Mrs Askew, who had been sitting at her work opposite Captain Askew, who was reading the newspaper by a bright light, hearing an unusual commotion, rose from her seat, as he also did from his.

“What is it all about, Margery?” cried the captain, stumping to the door.

“Good news, father, good news!” cried Margery. “Charley has come back safe, and he has—”

“Has he brought our boy—has Jack been found?” asked the captain, his voice trembling with eagerness.

“Yes, dear father, he has, he has!” cried Margery.

“Then let me have him here, and thank God!” cried the old sailor, stretching out his arms; and Jack, who had been hauled in by Tom, overheard him, and in another second, bounding up the stairs, was folded in those arms, with his mother and Margery clinging to his neck and weeping tears of joy.

The evening was indeed a happy one, and not till a late hour did any of the inmates of Stormount Tower think of retiring to rest.

While Mrs Askew lived, the light in the Tower was always, as before, lit at night, and on her death a lighthouse was built in its place. Charley Blount at a very early age, got command of a fine trader to India and Australia, and on the death of her parents Margaret Askew became his wife, while Jack was chief mate with Captain Blount for many years; and when the latter came to live on shore, Jack took command of a fine ship he had built, called The Stormount Tower.

The End.