Table of Contents

"A Yacht Voyage Round England"

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.

"The Young Berringtons"

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.

"The Young Llanero"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

"The Young Rajah"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

W.H.G. Kingston

"A Yacht Voyage Round England"

Chapter One.

The Start.

We had come home from school much earlier than usual, on account of illness having broken out there; but as none of the boys were dangerously ill, and those in the infirmary were very comfortable, we were not excessively unhappy. I suspect that some of us wished that fever or some other sickness would appear two or three weeks before all the holidays.

However, as we had nothing to complain of at school, this, I confess, was a very unreasonable wish.

The very day of our arrival home, when we were seated at dinner, and my brother Oliver and I were discussing the important subject of how we were to spend the next ten or twelve weeks, we heard our papa, who is a retired captain of the Royal Navy—and who was not attending to what we were talking about—say, as he looked across the table to mamma:

“Would you object to these boys of ours taking a cruise with me round England this summer?”

We pricked up our ears, you may be sure, to listen eagerly to the reply. Looking at Oliver, then at me, she said:

“I should like to know what they think of it. As they have never before taken so long a cruise, they may get tired, and wish themselves home again or back at school.”

“Oh no, no! we should like it amazingly. We are sure not to get tired, if papa will take us. We will work our passage; will pull and haul, and learn to reef and steer, and do everything we are told,” said Oliver.

“What do you say about the matter, Harry?” asked papa.

“I say ditto to Oliver,” I replied. “We will at all events try to be of use;” for I knew from previous experience that it was only when the weather was fine, and we were really not wanted, that we were likely to be able to do anything.

“Then I give my consent,” said mamma; on which we both jumped up and kissed her, as we had been accustomed to do when we were little chaps; we both felt so delighted.

“Well, we shall be sorry to be away from you so long,” said Oliver, when we again sat down, looking quite grave for a moment or two. “But then, you know, mamma, you will have the girls and the small boys to look after; and we shall have lots to tell you about when we come back.”

“I cannot trust to your remembering everything that happens,” said mamma. “When I gave my leave I intended to make it provisional on your keeping a journal of all you see and do, and everything interesting you hear about. I do not expect it to be very long; so you must make it terse and graphic. Oliver must keep notes and help you, and one complete journal will be sufficient.”

“That’s just the bargain I intended to make,” said papa. “I’ll look out that Harry keeps to his intentions. It is the most difficult matter to accomplish. Thousands of people intend to write journals, and break down after the first five or six pages.”

On the morning appointed for the start a little longer time than usual was spent in prayer together, a special petition being offered that our Heavenly Father would keep us under His protection, and bring us safely home again. Soon afterwards we were rattling away to Waterloo Station, with our traps, including our still blank journals, our sketch-books, fishing-rods, our guns, several works on natural history, bottles and boxes for specimens, spy-glasses, and lots of other things.

Papa laughed when he saw them. “It would not do if we were going to join a man-of-war; but we have room to stow away a good number of things on board the Lively, although she is little more than thirty-five tons burden.”

In a quarter of an hour the train started for Southampton; and away we flew, the heat and the dust increasing our eagerness to feel the fresh sea-breezes.

“Although the Lively can show a fast pair of heels, we cannot go quite so fast as this,” said papa, as he remarked the speed at which we dashed by the telegraph posts.

On reaching the station at Southampton, we found Paul Truck, the sailing-master of the cutter, or the captain, as he liked to be called, waiting for us, with two of the crew, who had come up to assist in carrying our traps down to the quay. There was the boat, her crew in blue shirts, and hats on which was the name of the yacht. The men, who had the oars upright in their hands while waiting, when we embarked let the blades drop on the water in smart man-of-war style; and away we pulled for the yacht, which lay some distance off the quay.

“I think I shall know her again,” cried Oliver: “that’s her, I’m certain.”

Paul, who was pulling the stroke oar, cast a glance over his shoulder, and shaking his head with a knowing look, observed:

“No, no, Master Oliver; that’s a good deal bigger craft than ours. She’s ninety ton at least. You must give another guess.”

“That’s the Lively, though,” I cried out; “I know her by her beauty and the way she sits on the water.”

“You’re right, Master Harry. Lively is her name, and lively is her nature, and beautiful she is to look at. I’ll be bound we shall not fall in with a prettier craft—a finer boat for her size.”

Paul’s encomiums were not undeserved by the yacht; she was everything he said; we thought so, at all events. It was with no little pride that we stepped on deck.

Papa had the after-cabin fitted up for Oliver and me, and he himself had a state cabin abaft the forecastle. There were besides four open berths in which beds could be made up on both sides of the main cabin. The forecastle was large and airy, with room for the men to swing their hammocks, and it also held a brightly polished copper kitchen range.

Everything looked as neat and clean “as if the yacht had been kept in a glass case,” as Paul observed.

Papa, having looked over the stores, took us on shore to obtain a number of things which he found we should require. We thus had an opportunity of seeing something of the town.

The old walls of Southampton have been pulled down, or are crumbling away, the most perfect portion being the gateway, or Bar Gate, in the High Street. On either side of it stand two curious old heraldic figures, and beside them are two blackened pictures—one representing Sir Bevis of Hampton, and the other his companion, Ascapart. Sir Bevis, who lived in the reign of Edgar, had a castle in the neighbourhood. It is said he bestowed his love on a pagan lady, Josian, who, having been converted to Christianity, gave him a sword called Morglay, and a horse named Arundel. Thus equipped he was wont to kill four or five men at one blow. Among his renowned deeds were those he performed against the Saracens, and also his slaughter of an enormous dragon.

The extensive docks at the mouth of the river Itchen, to the east of the town, have, of course, greatly increased its wealth. We saw a magnificent foreign-bound steamer coming out of the docks. The West India ships start from here, as do other lines of steamers running to the Cape, and to various parts of the world; so that Southampton is a bustling seaport. There is another river to the west of the town, called the Test; and that joining with the Itchen at the point where the town is built, forms the beautiful Southampton Water.

But perhaps the most interesting fact about Southampton is that Isaac Watts, the Christian poet, was born here in 1671. The house in French Street is still standing, and we went to look at it. There he passed his play-days of childhood; there the dreamy, studious boy stored up his first spoils of knowledge; there he wrote his first hymns; and thither he went to visit his parents, when he himself was old and famous. We also went to see the remains of Saint Michael’s Gaol, in which Watts’ father had been confined for his nonconformity. And as we looked on the old prison we thanked God that nowadays, in England at least, religious persecution is unknown.

When we returned on board, we noticed with surprise on each side of the river what had the appearance of green fields, over which the water had just before flowed; they were, however, in reality mud flats covered by long sea-weed.

Soon after tea we turned into our berths, feeling very jolly and quite at home, though Oliver did knock his head twice against the deck above, forgetting the size of our bedroom. We lay awake listening to the water rippling by, and now and then hearing the step of the man on watch overhead; but generally there was perfect silence, very different from the noise of London.

We were both dressed and on deck some time before papa next morning, for as the tide was still flowing, and there was no wind, he knew that we could not make way down the river. So we had time for a dive and a swim round the vessel, climbing on board again by means of a short ladder rigged over the side.

Soon after this we saw a few of the other vessels hoisting their sails; and then Captain Truck, Oliver, and I pulled and hauled until we got our mainsail set. The men then washed down the decks, though really there was no dirt to wash away, and we tried, as we had promised, to make ourselves useful.

When papa appeared he looked pleased at our being so hard at work. As there was just then a ripple on the water, he ordered the anchor to be got up; and it being now full tide, we began, almost imperceptibly, to glide away from among the other vessels. On the right was the edge of the New Forest, in which William Rufus was killed; although I believe that took place a good way off, near Lyndhurst; and very little of the eastern side of the forest now remains.

On the left we passed Netley Abbey, a very pretty, small ruin, and near it a large military hospital and college, where medical officers of the army study the complaints of the troops who have been in tropical climates. On the opposite side, at the end of a point stretching partly across the mouth of the water, we saw the old grey, round castle of Calshot, which was built to defend the entrance, but would be of little use in stopping even an enemy’s gunboat at the present day. However, papa said there are very strong fortifications at both ends of the Solent, as the channel here is called. No enemy’s gunboat could ever get through, much less an enemy’s fleet; at any rate, if they did, he hoped they would never get out again.

Some way to the left of Calshot rose the tall tower of Eaglehurst among the trees. The wind was from the west. We stood away towards Portsmouth, as papa wished to visit an old friend there, and to give us an opportunity of seeing that renowned seaport as well. We caught a glimpse of Cowes, and Osborne to the east of it, where the Queen frequently resides, and the town of Ryde, rising up on a hill surrounded by woods, and then the shipping at Spithead, with the curious cheese-shaped forts erected to guard the eastern entrance to the Solent.

Papa told us that these curious round forts, rising out of the sea, are built of granite; that in time of war they are to be united by a line of torpedoes and the wires of electric batteries. They are perfectly impregnable to shot, and they are armed with very heavy guns, so that an enemy attempting to come in on that side would have a very poor chance of success.

As we were anxious to see them, we had kept more in mid-channel than we should otherwise have done. We now hauled up for Portsmouth Harbour. Far off, on the summit of the green heights of Portsdown Hill, we could see the obelisk-shaped monument to Nelson, an appropriate landmark in sight of the last spot of English ground on which he stepped before sailing to fight the great battle of Trafalgar, where he fell. We could also trace the outline of a portion of the cordon of forts—twenty miles in length—from Langston Harbour on the east to Stokes’ Bay on the west. Along the shores, on both sides of the harbour, are two lines of fortifications; so that even should a hostile fleet manage to get by the cheese-like forts, they would still find it a hard matter to set fire to the dockyard or blow up the Victory. That noble old ship met our sight as, passing between Point Battery and Block House Fort, we entered the harbour.

She did not look so big as I expected, for not far off was the Duke of Wellington, which seemed almost large enough to hoist her on board; and nearer to us, at the entrance of Haslar Creek, was the gallant old Saint Vincent, on board which papa once served when he was a midshipman. We looked at her with great respect, I can tell you. Think how old she must be. She has done her duty well,—she has carried the flag of England many a year, and now still does her duty by serving as a ship in which boys are trained for the Royal Navy.

Further up, in dim perspective, we saw ships with enormous yellow-painted hulls; noble ships they were, with names allied to England’s naval glory. They were all, however, far younger than the Saint Vincent, as we discovered by seeing the apertures in their stern-posts formed to admit screws. Some fought in the Black Sea, others in the Baltic; but papa said “that their fighting days are now done, though they are kept to be employed in a more peaceful manner, either as hospital ships or training-schools.”

Shortening sail, we came to an anchor not far from the Saint Vincent, among several other yachts. On the Gosport side we could see across the harbour, away to the dockyard, off the quays of which were clustered a number of black monsters of varied form and rig. Papa said—though otherwise we could not have believed it—“that there were amongst them some of the finest ships of the present navy.” I could hardly fancy that such ships could go to sea, for they are more like gigantic coal barges with strong erections on their decks, than anything else afloat.

Of course I cannot tell you all our adventures consecutively, so shall describe only some of the most interesting. We first visited the Saint Vincent, which, as we had just left our little yacht, looked very fine and grand. Papa was saying to one of the officers that he had served on board her, when a weather-beaten petty officer came up, and with a smile on his countenance touched his hat, asking if papa remembered Tom Trueman. Papa immediately exclaimed, “Of course I do,” and gave him such a hearty grip of the hand that it almost made the tears come into the old man’s eyes with pleasure, and they had a long yarn about days of yore. After this papa met many old shipmates. It was pleasant to see the way in which he greeted them and they greeted him, showing how much he must have been beloved, which, of course, he was; and I’ll venture to say it will be a hard matter to find a kinder or better man. I’m sure that he is a brave sailor, from the things he has done, and the cool way in which he manages the yacht, whatever is happening.

After we had finished with the Saint Vincent we went on board the Victory, which looks, outside, as sound as ever she did—a fine, bluff old ship; but when we stepped on her deck, even we were struck by her ancient appearance, very unlike the Saint Vincent, and still more unlike the Duke of Wellington. There was wonderfully little ornamental or brass work of any sort; and the stanchions, ladders, and railings were all stout and heavy-looking.

Of course we looked with respect on the brass plate on her deck which marks the spot where Nelson fell. We then went far down into the midshipmen’s berth, in the cockpit. How dark and gloomy it seemed; and yet it was here Nelson, while the guns were thundering overhead, lay dying. How very different from the mess-rooms of young officers of the present day! Here another inscription, fixed on the ship’s side, pointed out where the hero breathed his last. Going into the cabin on the main deck, we saw one of the very topsails—riddled with shot—which had been at Trafalgar. After being shifted at Gibraltar, it had been for more than half a century laid up in a store at Woolwich, no one guessing what a yarn that old roll of canvas could tell.

We also saw an interesting picture of the “Death of Nelson,” and another of the battle itself. We felt almost awe-struck while seeing these things, and thinking of the gallant men who once served on board that noble ship. Papa said that he hoped, if the old ship is not wanted for practical purposes, that she may be fitted up exactly as she was at Trafalgar.

We afterwards called on an old lady—a friend of papa—who told us that she clearly recollected going off from Ryde in a boat with her father and mother, and pulling round the Victory when she arrived from Gibraltar at Spithead, on the 4th of December, 1805, with the body of Nelson on board. In many places the shot were still sticking in her sides, her decks were scarcely freed from blood, and other injuries showed the severity of the action.

After this, the Victory was constantly employed until the year 1812, from which time she was never recommissioned for sea; but from 1825 until within a few years ago, she bore the flags of the port-admirals of Portsmouth.

Late in the evening we crossed the harbour to the dockyard, where papa wanted to pay a visit. A curious steam ferry-boat runs backwards and forwards between Portsmouth and Gosport. We passed a number of large ships coated with thick plates of iron; but even the thickest cannot withstand the shots sent from some of the guns which have been invented, and all might be destroyed by torpedoes. We could hardly believe that some of the ships we saw were fit to go to sea. The most remarkable was the Devastation. Her free-board—that is, the upper part of her sides—is only a few feet above the water. Amidships rises a round structure supporting what is called “a hurricane-deck.” This is the only spot where the officers and men can stand in a sea-way. At either end is a circular revolving turret containing two thirty-five ton guns, constructed to throw shot of seven hundred pounds. These guns are worked by means of machinery.

Contrasting with the ironclads, we saw lying alongside the quays several enormous, white-painted, richly-gilt troop-ships, also iron-built, which run through the Suez Canal to India. The night was calm and still; and as we pulled up the harbour a short distance among the huge ships, I could not help fancying that I heard them talking to each other, and telling of the deeds they had done. Papa laughed at my poetical fancy, which was put to flight when he told me that scarcely any of them, except those which were engaged in the Baltic and Black Sea, had seen any service.

Pulling down the harbour on the Gosport side, to be out of the way of passing vessels, we soon reached the yacht, feeling very tired, for we had been wide awake for the last sixteen hours. As we sat in our little cabin, it was difficult to realise that outside of us were so many objects and scenes of interest connected with the naval history of England. Papa told us a number of curious anecdotes. Not many hundred yards from us, about a century ago, was to be seen a gibbet on Block House Point, at the west entrance of the harbour, on which hung the body of a man called Jack the Painter. Having taken it into his very silly head that he should forward the cause of freedom by burning the dockyard, he set fire to the rope-house, which was filled with hemp, pitch, and tar. Jack, having performed this noble deed, escaped from the yard, and was making his way along the Fareham Road, when, having asked a carter to give him a lift, he pointed out the cloud of smoke rising in the distance, observing that he “guessed where it came from.” The carter went his way; but shortly afterwards, when a hue and cry was raised, he recollected his passenger, who was traced, captured, tried, and executed.

Another story we heard was about the mad pranks played by naval officers in days of yore. At that time, a sentry-box, having a seat within, stood on the Hard, at Portsmouth, so that the sentry could sit down and rest himself. It happened that a party of young captains and commanders, coming down from dinner to embark, found the sentry at his post, but drunk and sound asleep in his box! Punishment was his due. They bethought themselves of a mode of astonishing him. Summoning their crews, box and sentry were carried on board one of their boats and transported to Gosport, and then placed in an upright position facing the water. When the relief came to the spot where the sentry was originally stationed, what was their astonishment and alarm to find neither sentry nor box! The captain of the guard reported the circumstance to the fort-major. “The enemy,” he averred, “must be at hand.”

The garrison was aroused, the drawbridges were hauled up. Daylight revealed the box and the position of the sentry, who protested that, although as sober as a judge, he had no idea how he had been conveyed across the harbour.

Numerous “land-sharks” used to be in waiting to tempt those who were generally too ready to be tempted into scenes of debauchery and vice. This state of things continued until a few years ago, when it was put into the heart of a noble lady—Miss Robinson—to found an institute for soldiers and sailors. There they may find a home when coming on shore, and be warned of the dangers awaiting them. After great exertion, and travelling about England to obtain funds, she raised about thirteen thousand pounds, and succeeded in purchasing the old Fountain Hotel, in the High Street, which, greatly enlarged, was opened in 1874 as a Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Institute, by General Sir James Hope Grant.

Dear me, I shall fill up my journal with the yarns we heard at Portsmouth, and have no room for our adventures, if I write on at this rate. After our devotions, we turned in, and were lulled to sleep, as we were last night, by the ripple of the water against the sides of the yacht.

Chapter Two.

In the Solent.

Next morning, soon after breakfast, we went on shore to pay a visit to the dockyard. On entering, papa was desired to put down his name; and the man seeing that he was a captain in the navy, we were allowed to go on without a policeman in attendance, and nearly lost ourselves among the storehouses and docks. As we walked past the lines of lofty sheds, we heard from all directions the ringing clank of iron, instead of, as in days of yore, the dull thud of the shipwright’s mallet, and saw the ground under each shed strewed with ribs and sheets of iron ready to be fixed to the vast skeletons within. Papa could not help sighing, and saying that he wished “the days of honest sailing ships could come back again.” However, he directly afterwards observed, “I should be sorry to get back, at the same time, the abuses, the wild doings, and the profligacy which then prevailed. Things have undoubtedly greatly improved, though they are bad enough even now.”

Tramways and railways, with steam locomotives, run in all directions. Formerly, papa said, the work was done by yellow-coated convicts with chains on their legs. They have happily been removed from the dockyard itself, and free labourers only are employed. Convicts, however, are still employed in various extensive public works.

Of course we visited Brunel’s block machinery, which shapes from the rough mass of wood, with wonderful accuracy and speed, the polished block fit for use. Huge lathes were at work, with circular saws and drills, sending the chips of wood flying round them with a whizzing and whirring sound. So perfect is the machinery that skilled artisans are not required to use it. Four men only are employed in making the shells, and these four can make with machinery as many as fifty men could do by hand. On an average, nineteen men make one hundred and fifty thousand blocks in the course of the year.

Leaving the block house, we went to the smithy, where we saw Nasmyth’s steam hammer, which does not strike like a hammer, but comes down between two uprights. On one side is a huge furnace for heating the material to be subjected to the hammer. Papa asked the manager to place a nut under it, when down came the hammer and just cracked the shell. He then asked for another to be placed beneath the hammer, when it descended and made but a slight dent in the nut.

Soon afterwards a huge mass of iron, to form an anchor, was drawn out of the furnace; then down came the hammer with thundering strokes, beating and battering it until it was forced into the required shape, while the sparks flying out on all sides made us retreat to a safer distance.

One of the largest buildings in the dockyard is the foundry, which is considered the most complete in the world. We looked into the sheds, as they are called, where the boilers for the ships are constructed, and could scarcely hear ourselves speak, from the noise of hammers driving in the rivets. Many of the boilers were large enough to form good-sized rooms. We walked along the edge of the steam basin. It is nine hundred feet long and four hundred broad. The ships, I should have said, are built on what are called the building slips, which are covered over with huge roofs of corrugated iron, so that the ships and workmen are protected while the building is going forward.

Before leaving we went into the mast-house, near the entrance to the yard. Here we saw the enormous pieces of timber intended to be built into masts—for masts of large ships are not single trees, but composed of many pieces, which are bound together with stout iron hoops. Here also were the masts of ships in ordinary. They would be liable to decay if kept on board exposed to the weather. Each mast and yard is marked with the name of the ship to which it belongs. The masts of the old Victory are kept here, the same she carried at Trafalgar. Not far off is the boat-house, where boats from a large launch down to the smallest gig are kept ready for use.

We looked into the Naval College, where officers go to study a variety of professional subjects. When papa was a boy the Naval College was used as the Britannia now is—as a training-school for naval cadets. Finding an officer going on board the Excellent—gunnery ship—we accompanied him. We were amused to find that the Excellent consists of three ships moored one astern of the other, and that not one of them is the old Excellent, she having been removed. Our friend invited us to accompany him on board an old frigate moored a little way up the harbour, from which we could see some interesting torpedo experiments.

As we pulled along he gave us an explanation of the fish torpedo—a wonderful instrument of destruction which has been invented of late years. It is a cylinder, which carries the explosive material at one end and the machinery for working the screw which impels it at the other. It can be discharged through a tube with such accuracy that it can strike an object several hundred yards off. On getting on board the old frigate, we found a large party of officers assembled. We were to witness the explosion of two other sorts of torpedoes. One was used by a steam launch, the fore part of which was entirely covered over by an iron shield. The torpedo was fixed to the end of a long pole, carried at the side of the launch. At some distance from the ship a huge cask was moored, towards which the launch rapidly made her way. The pole, with the torpedo at the end, was then thrust forward; the concussion ignited it the instant it struck the cask and blew it to fragments.

Another launch then approached a large cask floating with one end out of the water, to represent a boat. An officer stood up with a little ball of gun-cotton in his hand, smaller than an orange, to which was attached a thin line of what is called lightning cotton, the other end being fastened to a pistol. As the launch glided on he threw the ball into the cask. The boat moved away as rapidly as possible, when the pistol being fired, in an instant the cask was blown to atoms. What a fearful effect would have been produced had the innocent-looking little ball been thrown into a boat full of men instead of into a cask!

Another experiment with gun-cotton was then tried. A piece not larger than a man’s hand was fastened to an enormous iron chain fixed on the deck of the ship. We were all ordered to go below, out of harm’s way. Soon afterwards, the gun-cotton having been ignited by a train, we heard a loud report; and on returning on deck we found that the chain had been cut completely in two, the fragments having flown about in all directions.

The chain of a boat at anchor was cut by means of a piece of gun-cotton fixed to it, and ignited by a line of lightning cotton fired from one of the launches. This showed us how the chain-cable of a ship at anchor might be cut; while a torpedo boat might dash in, as she was drifting away with the tide and the attention of her officers was engaged, to blow her up.

The chief experiments of the day were still to come off. We saw a number of buoys floating in various directions some way up the harbour. A launch advanced towards one, when the buoy being struck by the pole, the charge of a torpedo some twenty yards away was ignited, and the fearful engine exploding, lifted a huge mass of water some thirty or forty yards into the air. How terrible must be the effects when such a machine explodes under a ship! As soon as the torpedoes had exploded, the boats pulled up to the spot, and picked up a large number of fish which had been killed or stunned by the concussion—for many did not appear to be injured, and some even recovered when in the boats.

Papa, though very much interested, could not help saying that he was thankful these murderous engines of war had not been discovered in his time. It is indeed sad to think that the ingenuity of people should be required to invent such dreadful engines for the destruction of their fellow-creatures. When will the blessings of the gospel of peace be universally spread abroad, and nations learn war no more?

We next pulled over to the Gosport side, to visit the Royal Clarence Victualling Establishment, which papa said was once called Weovil. Here are stored beef and other salted meats, as well as supplies and clothing; but what interested us most was the biscuit manufactory. It seemed to us as if the corn entered at one end and the biscuits came out at the other, baked, and all ready to eat. The corn having been ground, the meal descends into a hollow cylinder, where it is mixed with water. As the cylinder revolves a row of knives within cut the paste into innumerable small pieces, kneading them into dough. This dough is taken out of the cylinder and spread on an iron table, over which enormous rollers pass until they have pressed the mass into a sheet two inches thick. These are further divided and passed under a second pair of rollers, when another instrument cuts the sheets into hexagonal biscuits, not quite dividing them, however, and at the same time stamping them with the Queen’s mark and the number of the oven in which they are baked. Still joined together, they are passed into the ovens. One hundredweight of biscuits can be put into one oven.

On the Gosport side we went over some of the forts, which are of great extent. The longest walk we took was to Portsdown Hill, for the sake of visiting the Nelson Monument. On it is an inscription:—

To the Memory of

Lord Viscount Nelson.

By The Zealous Attachment Of All Those Who

Fought At Trafalgar—To Perpetuate

His Triumph And Their Regret.

mdcccv.

We had a magnificent view from the top of the monument, looking completely over Gosport, Portsmouth, and Southsea, with the harbour at our feet, and taking in nearly the whole line of the Isle of Wight, with the Solent, and away to the south-east, Saint Helen’s and the English Channel. Later on we pulled five miles up the harbour, to Porchester Castle, built by William the Conqueror. For many centuries it was the chief naval station of the kingdom, modern Portsmouth having sprung up in the reign of Henry the First, in consequence of Porchester Harbour filling with mud.

It was here, during the war with Napoleon, that several thousands of French prisoners were confined, some in the castle, and others on board the bulks. They, of course, did not like to be shut up, and many attempting to escape were suffocated in the mud. They were but scantily supplied with provisions, though they were not actually starved; but a French colonel who broke his parole wrote a book, affirming that on one occasion an officer who came to inspect the castle, having left his horse in the court-yard, the famished prisoners despatched the animal, devouring it on the spot; and, by the time the owner returned, the stirrup-irons and bit alone remained!

Portsmouth is a very healthy place, although from its level position it might be supposed to be otherwise. It has a wide and handsome High Street, leading down to the harbour.

The Fountain, at the end of the High Street, no longer exists as an inn, but has been converted by Miss Robinson into a Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Institute. We went over the whole establishment. At the entrance are rooms where soldiers and sailors can see their friends; and then there is a large bar, where, although no intoxicating drinks can be obtained, tea, coffee, and beverages of all sorts are served. Near it is a large coffee-room. Passing through the house, we entered a very nice garden, on the right of which there is a bowling-green and a skittle-alley; and we then came to a very handsome hall which serves for religious meetings, lectures, concerts, teas, and other social gatherings. There were also rooms in which the men can fence or box. A large reading-room (with a good library) and Bible-classroom are on the second floor; and at the top of the house are dormitories, making up a considerable number of beds for soldiers, as also for their wives and families, who may be passing through Portsmouth either to embark or have come from abroad. There is a sewing-room for the employment of the soldiers’ wives. A Children’s Band of Hope meets every week. There is even a smoking-room for the men, and hot or cold baths. Indeed, a more perfect place for the soldier can nowhere be found. Miss Robinson herself resides in the house, and superintends the whole work, of which I have given but a very slight description. I should say that this most energetic lady has also secured several houses for the accommodation of soldiers’ families, who would otherwise be driven into dirty or disreputable lodgings.

Another philanthropist of whom Portsmouth is justly proud is John Pounds, who though only a poor shoemaker, originated and superintended the first ragged school in the kingdom. Near the Soldiers’ Institute is the John Pounds’ Memorial Ragged School, where a large number of poor children are cared for. It is very gratifying to know that many of our brave soldiers and sailors are also serving under the great Captain of our salvation, and fighting the good fight of faith, helped in so doing by good servants of God.

The town of Portsmouth was until lately surrounded by what were called very strong fortifications; but the new works have rendered them perfectly useless, and they are therefore being dismantled—a great advantage to the town, as it will be thrown open to the sea-breezes.

A light breeze from the eastward enabled us to get under weigh just at sunrise, and to stem the tide still making into the harbour. Sometimes, however, we scarcely seemed to go ahead, as we crept by Block House Fort and Point Battery on the Portsmouth side.

Once upon a time, to prevent the ingress of an enemy’s fleet, a chain was stretched across the harbour’s mouth. We had got just outside the harbour when we saw a man-of-war brig under all sail standing in. A beautiful sight she was, her canvas so white, her sides so polished!—on she stood, not a brace nor tack slackened. Papa looked at her with the affection of an old sailor. It was an object which reminded him of his younger days. “You don’t see many like her now,” he observed. Presently, as she was starting by us, a shrill whistle was heard. Like magic the sails were clewed up, the hands, fine active lads—for she was a training vessel—flew aloft, and lay out on the yards. While we were looking, the sails were furled; and it seemed scarcely a moment afterwards when we saw her round to and come to an anchor not far from the Saint Vincent. “That’s how I like to see things done,” said papa. “I wish we had a hundred such craft afloat; our lads would learn to be real seamen!”

He and Paul were so interested in watching the brig, that for the moment their attention was wholly absorbed. As we got off the Southsea pier we began to feel the wind coming over the common; and being able to make better way, quickly glided by the yachts and small vessels anchored off it, when we stood close to one of those round towers I have described, and then on towards Spithead.

Spithead is so called because it is at the end of a spit or point of sand which runs off from the mainland. We passed close over the spot where the Royal George, with nine hundred gallant men on board, foundered in August, 1782. She was the flag-ship of Admiral Kempenfeldt. He was at the time writing in his cabin, where he was last seen by the captain of the ship, who managed to leap out of a stern port and was saved, as was the late Sir Philip Durham, port-admiral of Portsmouth, then one of the junior lieutenants. The accident happened from the gross negligence and obstinacy of one of the lieutenants. In order to get at a water-cock on the starboard side, the ship had been heeled down on her larboard side, by running her guns over until the lower deck port-sills were just level with the water. Some casks of rum were being hoisted on board from a lighter, bringing the ship still more over. The carpenter, seeing the danger, reported it to the lieutenant of the watch, who at first obstinately refused to listen to him. A second time he went to the officer, who, when too late, turned the hands up to right ship, intending to run the guns back into their former places. The weight of five or six hundred men, however, going over to the larboard side completely turned the hitherto critically balanced scale; and the ship went right over, with her masts in the water. The sea rushing through her ports quickly filled her, when she righted and went down, those who had clambered through the ports on her starboard side being swept off. Two hundred out of nine hundred alone were saved. Among these was a midshipman only nine years old, and a little child found fastened on to the back of a sheep swimming from the wreck. He could not tell the names of his parents, who must have perished, and only knew that his name was Jack, so he was called John Lamb. None of his relatives could be found, and a subscription was raised and people took care of him, and having received a liberal education, he entered an honourable profession.

Some years ago the remains of the ship were blown up by Sir C. Pasley, and many of the guns recovered. Close to the spot, in the days of bluff King Harry, the Mary Rose, after an action with a French ship, went down with her gallant captain, Sir George Carew, and all his men, while his crew were attempting to get at the shot-holes she had received.

In 1701, the Edgar, 74 guns, which had just arrived from Canada, blew up; her crew and their friends were making merry when they, to the number of eight hundred, miserably perished.

While at anchor here also, the Boyne, of 91 guns, caught fire. All efforts to put out the flames were unavailing; but the greater number of her crew escaped in boats. As she drifted from Spithead towards Southsea, her guns continued to go off, until touching the shore, she blew up with a tremendous explosion.

The ships at Spithead now are of a very different appearance from those formerly seen there. Among them was the Minotaur, which, in consequence of her great length, is fitted with five masts. Just as we were passing her she got under weigh, papa said, in very good style; and certainly, when all her canvas was set, she looked a fine powerful sea-going craft.

The Devastation came out of the harbour, and stood on towards Saint Helen’s. She certainly looked as unlike our notions of a man-of-war as anything could be, though, as Paul Truck observed, “she would crumple up the Minotaur in a few minutes with her four thirty-five ton guns, powerful as the five-masted ship appears.”

Though she looked only fit for harbour work, Paul said that she had been out in heavy weather, and proved a fair sea-boat. The only place that people live on, when not below, is the hurricane-deck. In this centre structure are doorways which can be closed at sea. They lead down into the cabins below, as well as to the hurricane-deck, out of which rise the two funnels and an iron signal-mast. This is thick enough to enable a person to ascend through its inside to a crow’s-nest on the top, which serves as a look-out place. From it also projects the davits for hoisting up the boats. On the hurricane-deck stands the captain’s fighting-box, cased with iron. Here also is the steering apparatus and wheel. When in action, all the officers and men would be sent below except the helmsmen, who are also protected, with the captain and a lieutenant, and the men inside the turrets working the guns. These are so powerful that they can penetrate armour six inches thick at the distance of nearly three miles.

We brought-up for a short time at the end of Ryde Pier, as papa wished to go on shore to the club. The pier-head was crowded with people who had come there to enjoy the sea-breeze without the inconvenience of being tossed about in a vessel. The town rises on a steep hill from the shore, with woods on both sides, and looks very picturesque. To the west is the pretty village of Binstead, with its church peeping out among the trees.

We were very glad, however, when papa came on board, and we got under weigh to take a trip along the south coast of the island. The wind and tide suiting, we ran along the edge of the sand-flats, which extend off from the north shore, passing a buoy which Paul Truck said was called “No Man’s Land.” Thence onwards, close by the Warner lightship.

As we wanted to see a lightship, the yacht was hove-to, and we went alongside in the boat. She was a stout, tub-like, Dutch-built-looking vessel, with bow and stern much alike, and rising high out of the water, which is very necessary, considering the heavy seas to which she is at times exposed. The master, who knew Paul Truck, was very glad to see us, and at once offered to show us all over the vessel.

The light was in a sort of huge lantern, now lowered on deck; but at night it is hoisted to the top of the mast, thirty-eight feet above the water, so that it can be seen at a distance of eight miles. It is what is called a reflecting light. I will try and describe it.

Within the lantern are a certain number of lights and reflectors, each suspended on gimbals, so that they always maintain their perpendicular position, notwithstanding the rolling of the vessel. Each of these lights consists of a copper lamp, placed in front of a saucer-shaped reflector. The lamp is fed by a cistern of oil at the back of the reflector. This being a revolving light, a number of reflectors were fixed to the iron sides of a quadrangular frame, and the whole caused to revolve once every minute by means of clockwork. The reflectors on each side of the revolving frame—eight in number—are thus successively directed to every point in the horizon; and the combined result of their rays form a flash of greater or less duration, according to the rapidity of their revolution. In the fixed lights eight lamps and reflectors are used, and are arranged in an octagonal lantern; they do not differ much in appearance from the others.

The master told us that the invention was discovered very curiously. A number of scientific gentlemen were dining together at Liverpool—a hundred years ago—when one of the company wagered that he would read a newspaper at the distance of two hundred feet by the light of a farthing candle. The rest of the party said that he would not. He perhaps had conceived the plan before. Taking a wooden bowl, he lined it with putty, and into it embedded small pieces of looking-glass, by which means a perfect reflector was formed; he then placed his rushlight in front of it, and won his wager. Among the company was Mr William Hutchinson, dock-master of Liverpool, who seizing the idea, made use of copper lamps, and formed reflectors much in the same way as the gentleman before mentioned.

Everything about the ship was strong, kept beautifully clean, and in the most admirable order. The crew consists of the captain and mate, with twelve or fourteen men, a portion of whom are on shore off duty. The life is very monotonous; and the only amusement they have is fishing, with reading and a few games, such as draughts and chess. They had only a small library of books, which did not appear very interesting. Papa left them a few interesting tracts and other small books, and gave them a short address, urging them to trust to Christ, and follow His example in their lives. They listened attentively, and seemed very grateful. They have a large roomy cabin, and an airy place to sleep in. The captain has his cabin aft, besides which there is a large space used as a lamp-room, where all the extra lamps and oil and other things pertaining to them are kept. They seemed happy and contented; but when a heavy gale is blowing they must be terribly tossed about. Of course there is a risk—although such is not likely to occur—of the vessel being driven from her moorings. In case this should happen, they have small storm sails, and a rudder to steer the vessel. When this does happen it is a serious matter, not only to those on board, but still more so to any ships approaching the spot, and expecting to find guidance from the light.

Standing on, we passed close to the Bembridge or Nab Light-vessel. This vessel carries two bright fixed lights, one hoisted on each of her masts, which can be seen at night ten miles off, and of course it can be distinguished from the revolving Warner light. Farther off to the west, at the end of a shoal extending off Selsea Bill, is another lightship, called the Owers.

Having rounded Bembridge Ledge, we stood towards the white Culver cliffs, forming the north side of Sandown Bay, with lofty downs rising above Bembridge. Near their summits are lines of fortifications, extending westward to where once stood Sandown Castle, near which there is now a large town, although papa said he remembered when there was only a small inn there, with a few cottages. On the very top of the downs is a monument erected to Lord Yarborough, the king of yachtsmen, who died some years ago on board his yacht, the Kestrel, in the Mediterranean. He at one time had a large ship as his yacht, on board which he maintained regular naval discipline, with a commander, and officers who did duty as lieutenants. It was said that he offered to build and fit out a frigate, and maintain her at his own expense, if the government would make him a post-captain off-hand, but this they declined to do.

Standing across the bay, we came off a very picturesque spot, called Shanklin Chine, a deep cut or opening in the cliffs with trees on both sides. Dunnose was passed, and the village of Bonchurch and Ventnor, climbing up the cliffs from its sandy beach. We now sailed along what is considered the most beautiful part of the Isle of Wight,—the Undercliff. This is a belt of broken, nearly level ground, more or less narrow, beyond which the cliffs rise to a considerable height, with valleys intervening; the downs in some places appearing above them. This belt, called the Undercliff, is covered with trees and numerous villas.

At last we came off Rocken End Point, below Saint Catherine’s Head. This is the most southern point of the island. On it stands a handsome stone tower, 105 feet high, with a brilliant fixed light upon it. The village of Niton stands high up away from the shore.

It now came on to blow very fresh. There was not much sea in the offing; but, owing to the way the tide ran and met the wind, the bottom being rocky, the water nearer the shore was tossed about in a most curious and somewhat dangerous fashion, for several “lumps of sea,” as Truck called them, came flop down on our deck; and it was easy to see what might be the consequences if an open boat had attempted to pass through the Race. Paul told us that good-sized vessels had been seen to go down in similar places. One off Portland is far worse than this in heavy weather.

Farther on is a curious landslip, where a large portion of the cliff once came down, and beyond it is Blackgang Chine, a wild, savage-looking break in the cliffs, formed by the giving way of the lower strata. Farther to the west, towards Freshwater Gate, the cliffs are perpendicular, and of a great height, the smooth downs coming to their very edge.

Some years ago a picnic party, who had come over from Lymington, had assembled on that part of the downs, having come by different conveyances. Among them was a boy, like one of us—a merry fellow, I dare say. After the picnic the party separated in various directions. When the time to return had arrived, so many went off in one carriage, and so many in another. In the same way they crossed to Lymington in different boats. Not until their arrival at that place was their young companion missed, each party having supposed that he was with the other. What could have become of him? They hoped against hope that he had wandered far off to the east, and had lost his way. Then some of the party recollected having seen him going towards the edge of the cliff. He was a stranger, and was not aware how abruptly the downs terminated in a fearful precipice. It was too late to send back that night. They still hoped that he might have slipped down, and have lodged on some ledge. At daybreak boats were despatched to the island. At length his mangled remains were found at the foot of the highest part of the cliff, over which he must have fallen and been dashed to pieces. Papa said he recollected seeing the party land, and all the circumstances of the case.

Here, too, several sad shipwrecks have occurred, when many lives have been lost. A few years ago, two ladies were walking together during a heavy gale of wind, which sent huge foaming billows rolling on towards the shore. One, the youngest, was nearer the water than the other, when an immense wave suddenly broke on the beach, and surrounding her, carried her off in its deadly embrace. Her companion, with a courage and nerve few ladies possess, rushed into the seething water, and seizing her friend, dragged her back just before the hungry surge bore her beyond her depth, Papa gave us these anecdotes as we gazed on the shore. We had intended going completely round the island; but the wind changing, we ran back the way we had come, thus getting a second sight of many places of interest.

It was dark before we reached the Nab; but steering by the lights I have described, we easily found our way towards the anchorage off Ryde. At length we sighted the bright light at the end of the pier, and we kept it on our port-bow until we saw before us a number of twinkling lights hoisted on board the yachts at anchor. It was necessary to keep a very sharp look-out, as we steered our way between them, until we came to an anchorage off the western end of the pier.

The next morning, soon after daybreak, when we turned out to enjoy a swim overboard, we saw, lying close to us, a fine sea-going little schooner, but with no one, excepting the man on watch, on deck. We had had our dip, and were dressing, when we saw a boy spring up through the companion hatch, and do just what we had done—jump overboard.

“I do declare that must be Cousin Jack!” cried Oliver. “We will surprise him.”

In half a minute we had again slipped out of our clothes, and were in the water on the opposite side to that on which the schooner lay. We then swam round together; and there, sure enough, we saw Jack’s ruddy countenance as he puffed and blew and spluttered as he came towards us.

“How do you do, Brother Grampus?” cried Oliver.

In another moment we were all treading water and shaking hands, and laughing heartily at having thus met, like some strange fish out in the ocean. Greatly to our delight, we learned that the schooner we had admired was Uncle Tom Westerton’s new yacht, the Dolphin; and Jack said he thought it was very likely that His father would accompany us, and he hoped that he would when he knew where we were going.

This, of course, was jolly news. We could not talk much just then, as we found it required some exertion to prevent ourselves being drifted away with the tide. We therefore, having asked Jack to come and breakfast with us, climbed on board again. He said that he would gladly do so, but did not wish to tell his father, as he wanted to surprise him.

A short time afterwards, Uncle Tom Westerton poked his head (with a nightcap on the top of it) up the companion hatchway, rubbing his eyes, yawning and stretching out his arms, while he looked about him as if he had just awakened out of sleep. He was dressed in a loose pair of trousers and a dressing-gown, with slippers on his feet.

“Good morning to you, Uncle Tom!” shouted Oliver and I.

“Hullo! where did you come from?” he exclaimed.

“From Portsmouth last. This is papa’s new yacht; and we are going to sail round England,” I answered.

Just then papa, who had no idea that the Dolphin was close to us, came on deck. The surprise was mutual.

Uncle Tom and Jack were soon on board; and during breakfast it was settled that we should sail together round England, provided papa would wait a day until uncle could get the necessary provisions and stores on board; and in the mean time we settled to visit Beaulieu river and Cowes, and at the latter place the Dolphin was to rejoin us next day.

We, as may be supposed, looked forward to having great fun. We had little doubt, although the Lively was smaller than the Dolphin, that we could sail as fast as she could, while we should be able to get into places where she could not venture.

As soon as breakfast was over, while the Dolphin stood for Portsmouth to obtain what she wanted, we got under weigh, and steered for the mouth of Beaulieu river. On our way we passed over the Mother Bank, a shoal off which vessels in quarantine have to bring up; and here are anchored two large mastless ships,—one for the officers and men of the quarantine guard, the other serving as a hospital ship. We next came off Osborne, where the Queen lives during the spring,—a magnificent-looking place, with trees round three sides, and a park-like lawn descending to the water’s edge. Before the Queen bought it, a good-sized private house stood here, belonging to a Mr Blackford, whose widow, Lady Isabella, sold it to Her Majesty. A small steam yacht lay off the land, ready to carry despatches or guests.

Bounding Old Castle Point, we opened up the harbour, and came in sight of the West Cowes Castle, and the handsome clubhouse, and a line of private residences, with a broad esplanade facing the sea, and wooded heights rising above it; and beyond, looking northward, a number of villas, with trees round them and a green lawn extending to the water. The harbour was full of vessels of all descriptions, and a number of fine craft were also anchored in the Roads. We thought Cowes a very pleasant-looking place. It was here that the first yacht club was established. The vessels composing it are known par excellence as the “Royal Yacht Squadron;” and a regatta has taken place here annually for more than half a century. Ryde, Southampton, and Portsmouth, indeed nearly every seaport, has now its clubhouse and regatta. The chief are Cowes, Ryde, Torquay, Plymouth, Cork, Kingston, and the Thames. Each has its respective signal flag or burgee. That of Cowes is white, of Ryde red, and most of the others are blue, with various devices upon them. At Cowes, some way up the harbour, on the west side, are some large shipbuilding yards. Here a number of fine yachts and other vessels are built. Mr White, one of the chief shipbuilders, has constructed some fine lifeboats, which are capable of going through any amount of sea without turning over; and even if they do so, they have the power of righting themselves. He has built a number also to carry on board ships, and very useful they have proved on many occasions. Ships from distant parts often bring up in the Roads to wait for orders; others, outward-bound, come here to receive some of their passengers. Very frequently, when intending to run through the Needle passage, they wait here for a fair wind, so that the Roads are seldom without a number of ships, besides the yachts, whose owners have their headquarters here, many of their families living on shore.

We agreed, however, that we were better off on board our tight little yacht, able to get under weigh and to go anywhere without having to wait for our friends on shore.

Leaving Cowes harbour on our port quarter, we stood for Leep Buoy, off the mouth of the Beaulieu River. Hence we steered for the village of Leep, on the mainland. Truck knowing the river well, we ran on until we came to an anchor off the village of Exbury. Here it was thought safer to bring up, and proceed the rest of the distance in the boat. The river above Exbury becomes very narrow, and we might have got becalmed, or, what would have been worse, we might have stuck on the mud.

We pulled up for some miles between thickly-wooded banks,—indeed, we were now passing through a part of the New Forest. Suddenly the river took a bend, and we found ourselves off a village called Buckler’s Hard. The river here expands considerably, and we saw two or three vessels at anchor. In the last great war there was a dockyard here, where a number of frigates and other small men-of-war were built from the wood which the neighbouring forest produced. Now, the dockyard turns out only a few coasting craft. How different must have been the place when the sound of the shipwright’s hammer was incessantly heard, to what it now is, resting in the most perfect tranquillity, as if everybody in the neighbourhood had gone to sleep! No one was to be seen moving on shore, no one even on board the little coasters. Not a bird disturbed the calm surface of the river.

As it was important that we should be away again before the tide fell we pulled on, that we might land close to Beaulieu itself. The scenery was picturesque in the extreme, the trees in many places coming down to the water’s edge, into which they dipped their long hanging boughs. About six miles off, the artist Gilpin had the living of Boldre, and here he often came to sketch views of woodland and river scenery. We landed near the bridge, and walked on to see Beaulieu Abbey. Passing through a gateway we observed the massive walls, which exist here and there almost entire, in some places mantled with ivy, and at one time enclosing an area of sixteen acres or more.

A short way off was a venerable stone building, now called the Palace House, once the residence of the abbot, who being too great a man to live with the monks, had a house to himself. When convents were abolished, this was turned into a residence by the Duke of Montague, to whose family it had been granted. He enlarged and beautified it, enclosing it in a quadrangle with walls, having a low circular tower at each angle, encompassed by a dry moat crossed by a bridge. The whole building is now fitted up as a modern residence.

A short distance to the east stands a long edifice, with lofty rooms, which was undoubtedly the dormitory, with large cellars beneath it. At the south end the ancient kitchen remains entire, with its vaulted stone roof and capacious chimney, proving that the monks were addicted to good cheer; indeed, the remains of the fish-ponds, or stews, not far off, show that this was the case.

They also took care to supply themselves with fresh water, from a fine spring issuing from a cave in the forest about half a mile away, which was conveyed to the abbey in earthen pipes. That they were not total abstainers, however, is proved by the remains of a building evidently once containing the means of manufacturing wines; and close to it, in some fields having a warm southern aspect, still called the Vineyards, grew their grapes.

This abbey, indeed, stands on just such a spot as sagacious men, considering how best they might enjoy this world’s comforts, would select;—a gentle stream, an ample supply of water, a warm situation, extensive meadow and pasture land, sheltered from keen blasts by woods and rising hills. The monastery was built, we are told, in the time of King John, by a number of Cistercian monks. A monkish legend, which, like most other monkish legends, is probably false, asserts that the abbots of that order being summoned by the king to Lincoln, expected to receive some benefit, instead of which the savage monarch ordered them to be trodden to death by horses. None of his attendants were willing, however, to execute his cruel command. That night the king dreamed that he was standing before a judge, accompanied by these abbots, who were commanded to scourge him with rods. On awakening he still felt the pain of his flagellation; and being advised by his father-confessor to make amends for his intended cruelty, he immediately granted the abbots a charter for the foundation of the abbey.

The monks, as usual, practising on the credulity of the people, grew rich, and obtained privileges and further wealth from various sovereigns; while the Pope conferred on their monastery the rights of a sanctuary, exemption from tithes, and the election of its abbot without the interference of king or bishop. In 1539 there were within their walls thirty-two sanctuary men for debt, felony, and murder. Unpleasant guests the monks must have found them, unless a thorough reformation had taken place in their characters.

Here Margaret of Anjou took shelter after the fatal battle of Barnet; and Perkin Warbeck fled hither, but being lured away, perished at Tyburn. On the abolition of monasteries, Beaulieu Abbey was granted to the Earl of Southampton, whose heiress married the Duke of Montague, from whom it descended to his sole heiress, who married the Duke of Buccleuch. The family have carefully preserved the ruins, and prevented their further destruction.

“The abbeys have had their day; but, after all, we cannot help holding them in affectionate remembrance for the service they rendered in their generation,” observed Oliver, in a somewhat sentimental tone, which made me laugh.

“They may have done some good; but that good could have been obtained in a far better way,” said papa; “they were abominations from the first; and the life led by the monks was utterly at variance with that which Scripture teaches us is the right life to lead. We might as well regret that Robin Hood and Dick Turpin do not now exist, because they occasionally behaved with generosity to the poor, and showed courtesy to the ladies they robbed. The monasteries were the result of the knavery of one class and the ignorance and superstition of another. Do not let the glamour of romance thrown over them ever deceive or mislead you as to their real character. When we hear of the good they did, remember that the monks were their own chroniclers. We have only to see what Chaucer says of them, and the utter detestation in which they were held by the great mass of the people, not only in Henry the Eighth’s time, but long before, to judge them rightly. There are weak and foolish people, at present, urged on by designing men, who wish for their restoration, and have actually established not a few of these abominable institutions in our free England, where girls are incarcerated and strictly kept from communicating with their friends, and where foolish youths play the part of the monks of the dark ages. I am not afraid of your turning Romanists, my boys, but it is important to be guarded on all points. Just bring the monastic system to the test of Scripture, and then you will see how utterly at variance it is from the lessons we learn therein.”

We felt very nervous going down the river, for fear we should stick on the mud, as the tide had already begun to ebb, and we might have been left high and dry in a few minutes; but, through Paul’s pilotage and papa’s seamanship, we managed to avoid so disagreeable an occurrence, and once more passing the beacon at the mouth of the river, we steered for Cowes Roads, where we brought-up at dark. Next morning we saw the Dolphin anchored not far from us. To save sending on board, we got out our signals, and the instruction book which enables us to make use of them.

We first hoisted flags to show the number of the yacht in the club, and waited until it was answered from the Dolphin. We next hoisted four numbers without any distinguishing flag, which showed the part of the book to which we referred, and meant, “Are you ready to sail?” This was answered by a signal flag which meant “Yes;” whereupon we ran up four other numbers signifying, “We will sail immediately.”

As the Dolphin, which was to the east of us, began to get under weigh, we did so likewise; and she soon came close enough to enable us to carry on a conversation as we stood together to the westward.

The shores both of the mainland and of the Isle of Wight are covered thickly with woods, the former being portions of the New Forest, which at one time extended over the whole of this part of Hampshire, from Southampton Water to the borders of Dorsetshire. On our left side we could see high downs rising in the distance, the southern side of which we had seen when going round the back of the island.

In a short time we came off Newton River, now almost filled up with mud. Some way up it is a village, which, once upon a time, was a town and returned a member to parliament. The hull of a small man-of-war is anchored, or rather beached, on the mud near the mouth of the river, and serves as a coastguard station.

The wind shifting, we had to make a tack towards the mouth of Lymington Creek, which runs down between mud-banks from the town of Lymington, which is situated on the west side of the river. On a height, on the east side, we could distinguish an obelisk raised to the memory of Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale. He was a great favourite of George the Third, as he was with all his family, including William the Fourth. He was a very excellent officer and a good, kind man, and was looked upon as the father of his crew. At the mouth of the river is a high post with a basket on the top of it known as Jack-in-the-basket. Whether or not a sailor ever did get in there when wrecked, or whether on some occasion a real Jack was placed there to shout out to vessels coming into the river, I am not certain.

Passing the pleasant little town of Yarmouth, the wind once more shifting enabled us to lay our course direct for Hurst Castle. We passed the village of Freshwater, with several very pretty villas perched on the hill on the west side of it. Here also is the commencement of a line of batteries which extend alone: the shore towards the Needles. The ground is high and broken, and very picturesque, with bays, and points, and headlands. On our starboard, or northern side, appeared the long spit of sand at the end of which Hurst Castle stands, with two high red lighthouses like two giant skittles. Besides the old castle, a line of immensely strong fortifications extend along the beach, armed with the heaviest guns, so that from the batteries of the two shores an enemy’s ship attempting to enter would be sunk, or would be so shattered as to be unable to cope with any vessel of inferior force sent against her.

The old castle is a cheese-like structure of granite, and was considered, even when it stood alone, of great strength. Its chief historical interest is derived from its having been the prison of Charles the First when he was removed from Carisbrook Castle. After the failure of the treaty of Newport, Charles was brought from Carisbrook, which is almost in the centre of the Isle of Wight, to a small fort called Worsley Tower, which stood above Sconce Point, to the westward of the village of Freshwater. Here a vessel was in waiting, which carried him and a few attendants over to Hurst, where he was received by the governor, Colonel Eure, and kept under strict guard, though not treated unkindly. From thence he was removed to Windsor, and afterwards to London, where his execution took place.

As we were examining with our glasses the powerful line of fortifications, both on the Hurst beach and along the shore of the Isle of Wight, papa remarked that he wished people would be as careful in guarding their religious and political liberties as they are in throwing up forts to prevent an enemy from landing on our shores. Many appear to be fast asleep with regard to the sacred heritage we have received from our forefathers, and allow disturbers of our peace and faith, under various disguises, to intrude upon and undermine the safeguards of our sacred rights and liberties.

Presently we found ourselves in a beautiful little spot called Alum Bay. The cliffs have not the usual glaring white hue, but are striped with almost every imaginable colour, the various tints taking a perpendicular form, ranging from the top of the cliff to the sea. If we could have transferred the colours to our pallet, I am sure we should have found them sufficient to produce a brilliant painting. West of the coloured cliffs is a line of very high white cliffs, extending to the extreme west point of the island, at the end of which appear the Needle Rocks, rising almost perpendicularly out of the sea. Once upon a time two of them were joined with a hollow, or eye, between them, but that portion gave way at the end of the last century. On the outer rock, by scraping the side, a platform has been formed, on which stands a high and beautifully-built lighthouse, erected some years ago. Formerly there was one on the top of the cliff, but it was so high that it was frequently obscured by mist, and was not to be seen by vessels steering for the Needles passage.

As we stood close into the shore, and looked up at the lofty cliffs, we agreed that it was the grandest and most picturesque scene we had yet visited.

On the other side of the channel are the Shingles, a dangerous sandbank, on which many vessels have been lost. A ledge of rocks below the water runs off from the Needles, known as the Needle Ledge. When a strong south-westerly wind is blowing, and the tide is running out, there is here a very heavy sea. Vessels have also been wrecked on the Needles; and Paul Truck told us how a pilot he once knew well saved the crew of a vessel which drove in during the night on one of those rocks, which they had managed to reach by means of the top-gallant yard. Here they remained until the pilot brought a stout rope, which was hauled up by a thin line to the top of the rock, and by means of it they all descended in safety. The pilot’s name was John Long.

Years before this a transport, with a number of troops on board, was wrecked just outside the Needles, in Scratchells Bay. Being high-water, she drove close in under the cliffs, and thus the sailors and crew were able to escape; and the next morning the cliff appeared as though covered with lady-birds, footprints of the poor fellows who had been endeavouring to make their way up the precipitous sides.

Further round is a large cavern, in which it is said a Lord Holmes—a very convivial noble and Governor of Yarmouth Castle—used to hold his revels with his boon companions. But were I to book all the stories we heard, I should fill my journal with them.

When we were a short distance outside the Needles, a superb steam frigate passed us with topsails and top-gallant sails set, steering down channel. Papa looked at her with a seaman’s eye. “Well—well, though she is not as beautiful as an old frigate, she looks like a fine sea-boat, and as well able to go round the world as any craft afloat, and to hold her own against all foes.”

Just at sunset, a light wind blowing, we took the bearings of the Needles and Hurst lights, and stood for Swanage Bay, on the Dorsetshire coast.

Chapter Three.

The South Coast.

When we turned in, the yacht was speeding along with a gentle breeze towards Swanage. The Needle light showed brightly astern, and the two lights on Hurst Point were brought almost into one, rather more on our quarter. Oliver and I wanted to keep watch, but papa laughed at us, and said we had much better sleep soundly at night, and be wide awake during the day; and that if anything occurred he would have us called.

Though Oliver and I said we would get up once or twice, to show that we were good sailors, we did not, but slept as soundly as tops until daylight streamed through the small skylight overhead into our berths.

We had now learned not to knock our skulls against the beams; and both of us turning out slipped into our clothes, and thanked God for having kept us safely during the night. On going on deck, what was our surprise to find the Needle Rocks still in sight, with a high point of land on our starboard beam, which Paul Truck told us was Christchurch Head.

It was a perfect calm, not a ripple played over the surface of the water, the sails scarcely giving even a flap. Not far off lay the Dolphin, equally motionless. The sun had not yet risen, but the atmosphere was perfectly clear, and we could see objects to a great distance. To the west of the head we observed a tower, which Truck told us was that of the Priory; and from thence to Hurst we observed a line of cliffs of considerable height, with several villages on their summit.

We got out our mackerel lines, hoping to catch some fish for breakfast; but there was not way enough on the vessel to give the bait play, and none would bite. Paul walked up and down whistling for a breeze; but it did not come a bit the faster for that, as you may suppose. Sailors have a notion—derived from some heathen custom—that by whistling the spirit of the wind will be propitiated. This is not surprising, when we remember that people on shore have a still greater number of foolish notions derived from the same source.

When papa came on deck, he told us that Sir Harry Burrard Neale, who commanded the San Firenzo, was at school at Christchurch before he went to sea, that on one occasion, when playing a game of “follow my leader,” he, being the leader, mounted to the top of the tower, and managed to scramble down again outside, few, if any, of the boys daring to follow him.

The whole of the coast along which we were now sailing was in the days of restrictive duties the scene of numberless smuggling transactions. The smugglers were a bold, daring race—one part accomplished seamen; the other, though accustomed to go afloat, possessors of small farms and holdings on shore. The goods, either spirits, tobacco, or silks, were brought across generally in large powerful luggers, many of them in war-time strongly armed; and when interfered with by the king’s ships they often fought desperately, and managed to get away. The spot on which a cargo was to be landed was fixed on beforehand. Generally, several were chosen, so that should the Coastguard be on the watch near one, the smugglers, warned by signals from the shore, might run to another. There, a party of armed men, numbering some hundreds, would be ready to receive them. As soon as the goods were landed, they were carried up the cliffs on men’s shoulders, and placed in light carts and wagons, which drove off with a mounted escort, who seldom failed to give battle to the Revenue men if an attempt was made to stop them. Often severe fighting took place, and—except when a strong force of military were brought down upon them—the smugglers generally made their escape. The goods were either stowed away in secret places or farm-houses in the neighbourhood, or carried off to London, where they were handed over to the wealthy firms which supplied the means for the trade.

In later years the smuggling vessels were smaller and unarmed, the smugglers trusting to their cunning for success. Sometimes only large boats or galleys were employed, which pulled across the Channel, timing themselves so as to reach the English coast some time after dark. If a Revenue cutter was seen approaching, the casks of spirits were loaded with stones, and being thrown overboard, were sunk, the smuggler having first taken the bearings of the land, so as to be able to return to the spot and drag for them. Sometimes the Revenue cutter saw what was done, and performed that operation instead of the smuggler, the officers and crew thus obtaining a rich prize at slight cost. So enormous was the profit, that if two or three cargoes out of seven were run, the smugglers were content.

Smuggling of any sort is of course illegal. The Government puts duties on commodities for the good of the State, which duties must be paid, and the smuggler is cheating not only the Government but his countrymen; yet many people formerly did not see it in its true light, and even some gentlemen, blind to its dishonourable character, encouraged the smugglers by buying their goods. Papa said that he remembered in his boyish days a person of excellent position, knowing that a cargo was to be run near his house, having invited the Revenue officers to dinner, made them all tipsy, and not letting them go until he was informed that the cargo was safe on shore. He received a portion as a reward for the service he had rendered. The greatest knaves, however, were the merchants whose capital bought the goods and whose warehouses were supplied by them. At one time the greater portion of the population of the sea-board of Hampshire and Dorsetshire were engaged more or less in the trade.

While we were at breakfast we heard the mainsail give a loud flap, and soon afterwards a pleasant rippling sound told us that the yacht was moving through the water. In a short time we were close in with the shore, just off Bournemouth, a watering-place which has gained considerable popularity during the last few years.

We clearly saw a large number of houses and villas, with two churches standing on the side of the hill, backed by dark pine groves. A few years ago there were only a few cottages on a sandbank, a small stream, and a decoy pond in the neighbourhood. By keeping out of the tide we made some way, and now standing to the southward on the port tack we came off Poole Harbour, looking up which we could see the woods and a house on Branksea Island, and the tower of what was once a castle erected for the defence of the place.

We were told that this island was purchased several years ago by a colonel who married a rich heiress. The place was believed to contain valuable clay and other productions; and a firm of bankers, having begged the colonel to become one of their directors, allowed him to draw whatever amount he chose. Believing himself to be possessed of unbounded wealth, he built a superb house and laid out the grounds in splendid style, giving all sorts of expensive entertainments. At length the bank broke, the bubble burst, and the unhappy man was reduced to the extreme of penury, while numbers of unfortunate people who had invested their money in the bank were ruined.

We did not sail up the harbour; but Paul Truck told us that the town is of considerable size, and that it sends out a large number of trading vessels.

Passing two high white rocks rising out of the water, called Old Harry and his Wife, we stood on into Swanage Bay, where we brought-up just off the little town. The boat was lowered, and we pulled to the end of the wooden pier, on which we landed; although Oliver said we could not call it landing, seeing that it was not land. However, we soon got on to the shore. As we looked about we agreed that it was one of the prettiest little places we had been in.

To the left was a bright lawn, with trees here and there, and villas dotted about. Some houses extend along the shore to the right, while an old-fashioned looking street runs up the hill. We observed large quantities of slabs of stone, which are quarried from the hills in the neighbourhood. The ground beyond the town is completely burrowed, like a huge rabbit-warren, and near the mouth of each quarry are huts and sheds, where the stone, which is brought up in the rough, is worked into shape. The men, instead of being blackened like coal-miners, are covered with white dust.

This portion of the country is called the Isle of Purbeck, although it is in reality a peninsula. It is bounded on the north by Poole Harbour and the river which passes Wareham, while the sea is on the two other sides; and a small river, called Luxford Lake, rises from some hills not far from the south shore, so that the place is almost surrounded by water.

About six miles off is Corfe Castle, on a hill almost in the centre of Purbeck Island. It is a picturesque ruin, and full of interesting associations. It was here that Edward, the dupe of the wily Dunstan, was murdered in the year 979, at the instigation of Elfrida, the widow of Edgar, and Edward’s mother-in-law, who wished to have her own son, poor “Ethelred the Unready,” upon the throne. A far more interesting event connected with it was the defence made by Lady Bankes, the wife of the owner, in 1643, against the Parliamentary forces. It must have been in those days a very strong place, for Lady Bankes, with her daughter and her maid-servants, assisted by five soldiers, successfully defended the middle ward against the attack of one of the storming divisions, the whole defensive force not exceeding eighty men, unprovided with cannon. It would probably have fallen, however, had not Lord Carnarvon raised the siege.

Near Swanage also, in the middle of an open heath, is the celebrated Aggie Stone, or holy stone, though it is more generally known at present as the Devil’s Nightcap. It is a long stone poised on a single point. We agreed that it was something like a giant mushroom. The country people say it was thrown from the Isle of Wight, with the intention of destroying Corfe Castle, but that, falling short, it descended where we found it, on the top of the hill, eighty or ninety feet high. We could not decide whether it was placed here by art or Nature, for similar stones exist in other places where water and the atmosphere have cleared away the surrounding earth. Papa was of opinion that it was formed by natural causes.

Getting under weigh from Swanage, we stood round Peveril Point and Durlestone Head. The wind being off shore, we kept close in with the coast, which consists of high cliffs full of fossils, we were told. As we were passing Saint Alban’s, or Saint Aldhelm’s Head, we got out our mackerel lines. We had half a dozen each, about forty fathoms long. To each line were fastened eight or ten snoods: a snood is a short line with a hook at the end. At first we baited with pieces of white linen, as the mackerel is a greedy fish, and will bite at any glittering object in the water.

“Two lines overboard will be enough, or they will be fouling each other,” observed Truck.

Oliver took charge of one, I of the other. They had not been in the water two minutes when Oliver cried out, “Hurrah, I’ve hooked a fish!” He was hauling in his line, when two more were seen skipping along on the surface, glittering in the sunlight. At the same time I felt several tugs at my line, and on hauling it in I found that I had four fish on—long, elegantly shaped fish they were, with blue grey backs and white bellies. In half an hour we had caught two dozen—more than enough for all hands for supper and breakfast.

The next morning, the wind having been very light, we ran into a little harbour of rare beauty called Lulworth Cove. The entrance is very narrow, with rugged abrupt cliffs rising far above the mast-head; and when we were once in we appeared to be in a perfect basin, the sides consisting of high white walls towering to the sky, with cottages in an opening on one side; while the sandy bottom could almost be seen through the tranquil water, clear as crystal. The cliffs consist of Portland stone. The strata in some places have a curious appearance, resembling huge twisted trees. In one side are caves of various sizes, and here also fossils in great numbers are found. Landing, we walked about two miles to Lulworth Castle, belonging to Mr Edward Weld, the son of the owner of the celebrated yachts the Lulworth and Alarm. The castle is a square-shaped building, with a tower at each corner; it has long, narrow windows, and is handsomely fitted up. Both James the First and Charles the Second at different times inhabited it, as did several later sovereigns down to William the Fourth. It formerly belonged to Cardinal Weld, who left it to his brother, the late owner.

Though interested with what we saw on shore, we were always glad to get on board and enjoy the open sea. Sailing on, we in a short time reached Weymouth Roads, and hove-to off the mouth of the river Wey, on both sides of which the town is built, with a fine esplanade extending along the shore for a considerable distance. Good old King George the Third used to reside here in a house built by his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, now turned into the “Gloucester Hotel.” One object in his coming was to sail on board a frigate commanded by his favourite captain, Sir Harry Neale.

The king frequently wanted to go much further out to sea than was considered prudent. On such occasions the captain used to propose either whist or chess. As soon as His Majesty was observed to be absorbed in the game, the ship was put about and headed back towards the shore. When the king got tired of playing, and was about to return on deck, the ship’s head was put off shore again. He either did not find out the trick played him, or was well aware that it was done for his advantage, and said nothing. The king and Sir Harry often played chess together, when the king, who played very badly, was generally beaten. Sometimes His Majesty played with some of the courtiers, on which occasions he was nearly always successful; when, however, the courtiers played with Sir Harry, they beat him. The king observing this, remarked, one day, with a smile:

“It does seem very odd, when I play with Sir Harry he beats me; when Lord So-and-So plays with him, he gets the worst of it; but when Lord So-and-So plays with me, I gain the day. Very strange—very strange.”

On one occasion the frigate was going from Portsmouth to Weymouth, when she was hailed by a boat which had come off from the shore. The captain hove-to, and an old Scotch couple came up the side. On the object of their visit being enquired, they stated that they had come all the way from Scotland to look for their son, who was on board a man-of-war; and that they had been at Portsmouth, and had searched for him in vain at a number of other seaports.

On asking the name, “David Campbell,” was the answer. Sir Harry enquired whether such a man was on board. “Yes,” was the reply. Davy Campbell being called, a fine youth made his appearance, who was immediately recognised by the old couple, and received a fond embrace.

The captain carried them to Weymouth, where the king, hearing their story, spoke to them kindly, and made them a handsome present; while Sir Harry promised to look after their boy; and they went home rejoicing in the success of their efforts to see him once more. I hope he promised to write to them in future, and to let them know of his welfare, and that he got back to Scotland again to see them before they died.

The king used to speak to the officers and men in the kindest way, and frequently to call up the young midshipmen and give them fatherly advice. Papa’s father was a midshipman on board, so that he had heard a great deal about the king and Queen Charlotte.

One day Sir Harry, who had months before received a present of bottled green peas, recollecting them, ordered them to be prepared for dinner. On the queen being helped, Sir Harry, who had forgotten when green peas were in season, observed to Her Majesty, “These peas have been in bottle a whole year.”

“So I did think,” answered the queen, pressing one of them with her fork, and sending it flying out of her plate and hitting His Majesty on the nose. They were almost as hard as swan-shot. In those days the way of preserving vegetables was not so well understood as at present.

The king was often sadly ill-treated, according to his own account, by those in authority, and would complain amusingly about trifles. One grievance was that he never had the satisfaction of wearing soft linen, for that as soon as his shirts had worn smooth they were taken away, and their places supplied with new harsh ones. So that, after all, sovereigns are not more free from the discomforts of life than are other people!

We heard these anecdotes as we were standing towards Portland Harbour, formed by a magnificent breakwater of granite, which runs out from the shore to the east, and then circles round with an opening about the centre. It was built to form a harbour of refuge, as no other exists along the coast which can be entered at all times between the Needles and Plymouth.

We were struck by the enormous blocks of stone of which it is constructed. They were all quarried from the Isle of Portland, which forms one side of the harbour, by convicts who are confined in a large stone prison at the top of the hill. Both on the breakwater and on shore are strong stone forts for the defence of the harbour, in which, in time of war, would also be stationed some heavy ironclads; so that a large squadron alone would venture to annoy the shipping within.

The yachts brought-up, and we went on shore to walk along the breakwater and to inspect some of the fortifications. Near us were two enormous ironclads; and as we pulled by them we could not help remarking what magnificent-looking craft they appeared, though Uncle Tom said that he would just as soon go round the world in the Dolphin as he would in one of those huge monsters.

A railway is laid along the top of the breakwater to carry stones and guns to the further end. Papa told us that some years ago, while it was in the course of construction, he came to see it; that as he was looking towards the end he perceived an engine coming along. He stepped on one side to avoid it, when, as it drew near, he observed the driver making a signal to him. He had just time to spring on to a wooden platform at the edge, when another engine, coming from the opposite direction, passed over the spot on which he had been standing. In an instant he would have been crushed to death. “How grateful did I feel to God that I had been thus mercifully preserved!” he said.

At the outer end of the breakwater there is a lighthouse, with a single fixed red light, so that it cannot be mistaken for any other of the neighbouring lights. At the end of the south pier-head of Weymouth Harbour is also a single red fixed light; but it is far away to the northward of the breakwater light, and cannot be seen at any great distance.

The Portland Breakwater is indeed a magnificent work. The plans were designed by Mr Rendel, and the estimated cost was six hundred thousand pounds. The first stone was laid by Prince Albert, in July, 1849. The whole length is nearly a mile and a half. It first runs out from the Isle of Portland for 1,800 feet, when it is finished by a circular head of solid masonry. Then, for about four hundred feet, there is an opening through which vessels may enter or run to sea in case of necessity. Then comes another circular head similar to the first, from which the principal part of the breakwater extends in the same straight line for about three hundred feet, and then curves round to the north for 5,400 feet. It was formed—in the first instance—by extending stages in the direction required, on which rails were laid down to support the stone-wagons pushed by locomotives to the outer end. The wagons, on reaching their destination, were tilted up, and the stone dropped down to the bottom. Thus the work was continued gradually until the outer end was reached. The stones after they were thrown down were placed in the required position by divers, who worked with crowbars. A dangerous employment it must have been. A man employed on the breakwater who accompanied us told us that on one occasion the air-pipe burst, and that, although the diver immediately gave the signal, when he was hauled up he was nearly dead. Another poor fellow did not answer the tug, which a man in a boat above gave every half-minute. When he was hauled in it was found that the water had run under the joints of his helmet and drowned him. There were five lines of rail laid down, each carrying trucks pushed by locomotives. We were told that 2,500 tons of stone were by this means dropped every day into the ocean; and though thus actively working, it was long before the artificial rock appeared above the surface.

Sometimes several weeks passed, load after load being dropped in, before the mass was of sufficient size to rise above the water. After having been left some time to consolidate, the summit was capped by blocks of hewn stone, rising from low-tide mark to many feet above that of high-water, so that the sea during the fiercest gale could not force its way over it. The piles to support the stage were what are called screw piles; they were ninety feet in length, and soaked in creosote to preserve them, the weight of each being about seven tons. One of the most curious operations was that of forcing the creosote into the piles. It was done by placing them in an iron cylinder one hundred feet in length, and six feet in diameter. Out of this the air was first pumped, and then the creosote was pumped in.

All the stones were brought from the neighbouring hill, where they were quarried by about eight hundred convicts. The trucks descended from the hill down an incline, the full trucks dragging up the empties by means of ropes and blocks. Upwards of five million tons of stone were thus employed.

While visiting the prison we heard a number of anecdotes about the convicts. Notwithstanding all the vigilance of the warders and guards, several have contrived to make their escape. On a dark night, during exceedingly thick weather, a daring fellow managed to scale the walls and drop down outside unperceived. He at once made his way to the shore, where he in vain searched for a boat. Being no sailor, had he found one, he would have been unable to manage her. He knew that should he attempt to make his way overland he would, to a certainty, be re-taken. Finding a piece of wreck, with some broken oars, and other drift-wood, and a coil of rope, he contrived to put together a raft, on which seating himself, he shoved off, expecting to be picked up by some passing vessel. Instead of this, he was—fortunately for himself—discovered by the active coastguardmen, and brought back to prison. Had he succeeded in getting to a distance, in all probability he would have been drowned or starved to death.

Climbing to the top of the hill, we obtained a view to the northward of the crescent-shaped line of shingle, ten miles long, called Chesil Bank, which joins Portland to the main land. At the Portland end the pebbles are of the size of a hen’s egg, gradually diminishing to that of a bean at the other extremity. This enabled smugglers to ascertain on the darkest night the part of the shore they had reached. The west side of the bank is known as Dead Man’s Bay, from the number of persons who have perished there. The most disastrous event occurred in 1794, when a fleet of transports, under convoy of Admiral Christian, bound out for the West Indies, stranded in the bay, and one thousand persons were drowned. In this century, the Abergavenny and Alexander (Indiamen) were driven on this treacherous shore, and upwards of two hundred persons perished; and as late as 1838, the Columbine was wrecked on the bank, and many of her crew lost. In those days there were no lifeboats to hasten to the rescue of the helpless seamen.

Passing amid quarries, we observed enormous square blocks of stone hewn out and ready to be transported to the shore by carts, with long teams of horses harnessed—often nine together. In the upper layer of the quarries was discovered a fossil pine-tree, upwards of thirty feet in length, and a foot in diameter, with two or three branches.

Next morning we and the Dolphin again got under weigh, and the wind being off shore stood close round the Bill of Portland, having the Shambles light-vessel, which has a single fixed light, on our port beam. The Shambles is a large shoal, so called from the number of vessels lost on it with all hands. A fine Indiaman was wrecked there many years ago, coming home full of passengers, not one of whom was saved. In another day they expected to be reunited to their friends, from whom they had long been absent. How sad it seems! We who were sailing over the comparatively tranquil sea could scarcely believe it possible that so many of our fellow-creatures had thus perished within sight of land.

In former years many ships were lost in consequence of the masters not knowing their exact position. In the present day the coast is much better lighted than formerly. The character of every part of the bottom of the Channel is well-known, so that a ship may grope her way up with the lead going, the mud, sand, or shells, which are brought up sticking to the grease in a little hollow at the end of the lead, showing whereabouts she is. Then the quadrants, chronometers, and other nautical instruments are of superior construction, and their use better understood; and, lastly, compasses indicate more truly the direction in which the ship is sailing. Not that compasses themselves are at fault, but that—as papa explained to us—every compass of a ship is influenced by the iron on board the vessel. Now, before a ship sails she is swung round in all directions, so that the exact amount of the influence exercised by the iron is ascertained, and allowance made accordingly. There are also a large number of careful pilots on the look-out for ships coming up Channel. However, after a long course of thick weather and contrary winds, the most experienced master is unable to be certain of his true position; and, notwithstanding all the precautions taken, ships are sometimes carried out of their course, or caught on a lee shore, and driven on the rocks and wrecked. I have been speaking of sailing vessels. Steamers have an advantage; but even they, from the effects of currents and tides, sometimes get out of their course, or an accident happens to the machinery, or a gale comes on and drives them, in spite of all efforts of paddle or screw, on shore.

We kept inside the Race, which in stormy weather, with the wind meeting the tide, is excessively dangerous. The seas rise up as if some power is moving the water from beneath, and letting it suddenly fall down again. When it thus falls down on the deck of a small vessel, all steerage-way being lost, she is drifted along, utterly helpless, by the tide, and if heavily laden, possibly sent to the bottom. Vessels, however, when passing the Bill of Portland, keep outside the Race, or, when the wind is off the land, close to the shore, as we were doing. When they are caught by a current in a calm, they are drifted through it.

The men at the lighthouses have on several occasions seen a vessel suddenly disappear beneath the foaming water, which, leaping up, had carried her to the bottom exactly as if she had been dragged down by the tentacula of some marine monster.

Near the end of the Bill are two white towers, of different heights, one thirty-two and the other eighty-six feet high. They are the lighthouses, and in each of them is a bright fixed light. They stand over fifteen hundred feet apart, and both lights can be seen at a great distance,—the highest being visible four miles further off than the lowest.

Close to the summit of the cliffs stand two castles, overlooking the wide expanse of the Channel. One, surrounded by embattled walls, is Pennsylvania Castle. It was built by the grandson of the great William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania in America, and was so called after it. Its large windows show that it was not intended as a fortification, and, of course, a few shot from a modern gun would knock it to pieces. On the further side of a dip or valley, on the summit of a point of rock commanding a magnificent view along the coast, stands a far more ancient edifice, a tower in the shape of a pentagon, commonly said to have been built by William Rufus, and called Bow and Arrow Castle from the small circular apertures pierced in the walls for shooting arrows. There are large brackets above them, from which were suspended planks for the protection of the garrison when hurling their missiles at the foe.

We talked a good deal about the Quaker Penn, who, being the son of the renowned Admiral Sir William Penn, sacrificed all the advantages which his social position afforded him for the sake of the gospel, and with the hope of spreading its benign truths among the heathen of the New World, and of affording refuge to those driven forth from their native land by persecution.

On getting round the Bill of Portland we saw ahead the sandy cliff of Bridport, two hundred feet in height, with dark and rugged eminences beyond, the Golden Cap of brighter hue rising above them. We now stood across West Bay, towards Torquay. Finding the tide against us, we kept close enough in shore to be able to distinguish places with our glasses. The first harbour off which we came was Bridport, a town of considerable size. The port is formed by two piers, with a basin further in. A number of vessels for the Newfoundland fishers are fitted out here. About a couple of miles from the entrance is the Pollock Shoal; but our craft drew so little water that we might have passed over it without danger of striking.

To the west of Bridport we saw Charmouth, with its lovely wooded heights, and next to it Lyme Regis, which has a breakwater running out of it called the Cobb, within which there is shelter for vessels. Once upon a time it was a place of considerable trade. During Cromwell’s days the town was strongly Republican, and held out gallantly against Prince Maurice, who came to invest it, even the women putting on red cloaks and men’s hats, to look like soldiers. It was here also that the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth landed, to try and gain a kingdom, but ere long to lose his head.

Still further west, we came off the white and lofty cliff known as Beer Head. Near to it is Beer, a fishing-village possessing “an ancient and fish-like smell.” The inhabitants are primitive in their habits, and were at one time as daring smugglers as any on the coast. As the wind fell we dropped anchor, and pulled on shore, to visit a curious cavern, partly natural and partly a stone quarry. We carried with us all the lanterns we could muster from both vessels. We could not at first see the mouth, owing to a cloud produced by the different temperature of the outer air and that from within. The entrance is under a rocky archway, over which hung in rich festoons wreaths of green foliage. For some distance we had to grope our way through a narrow low passage, with the water dripping down on our heads. At last we found ourselves in a huge cavern supported by substantial pillars. In the more ancient part, from which stone was quarried by picks, the sides and roof were perfectly smooth. In one place there was a dome, with four well-formed arches, not unlike the interior of a cathedral crypt. From hence we were told the stone was hewn for the building of Exeter Cathedral. The modern portions of the cavern have been excavated by gunpowder, which has of course torn off huge masses without any regard to symmetry.

When we returned on board, Paul Truck told us that in days of yore a smuggler bold—Jack Rattenbury by name—took possession of the cavern, in which to store his goods after he had safely landed them from his lugger. For some time he carried on his trade undiscovered, for, being a cautious man, he dug a vault, in which his cargoes of brandy and bales of lace and silks were concealed, covering the floor over again with heaps of stone. The Revenue officers, however, at length got scent of Jack’s doings, and came in strong force, hoping to capture him and take possession of his property. But he had received timely notice, and nothing could be found within the cavern.

Of course they did not fail to pay many a subsequent visit. Once more Jack—hearing that they were coming when his vault was full of goods, and that they had an inkling of the true state of the case—managed to carry off a considerable portion. The remainder fell into their hands as the reward of their perseverance. Shortly afterwards Jack himself was captured by the Revenue officers, who got possession of all his contraband goods. In the larder of his house was a fat goose, which they were anxious to possess, in order to have a feast to commemorate their success, but the goose not being contraband, they dared not take possession of it, so they offered to purchase the bird at a large price. Jack and his wife, however, were firm. Nothing would induce them to sell the goose, though money might be useful to Jack, who was to be carried off to prison; and the officers were fain to be content with the bread and cheese and cider with which he supplied them. Jack used to tell the story with great glee, observing that the goose was well stuffed with point lace, every yard of which was worth ten times as much as the bird.

The smuggler sometimes turned the tables on his pursuers. A daring Revenue officer having suddenly come upon him, Jack and his companions seized the unfortunate man, and kept him fast bound until they had removed all their merchandise. Though supposed to be unusually successful, and looked upon as the prince of smugglers in those parts, Jack did not manage to save money, and ultimately died a poor man. Papa said that such a clever, ingenious fellow must have made his fortune in any honest business.

We were becalmed off Sidmouth while attempting to reach Exmouth, at the mouth of the river Exe, some way up which stands the large town of Exeter. Though some distance from the shore, we could hear plainly the rumble of the trains as they passed along the railway, the water being a great conductor of sound. We had a lantern with a bright light hanging from the forestay, to show our position to any passing steamer which might otherwise have run us down. This was the only danger to be apprehended, for no sailing vessel could have come near us, and at the distance we were from the land there was no risk of being drifted on the rocks.

Uncle Tom hailed us, and we went on board the Dolphin to supper. Of course we heard many anecdotes about that part of the country. Uncle Tom, who had spent some time at Sidmouth, described it to us. The surrounding scenery is highly picturesque. It was while residing here, for the sake of his health, that the Duke of Kent died. In the same house the Queen spent much of her childhood.

At a village near Beer, where the women are employed in manufacturing lace, Her Majesty’s wedding dress was made. The country people throughout the district are employed in the manufacture of lace.

On the shore hereabouts, all sorts of marine curiosities can be picked up, such as petrified wood, madrepores, jaspers, agates, and a variety of shells.

Near Sidmouth is a very interesting house, which is thrown open occasionally to public view by the proprietor. In the garden are glass houses, in which oranges, vines, pines, and the most beautiful orchids grow, with pineries, and ferneries, and formerly there were aviaries, and a menagerie of curious animals, and in the cottage are preserved a number of rare things.

Further inland is Budleigh Salterton, so named after its buddle, or stream, which running through the village makes its way slowly down to the sea. Near here is a homestead called Hayes Barton, at which Sir Walter Raleigh was born. The house remains much as it was in his days, and in the parlour the wide hearth is still to be seen at which he used to sit and smoke his pipe. It was here that the servant, coming in—never having before seen his master so employed—threw a tankard of water over Sir Walter, fancying that he was on fire.

As we returned on board the Lively, we observed two white fixed lights, which marked the entrance to Teignmouth Harbour, showing us clearly our position.

When the morning broke we were still off the ruddy cliffs which line the shore. A person first seeing this part of the coast would consider that Albion was a misnomer for England, as no walls of white chalk are to be seen rising from the blue ocean. As far as the eye can reach, various tints of red prevail.

A light breeze carried us into Babbicombe Bay, and we were again becalmed off some curiously-shaped rocks, which lie off a point called Bob’s Nose. It was rather tantalising not to be able to get in to see more of the scenery of that most picturesque bay. We could, however, distinguish the houses among the rich groves on the top of the cliffs, in which were openings, with pretty cottages perched on projecting ledges, while others were built close down to the water. Two yachts were at anchor in the bay, which we agreed must be a capital yachting place, as a vessel can get in or out at all times, and it is sheltered from every wind except from the east. We had our mackerel lines out whenever the vessel was moving through the water. Though, as before, we at first baited with pieces of white linen, yet as soon as a mackerel was caught, we put a bit of it on to our hooks, at which its relatives eagerly bit. The ends of the lines were fastened either to the backstay or the taffrail, allowing them to pass over our finger, so that the moment a mackerel took the bait we could feel it. We then hauled in, the fish appearing at the surface skipping and jumping like a mass of silver. We caught a dozen fine fish before breakfast, and they were immediately frizzing away on the fire. As we could not move along, we amused ourselves with our spy-glasses, observing what was going forward on shore.

While thus employed a party came off in a couple of boats to picnic on one of the green islands off Bob’s Nose. The first thing most of the people did, as soon as they had deposited their baskets on a comparatively level space at the bottom, was to try and climb up to the summit, which is of considerable height. The sides are steep, and present a surface of soft green grass. We saw one fat old lady, evidently ambitious of vying with her younger companions, making an attempt to reach the top with the aid of a boatman and one of the gentlemen of the party. Up she went some distance, when she stopped, though not for long, and panted for breath; then on again she proceeded, though not so quickly. But the task was clearly beyond her power. Again and again she stopped. In vain her two supporters togged. We saw her making gestures, as if imploring to be let alone. At length down she plumped on the turf, signing to her friends to leave her. For some time she appeared to be tolerably comfortable, though we saw her fanning herself, and puffing and blowing, while her companions quickly went on and joined the rest of the party, who had gained the summit. It would have been prudent in her to remain quiet, but unwisely she moved onwards.

“She’s gathering way!” exclaimed Uncle Tom; and, sure enough, down she began to slide, at first very slowly, but as an impetus was gained, she went faster and faster. In vain she screamed for help. The soft grass afforded no hold to the frantic grasps she made at it. Her cries reached us. Her companions must have been very hard of hearing, for it was not until she had slid two-thirds of the way down that any of them seemed to attend to her, and then the whole party set off rushing down the hill-side, at the bottom of which they stood ready to receive her. Though much frightened, she was not, I think, much hurt.

Tom and Jack came on board to luncheon, and we agreed to row in to Torquay, and to allow the yachts to follow; but just as we were shoving off a breeze sprang up, so we jumped on board again, and, rounding Bob’s Nose, we were able with a few tacks to make our way into the harbour. We brought-up in the inner harbour, but the Dolphin remained at anchor outside.

Torquay is one of the prettiest seaside places in England. From the water we observed the houses on the hill-sides, with beautiful villas scattered about in all directions amid groves of green trees. The shore along the north side of the bay is indented by numerous little bays called coves; the water is deep and clear, so that they are much frequented by bathers. One is appropriated to ladies, another to gentlemen. At the end of the last century Torquay consisted only of a few fishermen’s cottages scattered about the beach.

We took an interesting walk on shore, which we greatly enjoyed. We visited a curious natural cavern called Kent’s Cavern. The scenery round the entrance is thickly-wooded and wild in the extreme, probably just as it has been for centuries. We were told that it runs for upwards of six hundred feet into the bowels of the earth, and has numerous branches and ramifications. We had brought a guide and lights with us, so that we could explore it without risk. We could see, imbedded in the rock, bones of animals which at some remote period made it their abode; and naturalists, who dig them out, say that they belong to tribes which are only found in tropical climates. Our guide showed us that there are three distinct layers or floors of earth in the cavern. In the topmost are found beads and various instruments manufactured by the Saxons, as well as the bones of foxes and badgers. In the next strata are the bones of elephants, of rhinoceroses, of lions and hyenas, of wolves and elks. In the third layer are the bones of bears, which must have been of great size, as also of a nondescript animal said to be between a lion and a bear. Curiously enough, judging from the remains found in them, the branches on one side indicate the favourite habitation of elephants, while on the other, packs of wolves were in the habit of taking up their abode. Probably the more savage beasts of prey dragged in the carcases of the creatures they had killed; and they in their turn dying, left their bones mingled with the others. We were told that flint knives were found along with the bones of animals which for ages have become extinct, pointing to a period when the country must have been inhabited by races of men as uncivilised as the South Sea Islanders. Possibly it might have been at a period antecedent to the flood, when our island was joined to the Continent.

The next morning we got under weigh, and stood across to Brixham, on the south side of Torbay. There is a wide beach all the way along the whole sweep of the bay, except near Brixham, where the cliffs again rise, and extend to the southern point called Bury Head. Brixham is one of the largest fishing-villages on the coast. The inhabitants own a number of vessels. At few places is a greater quantity of shells to be picked up of all descriptions, of which we collected a number in a few minutes, when we pulled ashore. Some of the shells were four or five inches long. The occupant has the power of working itself rapidly into the soft sand, to get out of harm’s way. We saw some, but they suddenly popped down, and were far out of our reach when we attempted to dig them up.

Brixham will over be memorable as the place where the Prince of Orange landed. We looked at the stone on which he placed his foot when he first stepped on shore. It was a glorious day for liberty when his fleet of seventy ships, carrying fourteen thousand men, stood in the bay. The inhabitants were inclined to look askance at the invaders when they landed, recollecting the horrors they had endured at the hands of Judge Jeffreys after the death of Monmouth; but when they saw the banner of the prince unfurled, bearing the inscription of “God and the Protestant religion,” and he addressed them, saying, with a Dutch accent, “Mein people, mein goot people! Be not afraid! I am come for your goot, and for all your goots;” and when they saw the gallant array by which he was surrounded, their courage revived, and loud acclamations rent the air. It was the dawn of a new era; and England owes a deep debt of gratitude to the memory of the gallant prince by whose means our civil and religious liberties have been secured on a basis which can never be undermined unless by our own folly and supineness, although treacherous enemies within are insidiously making the attempt.

Papa made these remarks, and we all heartily agreed with him. Torbay affords excellent anchorage except when the wind is to the east, towards which direction it is perfectly open; and fearful accidents have occurred when gales have suddenly sprung up from that quarter. Some years ago upwards of sixty vessels—some of large size—had stood into the bay during a strong westerly wind. During the night it suddenly veered round to the east, and blew a tremendous gale, the rain pouring in torrents. Having brought-up close to one another, they were unable to beat out, and some breaking loose drove against others. One large vessel drove against the pier with a tremendous crash, which awakened the inhabitants from their slumbers. The brave fishermen—knowing what had occurred—rushed out to render assistance, and were the means of saving many of the crew. A little boy was thrown by a seaman from the ship, and caught in the arms of a fisherman. Several vessels went down at their anchors, others were cast on shore. When morning broke many others were seen to founder with all hands, there being no possibility of rendering their crews any assistance. The whole shore was strewn with dead bodies thrown up by the foaming seas.

Chapter Four.

the south coast—continued.

At an early hour the next morning, the Dolphin and we got under weigh, with a northerly breeze, and rounding Berry Head stood for Froward Point, at the eastern side of Dartmouth Harbour. We had to keep at a distance from it, to avoid a reef of rocks which runs off that part of the coast. The entrance of Dartmouth Harbour is picturesque, with high rocks on both sides. It is, or rather once was, guarded by a castle on either hand. That on Dartmouth is still held as a military post. The castle on the King’s Wear side is now fitted up as a private residence. In the days of Edward the Fourth the men of Dartmouth received thirty pounds a year on condition of their building a mighty defensive tower, and extending a long chain to reach across to King’s Wear. Running up the Dart, we came to an anchor opposite the town, which stands on a level space. Few rivers in England have so picturesque an entrance as the Dart, the scenery of which, though less bold as we proceeded higher up, is very pretty.

From the Dart sailed the fleet of Coeur de Lion, when he led the Crusaders to the Holy Land. In this neighbourhood also was born John Davis, the Arctic explorer, whose name is given to the strait at the entrance of Baffin’s Bay, which he discovered when on his expedition in his two small vessels, the Sunshine and the Moonshine,—the one of fifty tons, and the other of thirty-five tons burden, carrying respectively twenty-three and nineteen men.

A few miles up the Dart another Arctic navigator—Sir Humphrey Gilbert—was born. Here also Sir Walter Raleigh resided; and from the Dart he led forth those expeditions against the Spaniards, in his ship the Roebuck, in which the Madre de Dios and other argosies laden with treasure, rich spices, and jewels rewarded the valour of his followers.

The most interesting person connected with Dartmouth of late years is Newcomen, the inventor of the steam engine. He carried on business in the town as an ironmonger. All honour is due to his memory, although others perfected the work which he commenced.

Dartmouth contains many picturesque, highly ornamented old houses, although a large number have been pulled down to make room for modern residences. Amongst the most interesting of the former is the curious old Butter Row. Some little way up the harbour, on the west side, is King’s Wear, where the Dart Yacht Club have their headquarters. Near the mouth of the harbour is the Britannia school and training-ship for Royal Naval Cadets. Here they remain until they have attained a sufficient knowledge of navigation and seamanship to become midshipmen, and make themselves really useful. Their regular schooling goes on all the time. Officers in the navy are far more highly educated than they used to be in days of yore, when a knowledge of navigation and seamanship was all that was required.

Papa knew one of the officers, so we went on board the ship. It is fitted up with a large school-room, class-rooms, and dormitories. She has only the few guns necessary for exercising. Though once a line-of-battle ship—being built of wood—she would be unable to compete with ironclads, and of course her fighting days are over.

The wind being fair, we stood out of the Dart in the afternoon, and steered for the Start. At the end of the Start is a lofty tower. It was visible at sunset, when the wind fell almost calm. The tide was favourable, however, and we made some way. In a short time a brilliant revolving light flashed across the waters. It can be seen nineteen miles off, the tower being two hundred and four feet above high-water. In the tower is a bell, which is rung during fogs, to warn ships from approaching too near. The light is a dioptric or lens-light of the first order. The apparatus consists of a central powerful lamp; round this is placed an arrangement of glass, so formed as to refract these beams into parallel rays in the required directions.

Lenses were employed in lighthouses at a very early period. When they were first made they were used for burning instruments, by collecting the rays of the sun. It was seen, however, that they would equally collect the rays of a lamp. They have of late years been very greatly improved by a celebrated glass manufacturer. Great indeed has been the improvement in lighthouses. Once upon a time they were simply high towers, which had on their summits open fireplaces, in which either wood or coal fires were burned. They were often unserviceable at the very time their services were most required. During a heavy gale, for instance, when the wind was blowing towards the land, it drove the flames of an open fire away from the direction in which they were most wanted to be seen. Sometimes, in fog or rain, the glare of the fire was visible by refraction in the atmosphere, although the fire itself could not be seen. Such was the tower of the North Foreland. This lighthouse existed in 1636, and merely had a large glass lantern fixed on the top of a timber erection, which, however, was burnt in 1683. Towards the end of the same century a portion of the present structure was raised, having an iron grate on the summit. It being found difficult to keep a proper flame in windy or rainy weather, about 1782 it was covered in with a roof and large sash windows, and a coal fire was kept alight by means of enormous bellows, which the attendants worked throughout the night.

This very primitive means of maintaining a light was exchanged in 1790 for a lantern, with lamps and other apparatus. The Eddystone lighthouse was from the first illuminated by means of a chandelier, containing twenty-four wax candles, five of which weighed two pounds. The Liverpool lighthouses had oil lamps, with rude reflectors. Down to the year 1823 coal fires were used in several lighthouses. Really good lights have come into universal use only during the last few years; and it is said that on the west coast of Sweden a coal fire is still used at an important lighthouse.

The Argand lamp is generally employed in lighthouses. It was the greatest advance in artificial lighting until the introduction of gas. It was discovered by Monsieur Argand, a citizen of Geneva. He was trying experiments with a common lamp he had invented. A younger brother describes its accidental discovery. He says: “My brother had long been trying to bring his lamp to perfection. The neck of a broken flask was lying on the chimney-piece. I happened to reach across the table, and to place it over the circular flame of the lamp. Immediately it rose with brilliancy. My brother started from his seat in ecstasy, rushed upon me in a transport of joy, and embraced me with rapture.” Thus was the new form of lamp discovered.

Various forms of cylindrical wick lamps are employed for illuminating lighthouses. For reflectors the wick is nearly an inch in diameter. For the lens-light a more powerful and complicated lamp is used. The oil is made to flow into the burners by various means. The most simple is by placing the reservoir higher than the lamp, the oil thus flowing by its own gravity to the level required. Mineral oil is now generally used, as being superior to rape-seed or sperm oil. Olive oil is used in some foreign lighthouses; and at the Cape of Good Hope oil produced from the tails of Cape sheep is employed. It is said to be far superior to all other oils for its brilliancy in burning.

Attempts have been made to introduce the limelight, that being of far greater brilliancy than any other. We read of a curious experiment connected with it. A limelight was placed on the summit of a hill, called Slievesnaught, in Ireland, which was always enveloped in haze by day. Between it and the observing station was a church tower, twelve miles distant, and on this station an ordinary reflector was fixed, while the hill itself was seventy miles distant. Notwithstanding the great difference in the distances, the limelight was apparently much nearer and brighter than the light twelve miles off.

Great as are the difficulties of keeping up a continuous flame, they have been almost overcome by an arrangement introduced by Mr Renton, which preserves the cylinder of lime from cracking. Gas has lately been introduced in the lighthouse at Hartlepool. Hopes were entertained that electric lights might be introduced, but the great difficulty is to maintain an equable force, as the battery gradually declines in power. There are also other difficulties to be mastered. The most successful experiments have been carried on in the South Foreland lighthouse, by an arrangement of powerful magnets. The current thus produced passing through the carbon pillars, produces a splendid light, entirely eclipsing all other modes of illumination. Years ago a limelight was so arranged as to be used on board ship for illuminating objects at a great distance. By its means, an intended attack of torpedo vessels could be detected. It was employed also in the Abyssinian expedition, for illuminating the advance camp when there was a possibility of it being attacked by Theodore’s troops. Now, however, electric lights are used on board all the first-class men-of-war, incandescent lamps being fitted for internal use, and arc lights for signalling and searching purposes.

All this information we obtained while slowly gliding by the Start. The Start light, from its height and brilliancy, can be seen much further off than the Eddystone light, which we sighted just before morning. A head wind springing up, and the tide being against us, we ran back past Bolt Head into Salcombe Range. The sun had not risen as we entered the harbour. The scenery of the entrance is wild and romantic. High and rugged rocks appeared above our mast-head. We brought-up on the eastern side of the harbour. As soon as the anchor was down we piped to breakfast.

Just beneath Bolt Head we observed the ruins of an old castle, once a stronghold of importance, which held out bravely for the Royalists under the governor, Sir Edward Fortescue. For four months he and his gallant followers withstood the numberless cannon-shot poured in from the heights above, and at length only yielded on honourable terms to the leader of the Parliamentary forces, who allowed them to walk out with their arms and colours flying.

Uncle Tom and Jack came on board to breakfast, and we spent a jolly morning, in spite of the pouring rain. I could never fancy taking a cruise alone in a yacht, especially without a crew, as two or three gentlemen have done; but nothing is more pleasant than sailing in company with another yacht, with a merry party on board each vessel, and exchanging visits, sometimes “mealing”—as Uncle Tom called it—on board the one, sometimes on board the other, as we always did when in harbour. At sea this, of course, could not be done, except in calm weather. Although Salcombe Range is rugged and wild in the extreme at its mouth, there are some beautiful country houses higher up the harbour; one belongs to the Earl of Devon, and another to Lord Kinsale. So genial is the climate, that myrtles, magnolias, oleanders, and aloes grow in profusion, and fill the air with their fragrance. Vines and all sorts of fruit-trees also flourish—the apple-tree especially yielding a rich crop. We agreed that for a winter residence there could not be a more delightful spot in England.

The following evening, the weather clearing, we made sail, the Dolphin leading. As we stood out, we passed a fine large schooner—a fruit vessel, I believe—which had put in here. Paul Truck hailed her as we passed slowly by, and he found that he knew her master, who said that she had put in to land her owner and his family, and that she was bound up the Straits of Gibraltar. The very next night she was driven on shore near the Lizard—either on the Stags or some other rocks—and was dashed to pieces, all hands perishing.

The wind, though light, was sufficiently to the southward to enable us to stand for Plymouth; but we kept close-hauled, that we might have a good offing, should the wind shift to the westward, when it would be in our teeth. Darkness was creeping over the face of the water. The Dolphin was about two cables length ahead of us. We had just gone down to tea, and Oliver was pouring out a cup for papa, when we were startled by a loud shout uttered by Truck:

“A man overboard from the Dolphin!”

Oliver, in his agitation, let go the teapot, which was capsized. We all rushed on deck, papa leading, and Oliver butting me with his head behind.

“Where is he?” asked papa, running forward to look out. “Keep her as she goes,” he shouted.

The Dolphin was in stays, coming about, an operation she took some time to perform. It was evident we should be up to the spot where the man—whoever he was—had fallen into the water before she could reach it. We peered through the gloom, but could perceive nothing amid the leaden seas flecked over with snowy foam.

“Stand by to lower the boat; trice up the main tack!” cried papa.

“I see him, sir!” cried Ned and Ben, in one voice, pointing to a black spot which appeared now in the hollow of the sea, now with the foam curling round it.

“If it’s a man, he’s swimming well,” cried papa.

“I do believe it’s Jack!” exclaimed Oliver.

“Haul up the foresail, down with the helm, let fly the jib sheet!” shouted papa.

At that moment a cry reached our ears, “Help! help!” The cutter was now hove-to. While papa had been giving his orders he had been throwing off his coat and waistcoat. No sooner did he hear Jack’s voice than overboard he sprang, striking out towards our cousin, who was on the point of sinking, being seized with cramp. He was a good swimmer, and but for this might have kept up until he had reached the Lively, for the Dolphin was much further off from him than we were. We saw papa making his way towards Jack. I felt inclined to jump overboard; but Truck sang out to Oliver and me to assist in getting the boat in the water, when the two men, Ned and Ben, jumped into her.

“Pull away in the wake of the captain,” shouted Truck; “he’ll hand Master Jack to you when he gets hold of him. Take care you don’t capsize the boat. The captain will look after himself; but listen, and do as he tells you.”

There was a good deal of sea on, and the boat tossed about fearfully. There seemed a great risk of her bows striking Jack, had the men attempted to pull directly towards him. They soon overtook papa, but wisely kept at an oar’s length on one side of him. My heart beat as if it would jump into my throat. It seemed to me that at any moment papa himself might sink. I could barely distinguish Jack’s head, and sometimes I thought it was only a lump of sea-weed. He had prudently not attempted to swim, but thrown himself on his back. The Dolphin’s boat was by this time in the water, and was also making its way towards the spot; but papa was very much nearer. I almost shouted with joy when I saw that he had got hold of Jack, and was keeping his head, which I could now more clearly distinguish, above the white foam.

“Pull round, lads,” I heard him shout, “and back in towards me!”

The men obeyed the order.

“Now, one of you come aft, and catch hold of the boy.”

With intense relief we saw Jack hauled on board over the stern; but papa was still in the water. For a moment I thought of sharks, remembering how often those horrible monsters had carried off people just about to get into a boat. Then I recollected that they were seldom if ever seen so far north. Papa just held on to the stern until Jack had been carried by Ben a little way forward, and then we saw him climb in, Ben just lending him a hand, which was all he required. Doubly thankful we were when we saw him also safe in the stern-sheets.

“Praise God!” exclaimed old Truck. “If the captain had gone it would have broken my heart.”

The boat, instead of returning to us, pulled on to the Dolphin, and there was just light sufficient for us to see Jack lifted on board, both vessels remaining hove-to. Presently the Dolphin’s boat came alongside with a message from papa, desiring us to go back in her. We jumped in at once, and were quickly on board. Papa had gone below to change his wet clothes, when we found that Jack had been placed on a mattress on deck, wrapped up in a blanket. Uncle Tom was kneeling by his side, exposing his face and chest to the breeze, while one of the men stood by with a lantern. Jack was as pale as death—indeed, as we watched him with intense grief, he appeared to be dead.

“He’s got too much water in his throat,” said the captain of the Dolphin; “better place him on his face, and let it run out.”

This was done, with our assistance, and Uncle Tom placed one of Jack’s wrists under his forehead; but still he showed no sign of life. While we were attempting thus to restore him, papa came on deck. He at once placed Jack on his back, and putting a cloak under his shoulders, slightly raised his chest, while he told me to hold his feet covered up in the blanket. He then wiped his mouth and nostrils, and drew his tongue out, keeping it projecting beyond the lips. By slightly raising the lower jaw the tongue was held in the required position by his teeth. He then raised his arms upwards by the sides of his head, and kept them steadily but gently stretched out, moving them forwards for a few moments. He then turned them down, and pressed them gently and firmly for the same period of time against the sides of the chest. He continued repeating these movements alternately about fifteen times in a minute. By papa’s directions, we rubbed both his arms and his legs, from the feet and hands towards the heart; and another blanket having been heated at the galley, he was wrapped up in it. In the meantime, papa having called for a bucket of cold water, dashed it with considerable force over Jack’s face. How thankful we felt when, after this operation had twice been performed, we heard a slight sigh escape our cousin’s lips!

“Thank God, all is well!” exclaimed papa. “Cheer up, Tom; Jack is coming to.”

Again the patient sighed, and we observed that he was beginning to breathe. Papa placed his hand on Jack’s heart. “It beats faintly,” he said; “but the pulsations are becoming stronger and stronger. We may carry him below now without fear,” he added, in cheerful voice; “he will soon come round.”

Jack now cried out faintly, as if suffering from pain.

“That’s a good sign,” said papa.

All this time we had continued rubbing his feet and hands. Papa and Uncle Tom lifted him up, carried him below, and placed him in his berth, having completely dried his head, and wrapped him in a warm blanket. On this the steward brought some broth, which he had been warming up, and a few teaspoonfuls were poured down Jack’s throat.

Papa said he had adopted Doctor Sylvester’s mode of proceeding, which is that advocated by the Royal Humane Society. The advantages of it are that inspiration may be made to precede expiration. The expansion of the throat is artificially ensured. The patient is not likely to be injured by the manipulation, and the contents of the stomach cannot pass into the wind-pipe, while the tongue is prevented from obstructing inspiration. Both sides of the chest are thus equally inflated, and a larger amount of air is inspired than by other methods. Of course, where medical men with apparatus are at hand, other plans may be adopted; but papa said he had seen several persons treated as Jack had been, apparently much farther gone, but who yet had completely recovered.

We watched over our cousin for some time, when as both Uncle Tom and papa thought he was quite out of danger, we returned on board the cutter. How he had fallen into the sea no one could positively say, but we knew we should hear all about it on the following day.

The wind had greatly fallen, and the yacht had all this time remained hove-to. As soon as we had got on board, the boat was hoisted up. Papa shouted, “Let go the fore-sheet;” and the cutter moving through the water, the yacht quickly passed the Dolphin. She, however, immediately followed our example, and together we sailed on towards the brilliant light of the Eddystone. We watched it for some time, and at length turned in; but before getting into our berths we heartily thanked God that by His great mercy our poor cousin had been delivered from a terrible death. When we went on deck again, at early dawn, the Dolphin was astern of us. We hove-to, and allowing her to come up with us, enquired after Jack.

“He’s going on well, and is fast asleep,” was the answer. We were by this time near enough to the Eddystone lighthouse to distinguish its form and colour. At high-water, the rock on which it stands is covered to the depth of fourteen feet, so that it then literally rises out of the sea. Its predecessor was erected by Smeaton in 1759, about fourteen miles south of Plymouth Breakwater; but the rocks on which it was built were gradually undermined by the waves, and it had to be replaced by a new building on a firmer foundation.

We made but very little way during the night. The sky at this time had assumed a most extraordinary appearance. It appeared to be sprinkled over with flocks of wool of the most brilliant colours—red, yellow, green, pink and gold, indeed, all the hues of the rainbow, with scarcely any blue spaces.

“What a magnificent day we shall have!” I exclaimed.

“I’m not so sure of that, sir,” answered Truck. “If I mistake not, before we get into Plymouth Sound we shall have a sneeze from the south-west. Fortunately we’ve got a harbour under our lee. We won’t rouse up the captain, though, because he is tired after his swim and his anxiety about Master Jack, but I’ll take leave to shorten sail in good time.”

“Four reefs down in the mainsail, lads,” he sang out. “Be smart about it. Get out the storm jib. In with the big jib.”

“Before many minutes are over the gale will be down upon us!” Paul shouted out to the Dolphin, making signs to show what he expected. We saw her immediately afterwards shortening sail. Scarcely had we set the storm jib than the wind struck it, and away we flew over the now fast-rising seas. In a few seconds the wind was howling and shrieking, and the whole ocean was covered with foam.

A short distance off, on the starboard quarter, was the Dolphin. In an instant, as the squall struck her, she heeled over until the water rushed through the lee scuppers; but the foresail was speedily brailed up, and under a storm jib and closely-reefed mainsail she staggered on, keeping about the same distance from us as at first. Afar off were numberless vessels standing for the harbour; some perhaps had sailed the previous evening, others were standing up Channel, or had previously been making for Plymouth. We dashed on over the now foaming billows. The number of vessels appeared to increase as they approached either the east or the west end of the breakwater: we kept to the former entrance. Some of the outward-bound vessels ran back into Cawsand Bay, on the west side of the harbour, just abreast of the end of the breakwater on which the lighthouse stands. Every moment the wind increased, until it blew a tremendous gale; and thankful we were when we had passed the Newstone and Shagstone, two dangerous rocks at the eastern entrance of the Sound, and had got safe inside the breakwater. This is about a mile up the Sound, running east and west, the two ends inclining to the northward.

We passed by so quickly that we had but little time to examine it; but we could see what a magnificent structure it was, being composed entirely of huge masses of granite. Papa told us that it was commenced in 1812, “a few years before he was born.” In the first instance enormous blocks of stone were thrown down, such as the tides could not move, until the foundation was formed in the required shape, and nearly a mile in length. When this artificial reef rose almost on a level with the water, after it had had time to settle, blocks of hewn stone were cemented on to it, so that it now has the appearance of a long broad wall with a lighthouse at the western end.

It has stood so many severe gales that there is no probability of its giving way, unless some unexpected movement of the ground below should occur. Until the Portland Breakwater was built, that at Plymouth was considered the finest structure of the sort in the world. In those days engineering skill had not advanced as far as it has at present. The stones were conveyed from the quarries in boats, so contrived that they could be dropped through the bottom, over the spot where it was desired to place them. The whole cost of the work was a million and a half of money, although a third less in length than the Portland Breakwater. Just inside this ocean barrier several large ships were at anchor, perfectly secure from the gale raging outside it; but we continued our course up the Sound, with the tack triced up and the peak dropped, and even then we had as much sail as we could stagger under. We were very glad after rounding the Cobbler Rock to bring up in Catwater, which is the eastern harbour of Plymouth. Passing beneath the citadel, which completely commands the Sound, as soon as we had stowed sails, we went on board the Dolphin. We found our cousin sitting up in bed.

“How are you, Jack?” I asked.

“Somewhat weak, and very queer,” he answered. “I want to thank you, Uncle Westerton, for saving me; for if you hadn’t come when you did, I believe that I should have gone to the bottom.”

“Don’t talk about it, Jack,” said papa; “you are not the first fellow—I’m thankful to say—I’ve picked out of the water; and for your father’s sake, as well as your own, we should have been sorry to lose you. Praise God for His mercy that you are still alive, and are able to serve Him in the way He desires!”

“What did it feel like when you were drowning?” asked Oliver; “I’ve heard say that the sensation is very pleasant.”

“I can’t say that I found it so, and I doubt if anybody else does. All I remember is that I felt in a horrible fright, and that the water came rushing into my mouth much faster than I liked. I had a terrible pain in one of my legs, which prevented me from swimming a stroke; then I heard a loud roaring noise, while all seemed confusion, except that I felt a most disagreeable choking sensation. I really do not know what else happened; but I would advise you not to follow my example if you can help it.”

“But I say, Jack, how did you manage to tumble into the water?” inquired Oliver.

“That’s a puzzle to me,” answered Jack. “I believe that I had jumped up on the taffrail when the vessel gave a kick, and over I went. I must have sunk, I think, before I knew where I was; and when I came to the surface I instinctively struck out towards the Lively, for I could not see the schooner, as my eyes happened to be turned away from her. I should have been alongside you in a few minutes, had not that dreadful cramp come on. Beyond that I really don’t know much more.”

After Jack had had his breakfast he declared that he was well enough to go on shore; but the rain coming down in torrents we remained on board the Dolphin, and amused ourselves by forming plans for the next day, should it clear up. I should have said that we had brought-up among an enormous number of coasters and small trading vessels, as Catwater is the mercantile harbour of Plymouth; while yachts generally betake themselves to Hamoaze, at the mouth of the Tamar, on the west side of Devonport.

All day long the rain continued; but I got on board the cutter, and spent some time in writing up my journal. It was very provoking to be kept prisoners; but such is often the fate of yachtsmen. We might, to be sure, have gone on shore in our waterproofs and south-westers; but we agreed that there would be no fun in paddling about a strange place after the fashion of young ducks; so summoning all the patience we could muster, we made ourselves as happy as we could on board. We had reason to be thankful that we had got into a snug harbour. Vessels were continually arriving with spars carried away and otherwise damaged, and during the night it blew a perfect hurricane.

Before the breakwater was built the sea used to come rolling right up the Sound, and vessels have even been wrecked close under Plymouth, and the town itself often suffered. Even as it was, we could not get across to Drake’s Island, on which a fort is situated guarding the entrance to the Tamar. In the afternoon of the next day the weather became bright and beautiful, and we walked through Plymouth to Devonport, which contains the dockyard, and is surrounded by fortifications. We visited the dockyard, which is very similar to that of Portsmouth. We were much interested in going into the rope manufactories, where ropes and hempen cables are spun in rooms twelve hundred feet long. Several ships were building on the slips, and saw-mills and forges were busily at work. We afterwards went to Stonehouse, where the Royal William Victualling Establishment is situated. It covers fourteen acres; and here beer is brewed, wheat is ground, biscuits baked, and cattle and pigs are turned into beef and pickled pork.

Next day was Sunday, when we went to church.

On Monday morning we pulled in the Dolphin’s boat across to Mount Edgecumbe, having a good view of the south side of Plymouth and the green slopes of the Hoe, which extend down to the water’s edge on the west of the citadel.

From Mount Edgecumbe the noble owner of the estate takes his title. It is indeed a beautiful spot, the hill-side facing the water covered with trees, and walks cut amid them. From the hills at the north end we enjoyed beautiful views up the Hamoaze, and looked down into Mill Bay, and watched the fierce tide as the ebb made, rushing out of the Tamar, past the Devil’s Point, having a good view also over the whole shore, thickly sprinkled with houses and fortifications.

The inhabitants of few towns in England have a finer place of recreation than the Hoe affords on a summer’s evening, where the people of Plymouth can walk up and down enjoying the view of its picturesque shores, and at the same time getting the sea-breeze, which blows up the Sound.

We were just on the point of leaving Mount Edgecumbe when we saw several people ahead of us; and Oliver, who was in front, turned round and said, “I do believe there’s Dick Pepper;” and running on he gave him a slap on the shoulder, when we saw that it was really Dick himself.

Dick stopped till I got up to him.

“I am staying with an old uncle and aunt at Plymouth; but they don’t know what to do with me, and, to say the truth, I don’t know what to do with myself,” he said.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if you could come with us?” exclaimed Oliver.

“That it would!” answered Dick; “and I’m sure Aunt Deborah will be delighted to get rid of me.”

We introduced him as our schoolfellow to papa, who, guessing what was in our minds, invited him to come and sail with us, as he knew we should like it.

Dick replied that if his uncle and aunt would let him he would come fast enough; and as they were strolling on before, we three ran after them. Dick told them of the invitation he had received. I guessed by the faces of the old lady and gentleman that they would not refuse. I was right; and it was at once settled that Dick should return home and pack up a few traps, and come on board that very evening.

Dropping a little way behind, we were joined by Jack, when we set up a shout, which somewhat astonished Aunt Deborah and her husband. We saw the latter, who was somewhat deaf, enquiring what the noise was about. When Dick joined them he got a scolding for being so improperly hilarious.

While he and his relatives returned across the ferry to Stonehouse, we went to see the steam floating bridge, similar to that used between Portsmouth and Gosport. We much wished that we had had time to pull up the Tamar, the scenery of which is highly picturesque. Small steamboats run up it a considerable distance, and carry excursionists. We went some distance up, to see the beautiful iron bridge which spans it, as also to have a look at the Oreston quarries, from which the material for forming the breakwater was principally procured.

On getting back to Catwater we found Dick and his traps waiting for us, so we quickly transferred him and them on board the Lively; while Oliver took up his quarters, by Uncle Tom’s invitation, on board the Dolphin. As we had still daylight, and the tide suited, we got up our anchors and sailed down the Sound, steering for the western entrance, when we saw a white light burst forth from the lighthouse at the end of the breakwater.

“Why, I thought it was a red light,” I observed.

“So it is when turned seaward; but by having a white light looking up the harbour, vessels know when they are well inside,” answered papa.

As we ran out we passed a large fleet of fishing-boats also coming out of Cawsand Bay, which, before the breakwater was built, was the most secure anchorage during south-westerly gales. These boats were engaged in the whiting fishery. The fish are not only sold in Plymouth and the neighbouring towns, but are sent up in large quantities to the London market.

Returning on board, we stood northward, that we might obtain a view of the coast as we sailed along. Dick and I remained on deck all the morning. At last we sighted Looe, the first town we had seen on the Cornish coast. Looe stands at the mouth of a valley, at the bottom of which runs a stream. It consists of East and West Looe—romantic foreign-looking places. The houses are grouped together irregularly, with whitewashed walls, stairs outside, green roofs and grey gables, with myrtles, geraniums, and other plants of a warm climate flourishing in their midst. West Looe is inhabited chiefly by fishermen, their humble cottages being scattered about without any respect to order. However, we obtained but a distant view of it.

As the wind freshened up a little we stood on towards Fowey, passing Looe Island and Talland Point. Fowey is a place of far more importance than Looe, although much of its ancient glory has departed. The town rises above the quay, and consists of a number of narrow, crooked streets; and it has a quiet old market-house, a fine tower, and a building called the Place House. The town owes much to a patriotic gentleman, Joseph Treffry, by whose means it has of late years been greatly improved.

Once upon a time, when Liverpool was a mere fishing-village, Fowey sent forth a large fleet to aid King Edward—no less than forty-seven ships, with seven hundred and seventy mariners, swelled the king’s fleet. Often, too, the men of Fowey beat back their French invaders; indeed, the Place House was built as a fortress.

On going out of Fowey we passed a number of coasters loaded with china clay, which is found in large quantities near this town. Arsenic also is found in many of the Cornish mines. Persons employed in obtaining it suffer greatly from its poisonous fumes.

The flashing light of Saint Anthony’s Point burst forth when we were about three miles from the entrance of Falmouth Harbour, and enabled us, with the assistance of the green fixed light on the breakwater, to take up a safe berth inside. We had heard much of the beauty of Falmouth, and expected next morning to be delighted with its appearance.

“Well, I really think I shall make a very good sailor,” said Dick, as we sat at supper, while the vessel lay at anchor in the calm harbour. “I feel as well as I ever did in my life.”

“You must take care not to pitch head foremost overboard, as you were nearly doing this morning,” observed Jack; “you might not be as fortunate as I was—to be picked up again.”

“Why, I forgot that there was the water between you and me; and when you shouted out I was going to run up and shake hands,” was the answer.

The fact was that Dick, while we were near the Dolphin, was as nearly as possible walking overboard, with the intention of getting on her deck, and would have done so had not Truck hauled him back. Dick had no notion of which was the stem and which the stern of the vessel, or how the wind acted on the sails; nor could he make out why we tacked; and several times he asked how it was that we did not sail directly towards the point to which we wished to go.

“I say, what do you call that stick in the middle of the boat?” he asked, after he had been on board some hours; “and that other one running out at one end; and why has your uncle’s vessel got two sticks and you only one; if one is enough, why should he have two?”

I explained that our vessel was a cutter, and that the Dolphin was a schooner, and that the stick running out at one end was the bowsprit, on which the jib was set to turn the head of the vessel either one way or the other.

“Nothing like asking questions,” observed papa, when we laughed at Dick. “Stick to the custom, my boy, and you’ll soon know as much as these youngsters. A person who is afraid of asking questions remains in ignorance.”

As may be supposed, Dick hit his head pretty hard against the beam above him several times before he learned to roll into his berth after the most approved fashion.

Soon after daybreak we were on deck in our shirts, intending to jump overboard and take a swim. Jack and Oliver made their appearance at the same moment on board the Dolphin, and shouting to us, overboard they went, and came swimming up. I, pulling my shirt over my head, followed their example. Dick, forgetting to pull off his shirt, with wonderful courage—which arose, however, from ignorance—plunged after me, when to our dismay we discovered that he had no notion of swimming. I was already some distance from the side of the vessel.

Poor Dick began splashing about, and striking out as he had seen me do; but, beginning to sink, he shouted out, “Help, help!”

Fortunately, Captain Truck saw him, and hove a grating close to him with a rope attached to it.

“Hold on to this, young gentleman, until Master Harry comes to help you. Don’t be afraid, and you’ll be all right.”

Dick caught hold of the grating, and wisely did as he was advised. I, hearing his cries, had in the meantime turned round, and getting up to him, took a rope which Truck heaved to me, and fastened it round his waist.

“You are all right now,” I said; “but before you attempt to do anything else, learn to strike out with your feet with regular strokes. Pull your knees up, and then shove them out horizontally even with the surface of the water. There, that will do capitally; you see how fast you shove the grating ahead.”

Truck on this slackened out more rope; and Dick, delighted, soon carried the rope out as far as it would go. Then, turning the grating round, I made him push it back again towards the vessel.

“Now rest a bit—just as I am doing,” I said; “don’t move, but let your legs and body float up; just touch the grating with your arms stretched out, and as much of your body as possible under the water. There, you see, you float like a cork. Now you observe that, if you remain perfectly quiet, the water will float your body. All the grating now does is to support your head; but if you were to turn on your back, and let your head sink down into the water, with only your face above, the water would support your head.”

Dick did as I suggested, and was quite surprised to find how perfectly he floated.

“Now, you see, when swimming, you require only the movement of your arms to keep your head above water, although they also assist you to progress and to guide yourself; but the feet make most of the onward movement. Just try without the grating, and the rope will bring you up if you sink.”

Dick, who was quite rested again, did as I advised, and managed to get from one end of the vessel to the other, although it must be confessed that more water ran down his throat than he found pleasant. I then showed him how he could tread water, by keeping his body perfectly upright with his arms folded; here was a still greater surprise to him, and he was thus able to keep his chin well out of the water, and sometimes, by striking hard, to raise his shoulders even above the surface.

“This is capital!” he exclaimed. “Though I had read about swimming, I had no notion how it was done; and I could not have supposed it possible that water could float me so easily. I had tried several times in the ponds, and nearly drowned myself.”

“Ah, but we have got the salt-water of the Atlantic here, which is far more buoyant than the fresh water,” I observed.

Dick was so delighted that it was with difficulty we could get him to come on board again and dress for breakfast.

“You’ll make a first-rate swimmer in a few days, sir,” said Paul Truck, as he assisted him up the side. “I’ll tell you why—you have no more fear than a Newfoundland dog. The reason people can’t swim is that they fancy that they can’t; whereas, the Newfoundland dog knows that he can, and goes in and does it.”

Having dried myself, I ran down and brought up a clean shirt for Dick, who asked Truck to fasten his up in the rigging.

“Better souse it out with fresh water first, or you wouldn’t find it pleasant to put on again,” answered the captain, laughing; “the salt would tickle your skin, I’ve a notion.”

“Not if it is dry, surely?” asked Dick.

“Yes; you see the salt would remain. Why, you’d have as much salt in that shirt as would serve you for dinner for a week if I was to, dry it in the sun without rinsing it out. Haven’t you ever seen salt in the holes of the rocks?”

Dick had not, but I very frequently had.

“How do you think that salt comes there?” asked Truck.

Dick could not tell.

“Why, it’s just this: the sun draws up the fresh water, and doesn’t draw up the salt, but leaves that behind. If it wasn’t for that, we should have salt rain; and a pretty go that would be; for all the trees, and plants, and grass would be killed, and vessels, when away from land and hard up for water, would not be able to get any.”

We had been so busy dressing that we had not had time to admire the harbour. We now agreed that it looked a very beautiful spot, with bright green fields and the white houses of the town, with Pendennis Castle on the western point and Saint Mawes opposite to it. Facing Falmouth we could see Flushing, and church towers and villas on the shores of the river Fal away to the northward.

On going on shore, however, the place did not appear quite so attractive, and the streets and alleys had a Wapping look about them, and were redolent of the odours of a seaport. But as we got out of the more commercial part, the town improved greatly. One of the most interesting buildings we visited was that of the Cornwall Sailors’ Home, though there were many other fine public buildings.

Pendennis Castle chiefly occupied our attention. It is of considerable size. At one part is a round tower—the most ancient portion of the building—erected in the time of Henry the Eighth. The works extend seaward, so that they guard the entrance to the harbour. We wandered from bastion to bastion, gazing over the ocean two hundred feet below us. The paved platforms, the heavy guns, and the magazines for ammunition showed that the fortress was prepared for an enemy. Should one appear, may its garrison hold out as bravely as did that under the command of old John Arundel, a partisan of the Stuarts, when besieged by the Parliamentary army, until the defenders and their brave captain were starved into submission.

We walked on along the shore until stopped by the Helford river—really an arm of the sea—which we crossed in a ferry-boat. We caught sight, in the far distance to the southward, of the Manacles, a group of isolated rocks, on which more than one stout ship has been knocked to pieces. All along were fine romantic cliffs, the views rewarding us for our exertions. We returned on board soon after sunset, and I employed the rest of the evening in writing up my journal.

Chapter Five.

Land’s End.

A fine, bright morning found us outside the harbour, with the Manacles on our starboard bow, steering for the Lizard, which we hoped to round before noon, so as to reach Penzance that evening. We passed sufficiently near the Manacles to distinguish their black heads standing with threatening aspect high out of the water.

“It was there, sir, a few years ago, a large ship—The John—was lost during thick weather when making for Plymouth, and upwards of one hundred of her passengers and crew perished,” observed Truck, as he pointed out the rocks to us. “She had no business to be so close in shore, and that is all I can say. It is sad to think how many stout ships have been cast away on the rocks about here. When we set to the Lizard we shall see the Stags.”

After passing the Lizard we kept the land close on board. As the wind was south-west, we sailed straight for Penzance. We could distinguish high and broken cliffs of a reddish hue extending the whole way to the Lizard; when they disappeared we could perceive a low rocky point running out towards the Stags. On the summit of the cliffs which form the Lizard Head stand two lighthouses, two hundred and twenty-three feet apart. A covered passage runs between them, in the centre of which are the residence and offices attached to the towers, so that the keepers can communicate without being exposed to the fierce gales of winter. Each of the white towers is sixty-one feet high, and contains a brilliant fixed catoptric or reflecting light.

The Lizard is the most southerly point of England, and although it is exposed to heavy gales the climate is very healthy. Just as we were about to round the Stags the wind shifted, and compelled us to stand away to the southward, by doing which we hoped, aided by the next ebb, to be able to steer direct for Penzance.

Had we gone about at that time, we should have run the risk of being driven on the Stags, both wind and tide setting in that direction. The wind became very light, and we made but slow progress.

Our hopes of reaching Penzance gradually decreased as the day wore on, and yet, while the flood was making, it would have been folly to stand towards the shore. At length papa calculated that the tide had turned. We were on the point of putting the vessel’s head to the northward when a thick mist, driving up from the chops of the Channel, completely enveloped us, while the wind rapidly increased, as of course did the sea.

Dick, who had been walking about with his hands in his pockets, now suddenly found himself jerked here and there, and was compelled to pull them out to catch hold of anything which came in his way; sometimes a stanchion, sometimes the side of the vessel, now and then Truck, or me, or the man at the helm.

“Take care, my lad, you don’t go overboard,” sang out papa. “You’d better turn in and keep out of harm’s way.”

Dick, however, was too proud to do this. “No, thank you; I’d rather stay on deck,” he answered. “I’ll pull and haul, and help the sailors in any way you like.”

“I won’t ask you to do that; only sit down on the skylight, and should a sea strike us hold on with your eyelids.”

Dick did as he was advised; at first he sat up, and looked very bold; but gradually he became paler and paler, and yellower and yellower, while his lip curled, and a groan every now and then escaped his breast.

“Hulloa! what’s become of the Dolphin?” I exclaimed, looking round, and not seeing her anywhere.

“She was away to leeward of us when I went down to tea,” observed Truck, who had just then returned on deck. “Where did you last see her?” he asked of the man at the helm.

“Maybe a couple of hundred fathoms astern, sir; but I don’t think more,” was the answer.

We hailed the Dolphin, but there was no reply. “She was further off than you supposed,” said papa, who had himself gone below for a few minutes.

We could not understand why they did not answer our hail, for they must, we thought, have heard us. As it was important to keep as close to the wind as possible, that we might be sure of weathering the Stags, we could not run down to speak the Dolphin. Papa, however, felt sure that Uncle Tom would also keep as close to the wind as he could, with the same object in view.

We had by this time gone about, and were heading up towards the port we wished to reach. Papa judged that we were already near Mount’s Bay. Dick had thrown himself down on deck, completely overcome. I was standing by him, urging him to get up and go below, when what was my dismay to see towering above us the dark hull and wide-spreading canvas of a large ship.

“Steady! keep her as she goes!” papa shouted out. Had we attempted to keep away, the stranger must have struck us on our quarter. Had we luffed up, she would have run completely over us, and we should have been carried to the bottom. I fully expected even then that such would be the case.

“Run forward, my lads!” he shouted out to Dick and me and the crew, while he himself seized the helm, making the helmsman throw himself flat on his back. All was the work of a moment. In another instant I heard a crashing and rending. Our boat was knocked to fragments, and the davits carried away. I saw the bowsprit sweeping across our deck, tearing the mainsail as it did so, and carrying away back-stays and other rigging.

Dick was shouting out, “What has happened? What are we going to do?”

“I hope to get rid of this craft!” cried Captain Truck, who having seized an axe, followed by the rest of the crew, was cutting away at the stranger’s bowsprit rigging.

Happily, our gaff stood, although our topmast was carried away by her foreyard-arm, and came down with a crash on deck, papa narrowly escaping being struck. The next instant we were free.

“You’ll be on shore in a quarter of an hour if you steer your present course!” shouted papa. “Steer to the south-east.”

“Ay, ay! Thank you,” came from the ship; “sorry to have run you down, but you’ve returned good for evil.”

“I pray that I may always do so!” answered papa; and the next instant the stranger was lost to sight in the thick mist.

We immediately hove-to, to get in the wreck of the topmast, and to repair damages. A piece of planking was nailed over the side which had been stove in, and the fragments of the boat were stowed on deck.

“I hope the Dolphin will escape that fellow,” observed Captain Truck. “If he doesn’t alter his course he may run her down, and then, maybe, wreck himself on the Stags.”

“I am thankful to believe he has altered his course,” observed papa. “I heard the order given; but I should like to fall in with the Dolphin, for we must run back to Falmouth and repair damages. She, probably, not knowing what has happened to us, will stand on to Penzance. We can reach Falmouth, however, much sooner than we can get there, and have the work done more rapidly.”

We accordingly kept away, and in a short time the Lizard Lights appeared through the mist at such a height that papa knew we were clear of the Stags. After this we steered for Saint Anthony’s Light, and soon came in sight of a green fixed light on the Prince of Wales’ Breakwater, passing which before midnight we brought-up in safety in the harbour.

“We have good reason to be thankful at having escaped the danger to which we were exposed this evening,” observed papa, as we were taking some supper in the cabin before turning in. “It is one to which yachts as well as other vessels must always be exposed, especially at the present time, when so many steamers are running up and down. I should have been happier had the Dolphin been with us; but I hope we may find her the day after to-morrow, as she is sure to wait at Penzance for us.”

The first thing in the morning we went on shore to get carpenters off to repair the bulwarks and make a new topmast. Papa found a boat exactly the size we required, and purchased her, for it would have taken too much time to repair the damaged one.

The carpenters made quick work. By daybreak the next morning, having all again ataut, we sailed for Penzance. When we were well round the Lizard, we fell in with a fleet of boats which had come off shore. On looking in the direction towards which they were pulling, we saw the water curiously agitated.

“They are after a school of pilchards,” said Captain Truck. “See how the water glitters with them; if you look through your glasses at the top of the cliffs, you will see a number of people with boughs in their hands waving them. They have been on the look-out to give notice as soon as they caught sight of the school. When they see the first, they sing out ‘Heva;’ but what it means I don’t know, except to give notice to the men in the boats.”

Meantime, the rowers were straining their muscular arms to the utmost, until they reached the school, when they immediately united the nets they had on board; and thus starting from the same point, quickly began to cast them out, until they formed a circle not less than two thousand feet in circumference, in the midst of which we could see the shining fish leaping and struggling in a mass together.

Truck told us that the seine was about twelve fathoms deep, that it thus formed a wall, the upper part being supported by corks, and the lower weighted by lead.

While the circle was being formed, a third boat was employed in driving the fish toward the centre of the enclosure, as there was a risk that they might otherwise escape before it was completed. The wind was very light, and the sea calm, so that we could watch the operation at our leisure. The other boats, now fastened with long ropes to the seine, began slowly dragging it towards the shore, the fish, meantime, mostly keeping in its centre. Now and then a few would make their escape by leaping over it, but the greater number did not appear to have the sense to do this.

We followed them, as we knew where there was water for the nets there must be water for us. At length, we saw them approach a sandy beach. Here the rowers ceased exerting themselves; but they did not attempt to drag the net on to the beach, for it would inevitably have been broken through by the vast quantity of fish inside. Several smaller boats had put off, the men in them carrying small nets and baskets. They now commenced what is called “tucking.”

The small nets were thrown out, each forming a circle, and the fish caught in them were hauled on board in the ordinary way. The other boats ladled out the pilchards with baskets. Each boat as she was laden pulled back to the shore by a passage left open for her to pass through, which was immediately closed again.

A number of women and lads, with creels on their backs, were collected on the beach to carry the fish up to the curing-house, situated some little way off on the top of the downs.

A considerable time was occupied in emptying the seine, for though no fish appeared on the surface of the water, the tucking nets brought up a considerable quantity which were swimming lower down. The whole of the vast net was then dragged up on the beach, when the fish which had been caught in the meshes, or had before escaped capture, were secured.

As the calm continued, papa took us on shore in the boat to visit the curing-house; and we heard a great deal more about the pilchard fishery from the men on the beach. We were surprised to find that the value of the fish caught in that single seine was estimated at fully six hundred pounds. Sometimes a thousand pounds’ worth of fish is caught in one seine. If the fishermen were always thus successful they would soon grow rich; but they often meet with misadventures. On one occasion a large net full of fish was caught by the tide before it could be dragged on shore, and carried away against the rocks, when not only did the fish get free, but the net itself was almost destroyed. At another time, when a large school had been encircled, the fish making a dash together at one point, capsized the net and got clear over the top, not a quarter of the number remaining. Just before this, a seine had been securely moored, when a ground swell setting in from the westward before the fish could be taken out, the net was rolled over and over, and every fish escaped, while the net was utterly destroyed.

The fishing-boats we met with in Mount’s Bay are not only very picturesque, with their brown-tanned sails, but are amongst the finest to be found anywhere; and they often ride out gales in which larger vessels might founder. Their plan is, when caught in a heavy sea, to form a sort of breakwater of planks and spars, under the lee of which they ride with sufficient scope of cable. We were told of one, with a crew of five men, which performed a journey to Australia, having touched at the Cape of Good Hope for water and fresh provisions. Since then, several small craft, with only a couple of men on board, have crossed to America. On one occasion, a man, with his wife, came from the United States to England; but they both suffered severely from the privations to which they were exposed.

In the spring fishery the nets are shot near shore, off some sandy inlet, at sunset; and it is curious to note that the fish thus meshed are all on the inside of the net, but when they are meshed in the morning they are found on the opposite side. This proves that they come into shallow water during daylight, and go off again into deep water at night.

The people in this part of the country were at one time greatly addicted to smuggling, and many of their vessels were commanded by daring fellows, on whose heads a price had been set. Among the most desperate of these outlaws was Captain Wellard, who commanded the Happy-go-Lucky, carrying fourteen guns. For years he had carried on his trade with impunity, and it was said he had vowed that he would never be caught. When, however, Samuel Pellew, a brother of Lord Exmouth, became collector of customs at Falmouth, he determined to put a stop to this illicit traffic. Wellard had the audacity to issue notices, promising a reward to any one who would kill the collector. Captain Pellew was not to be daunted, and sent out his cruisers in every direction to look for the smugglers. At length two of the king’s vessels, early one morning, found the Happy-go-Lucky at anchor, not far from Saint Michael’s Mount. On seeing the royal cruisers, the outlaws cut their cables, and making sail, stood out to sea. Undaunted by the vastly superior odds against them, the daring smugglers stood to their guns, and fought with a bravery worthy of a better cause. For a whole hour—entertaining to the last the hope of escape—they maintained the unequal contest. They knew, indeed, that if taken alive, they would to a certainty be hanged. At last Wellard fell, mortally wounded; but he held out as long as life lasted. His mate was then killed, and twelve of his crew wounded, when the survivors were compelled to surrender, and the smuggling craft was carried in triumph into Falmouth Harbour. Here the prisoners were shut up in Pendennis Castle; but their friends outside were not idle. A large body of armed smugglers soon collected, and breaking into the castle, rescued the imprisoned outlaws, and at the same time carried off some of the wounded who were lodged in the town. One man was too much hurt to be moved, so he was left behind, and eventually sent to London, tried, and—having been captured red-handed—was hanged. This happened only at the end of the last century.

We walked as far as the curious hollow in the earth called “The Devil’s Frying-pan.” It is like a vast crater, two acres in extent, two hundred feet deep, and converging to an orifice at the bottom, some sixty feet in diameter. Round the upper edge we observed furze, gorse, and a variety of grasses growing in great profusion, but below was the bare rock. Carefully creeping down, we noticed through the hole the shine of the water in the cavern beneath. We were wondering how this curious aperture could have been formed, when papa explained that the ground was once level, but that there had been a cavern below it, which was gradually increased by the roof crumbling away, and the débris being washed out by the sea, until the rock became too thin to bear the superincumbent weight of earth, when the centre gave way, and sinking down, the surrounding earth followed, until it was formed into its present shape. The sea continually rushing in, again cleared out the cavern. As we were anxious to look up it, we hurried back to the boat, and the tide being suitable, we pulled in, and were able to look up through the hole down which we had before gazed.

We afterwards visited two other extraordinary caverns, known as “Dolor Hugo,” and “Raven’s Hugo,” up one of which we pulled for a considerable distance. Grand and picturesque in the extreme were the cliffs above us, which in every variety of shape extend along the whole of the Lizard peninsula.

The curing establishment we found was much more extensive than we had expected it to be. It consists of a circular court, called a cellar, inside which the fish are piled up on the slabs running round the court. First, a layer of salt is spread, then a layer of pilchards, and so on—layers of pilchards and salt alternating until a vast mound is raised. Below the slabs are gutters which convey the brine and oil oozing out of the fish into a large pit in the centre of the court. Upwards of three hundredweight of salt are used for each hogshead. After the pilchards have remained about a month, they are cleansed from the salt, and packed in hogsheads, each of which contains two thousand four hundred fish, weighing four hundred and seventy-six pounds. Pilchards when thus cured are called “fair maids”—a corruption of fumado—the Spanish for smoked. Originally they were cured by smoking, but salt preserves them much better.

The fish are not always caught near the shore, for the school frequently keep out at sea, where the fishermen go in search of them. For this purpose two descriptions of boats are employed; the largest measures about thirty tons, the other is much smaller. The fishermen use a number of nets—about twenty in all—called a set, which are then joined together; each is about forty feet deep, and one hundred and seventy feet long. When united they form a wall three quarters of a mile in length, though sometimes they are much longer. The fish are not caught by being encircled, but by running their heads through the meshes, where they are held by the gills, which open in the water like the barbs of an arrow, and consequently cannot be withdrawn; their bodies being larger than the meshes, they thus remain hanging, unable to extricate themselves.

At one end of this wall of nets a boat is secured, and drifts with the tide. Here she remains until it is supposed that all the fish coming in that direction have either passed by or been caught. The fishermen then begin hauling in the net. The operation of hauling in nearly a mile of net, perhaps full of fish, is no easy task, especially when there is a “loppy” sea and the night is dark. This is, however, the most easy way of catching pilchards, which can be pursued at nearly all times of the year, for the fish swim about in small schools away from the shore, from May until winter is well advanced, when the water becoming cool, they return westwards to a warmer climate in the depths of the Atlantic. The fishermen told us that the most propitious time for fishing is when there is a loppy sea during a thick fog at night, as the pilchards do not then perceive the nets in their way, and swimming against them, are caught. When the water is transparent, the fish, perceiving the luminous meshes, swim aside and escape. This appearance is called brimming. As it rarely occurs during twilight, the fishermen choose that time for shooting their nets, and wait until dawn before hauling them again into their boats.

We could learn nothing about the natural history of pilchards; the fishermen did not appear to trouble their heads on the matter. Some said that they went away to far off regions during February, March, and April, to deposit their spawn; others, that they went in search of food; but where they went to, none of them could venture to suggest.

As we wished to get to Penzance before dark, should a breeze spring up, we returned on board. Sailing along very close to the coast, we came off Helston, situated on the inner side of a curious lagoon, separated from the sea by a narrow spit of sand. Occasionally, in rainy seasons, when the streams which run into the lagoon cause the water to rise to an inconvenient height, so as to flood the shores, a narrow channel is cut in the spit; and the water rushing through it at tremendous speed forms a broad and deep passage, until the lake speedily sinks to its usual level.

The breeze now freshening, we ran across the bay past Marazion, until we sighted Mousehole, on the western side. Near it was a large cavern in the side of the cliff, from which the village is said by some to take its name. Mousehole, though a small place, contained some gallant men, who, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, defended it bravely, under Sir Francis Godolphin, against an attack of four hundred Spaniards, who came in four galleys, and landing, did considerable damage to the neighbouring places. In its harbour we now saw a large fleet of boats, engaged in the pilchard and mackerel fishery. Not far off, on the summit of a cliff, we observed two batteries, with guns mounted, to keep any enemy who might venture near at bay.

Mackerel are caught much in the same manner as pilchards; but as they will not keep, and are not so suitable for pickling, they are sent off immediately to market.

All along this coast are caverns, which we much wished to explore. In this neighbourhood also, up a valley which extends from a pretty little place called Lamorna Cove, is a place where a large amount of the finest granite is quarried.

Tacking when off Mousehole, we stood directly for Penzance. Approaching the north shore, we had a fine view of Saint Michael’s Mount, rising out of the blue water washing its base, crowned by its far-famed and ancient monastery.

Sailing on, we passed the white lighthouse at the end of the pier, and dropped our anchor in the sheltered harbour, where, to our great delight, we found the Dolphin.

Uncle Tom, and Jack, and Oliver at once came on board, very thankful to find that we had escaped all dangers. Uncle Tom said that he was on the point of sailing to look for us. We had just time to see the outline of the tower, its domed hall rising in its midst, with pretty villas surrounded by woods beyond, before the fast-gathering darkness shut them out of our view, while the twinkling lights from the old town and a number of stone-vessels and other coasters and fishing-boats cast their glimmer on the surface of the water.

Penzance is a pretty and picturesque place, and is now an important fishing-town. It is also celebrated as being the birthplace of Sir Humphrey Davy. It has greatly improved since the last century, when it is said that the people refused to allow a mail coach road to be extended to their town, that they possessed but one carpet and one cart, and had not heard of silver forks; while the Sherborne Mercury was the only newspaper which circulated among them. When a stranger approached, the boys in the town invariably armed themselves with stones to fling at him, shouting out, “Whar do you come from? Be off, now!” John Wesley did much to introduce the pure gospel among the inhabitants; and we saw several fine churches, in addition to a number of houses in which the floors were undoubtedly carpeted.

Next morning we put off in our two boats to visit Saint Michael’s Mount, on which we landed on a stone pier, with a few houses near it. As we gazed upwards at the pile of buildings which crowns the summit of the mount, we expected to find much interest in exploring its ancient halls and passages. We were somewhat disappointed when, having made our way up to the top, we found that it had been so greatly renovated as to be deprived of much of its antique look. But it is a grand old pile—the tower, which rises in the centre, and is the most ancient portion, having been built in the fifteenth century. Although used as a monastery, it was strongly fortified; and guns round the walls still remain, notwithstanding that they would be of little use in the present day. We saw, just above the edge of a cliff, a curious and ancient cross, richly carved. The monks’ refectory was, after the Reformation, turned into a banqueting hall; and the cornice which runs round it represents hunting scenes of boars, stags, wolves, and bulls. Obtaining a light, we descended by a flight of stairs, through a small door in the side of the wall, down to a low, dark vault, in which it was said the bones of a man were discovered when the vault was found, some years ago. Whether he had been shut up there by the monks, or had been a prisoner of war, it was difficult to determine. The vault was evidently used for the purpose of concealing the treasure of the monastery.

We afterwards climbed up by a narrow spiral staircase to the top of the tower, from whence we had a fine view over the whole of the bay and the surrounding shores. On the summit are the remnants of a lantern which was formerly used as a beacon for the benefit of mariners entering the bay. This monastic castle, for such it should be called, has frequently been besieged. On the last occasion it was held by Sir Francis Bassett, for Charles the First, when it was besieged by the Parliamentary forces; but he was at last compelled to capitulate, though as a reward for his bravery he and his followers were allowed to retire to the Scilly Islands. Altogether, we agreed that it was one of the most interesting spots we had hitherto visited during our voyage.

As we were anxious to see the Land’s End, and could not approach the point in the yachts without risk, we determined to visit the famous promontory by land. Engaging a carriage, we set off, making a circuit to see several curiosities on our way. First we stopped at a cave, apparently part of a fortification. Near it are two upright granite rocks, fifty yards apart, said to form the head and foot-stones of a Cornish giant.

“He must have been a tall fellow!” exclaimed Oliver, as he paced the distance between the two stones. The site is called the Giant’s Grave; and a countryman who met us declared that “Once upon a time, two giants fought here,—for I don’t know how many days,—until one had his skull knocked in by a club formed out of an enormous oak.”

Another legend assigns the name of “The Pipers” to them, because not far off is a circle of nineteen stones, said to be the petrified bodies of a number of damsels who spent the Sabbath in dancing instead of going to church. These stones were therefore called the Dancing Stones, or the “Merry Maidens.” Some time ago a farmer, to whom the field on which they stand belongs, wishing to get rid of them, commenced operations by harnessing a yoke of oxen to one of the damsels; but he was warned to desist, in consequence of one of the animals falling down dead. Since then they have remained unmolested, except by the hammers of amateur geologists.

Farther on we reached a fine headland called Castle Treryn, an ancient entrenchment having occupied the whole area. On the summit stands the famous Logan rocking-stone, which is said to weigh eighty tons. Putting our shoulders under it, by some exertion we made it rock or move. Once upon a time a Lieutenant Goldsmith of the Royal Navy—a nephew of the author of the Vicar of Wakefield—happening to land here, took it into his head to try to dislodge the stone; and, somewhat to his dismay, probably, he succeeded in doing so completely. Over it fell, but did not go rattling down the cliffs, as I had heard asserted, for it would then have inevitably been broken to pieces. Still, as the stone was on the ground, and could no longer rock, the people in the neighbourhood were highly incensed against the lieutenant, especially as visitors were not likely to come as heretofore to the spot. They accordingly memorialised the Admiralty, complaining of what had happened, and Lieutenant Goldsmith was ordered to replace it. He thereupon erected over it some vast shears, and by means of tackles ingeniously contrived, lifted back the stone on to the pivot on which it had before rested. He, however, found it impossible to poise it as nicely as before, and consequently it is necessary to exert more strength to make it move than was required before it had been tumbled over. To make some amends to the people, the gallant lieutenant replaced another stone of a similar character which had fallen from its position.

We passed numerous very small cottages built with enormous stones. They have diminutive windows, which will not open—this style of architecture being necessary to resist cold and the fierce gales which blow across the narrow peninsula. As we proceeded, trees grew scarcer and scarcer. At last we came to a tavern with a sign-board, on the east side of which was painted “The last refreshment house in England;” and on the other, facing the Atlantic, “The first refreshment house in England.”

Among the many pretty coves we saw was one called Vellan Dreath, or the Mill in the Sand; but not a vestige of the mill remains. Once upon a time it was inhabited by a bold miller and his stout son. One morning, as he was looking seawards, just as he was about to turn on the water to move his mill, he observed above the sea-mists the masts of a tall ship. What object she had in coming so near the coast he could not divine; but it was as well to be cautious, lest she should prove an enemy. Going down to the edge of the water, he listened, when he heard the sound of oars, indicating the approach of a boat, and voices which sounded strange to his ears. Calling to his son, he summoned him back into the mill, the door of which he closed. A hole formed for lifting the latch enabled him to look out, when he saw a party of Spaniards with long guns coming towards the mill. On this, running the muzzle of his piece through the hole, he ordered the enemy to keep off; but as they—regardless of his warning—still came on, he fired, and knocked one of them over. After he had fired, the Dons retired to a distance; but it was pretty evident that they intended to attack the mill. On this, being certain that the small garrison could not hold out, and seeing the enemy again approaching, he set fire to a rick of furze, and while the wind blew the smoke in the faces of the Spaniards, he and his son, each taking a sack of flour on their shoulders, issued out through a back door and made their way up the hill. They had got some distance up the steep ascent before they were discovered by the Spaniards, who then began firing at them. The gallant millers made their escape, but the old man received a wound of which he ultimately died. The son declared that his sack, from the number of bullets in it, was far heavier than when he set out.

Near it is Sennen Cove, where there is a fishing-village and a Coastguard station. Some way off the shore, rising from amid the foaming waves, is a high rock, denominated “The Irish Lady,” from the peculiarity of its form, which is that of a female figure, with a long robe, advancing into the sea. We were told that many years ago an Irish vessel was driven on the rocks; but that one female alone was seen clinging to the wreck until the waves washed her away, and that it is her figure which now appears still surrounded by the foaming billows.

“I wonder she hasn’t got tired of standing out there all by herself!” exclaimed Dick.

Another rock in the same neighbourhood, far out in the sea, is called “The Armed Knight.” It is a magnificent pile, two hundred feet in height. The summit, from the point we saw it, assumes the profile of a man’s head, while the regular way in which the blocks of granite join each other has much the appearance of armour. As Dick observed, he must have been related to the giant whose grave we had visited.

Later in the day we reached what we were assured was the Land’s End, although other rocks appeared to project as far westward into the ocean. It was a grand scene. In all directions were headlands, crowned by what appeared to be ruined castles and towers, rocks scattered around, piled up into a variety of fantastic shapes; while afar off we could distinguish the faint outline of the Scilly Islands. Imagination might picture them as some fairy land, likely at any moment to vanish, though we had little doubt that they would remain to let us pay them a visit. A few hundred yards off is a headland called “Doctor Johnson’s Head,” because the rocks at the extremity present somewhat the appearance of a human face with massive features, like those of the great lexicographer. The point is surmounted by an oval boulder, which is so easily poised on one point that it rocks far more easily than the better known Logan Rock.

Land’s End itself consists of a mass of granite which extends in a lofty ridge far into the sea, the summit crowned by rocks which have the appearance of some vast castle. Indeed, so curiously-shaped are the rocks in this neighbourhood, that they have generally an artificial appearance.

Many years ago, a party of officers had come to Land’s End on a visit of inspection. Two of them proposed riding down the slope towards the extreme point, which has perpendicular precipices on both sides. A third officer—Captain, afterwards General, Arbuthnot—dismounted, and led his horse after his companions, considering that the place was too dangerous to ride down. After enjoying the view for some time, the party proposed returning, when Captain Arbuthnot, believing that there would be no danger in riding up, mounted to follow his companions. Scarcely, however, was he in his saddle, than his horse, a spirited animal, became restive, and began to kick and plunge, inclining to the precipice on the right side. In vain its rider tried to show the animal her danger; to his horror, he found that her feet were close to the precipice. He had just time to throw himself off, and clear his feet from the stirrups, when over she went down the cliff, and was dashed to pieces, leaving him on the slippery sward close to the edge of the precipice. The spot where the accident occurred is still shown.

Two miles off Land’s End, on a mass of rocks which rise some seventy feet above the surface at low water, stands the Longships Lighthouse, the summit of which is fifty-six feet above the rock. The tower is divided into three stories. In the lower is kept provisions, with water and coal; the second is a cooking-room and oil-store: while the third is a sleeping-room. The lantern consists of a brilliant catoptric fixed light, produced by nineteen Argand lamps. It was built in 1793 by a Mr Smith. Before the granite blocks of which it is composed were brought to the rock, they were hewn out and put together at Sennen Cove. The stones are dovetailed one into the other, and are secured by oak trennels strongly cemented. Often, when a storm is raging, the waves beat completely over the structure; indeed, when any wind is blowing, it is surrounded by masses of foam. Four men belong to the lighthouse, three always remain in it, and one goes on leave every twenty-eight days, when the weather permits; but this, during the winter season, is very often impossible; and sometimes for weeks together the man on shore cannot get off.

During a storm, some years ago, so furious were the waves, that the lantern was broken in, and the keepers fully believed that the whole structure would be washed away. We heard of an inspector who had visited the rock during fine weather, and who had begun to find great fault with the large stock of provisions kept in the storehouse. Before the cutter which brought him could return, a heavy gale sprang up, and he himself was kept a prisoner for nine weeks, after which the lighthouse-keepers heard no more complaints as to the quantity of food kept in store.

The bright light, which burst forth from the top of the white tower, warned us to beat a retreat.

Not far from Land’s End we found another inn, which looked much out of place in that wild region. Dick declared that it should be called “The firster and laster inn in England,” it having been built some time after the one we had previously passed. As it was too late to return to Penzance that evening, we took advantage of it, and put up there for the night, that we might visit some mines and other interesting spots in the neighbourhood.

The first thing in the morning we set off to visit the Botallack mine, the machinery of which we could see perched among crags that looked almost inaccessible. We had not time to go into the mine, which is carried far under the ocean. In some places there is not more than six or eight feet between the roof of the galleries and the water. Once the sea broke into it; but the hole was plugged and the water pumped out. On another occasion, a party of miners discovered a magnificent piece of ore little more than three feet below the ocean. The treasure tempted them to risk their lives to obtain it. They cut it out, and successfully filled up the hole. It is said that so terrific is the noise during heavy weather, when the waves dash in on the shore, and roll the pebbles backwards and forwards, that even the bold miners are compelled to rush out, unable to endure the uproar. The scene was most extraordinary. Vast pumps appeared amid the cliffs, unceasingly drawing up water, which rushed in a red torrent into the sea. Steam and smoke were spitting out in all directions; and men, women, and boys were employed in sorting the ore as the kibble brought it to the surface. This was only one of many similar mines along the coast. Having satisfied our curiosity, we drove back to Penzance; and at once repaired on board the yachts, as papa and Uncle Tom were unwilling to lose more of the fine weather.

Without a moment’s delay, the anchors were got up, and we made sail out of Mount’s Bay.

Chapter Six.

A Shipwreck.

On passing Rundlestone, a hidden rock upwards of a mile from the southern shore of the Land’s End peninsula, we came in sight of the Wolf Rock, about ten miles off the coast. It was one of the greatest dangers in the English Channel, for the beacon placed on it was not visible at night or during thick weather. Attempts were made to fix bells on the rock, which might be rung by the waves dashing against them; but the first gale quickly carried away the well-intentioned contrivance.

Now, however, a lighthouse has been erected of great strength and massiveness, to endure the fierce battering it must encounter from the angry billows. The wind shifting against us, we had a good view of the Wolf Rock, and afterwards of the Longships Lighthouse, the white tower of which, rising above its black base, can be seen afar off.

It was with difficulty that we could distinguish Land’s End from the neighbouring headlands, Cape Cornwall, to the northward, apparently approaching further into the ocean.

As we looked at that fearful Wolf Rock, we thought of the number of vessels, out of their reckoning, homeward-bound, or coming round from the North Sea, intending to proceed up the Irish Channel, which must have run against it in days gone by. But now the red and white “flashes” which follow each other at half-minute intervals all through the night, enable mariners to steer clear of the danger.

Papa remarked: “I wish that every Christian man would remember that he is bound to be a lighthouse, and to warn his fellows of the peril into which they are running. How many human beings would thus be saved from shipwreck, if all thus understood their duty and acted accordingly! Remember the text—‘Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”

Papa told us it was the opinion of geologists that the surrounding rocks, as well as the Scilly Isles, were once connected with England. Indeed, of that there can be no doubt. Tradition declares that articles have been fished up proving that cities once stood on spots over which the tides now ebb and flow; but then tradition is the most uncertain of all uncertain things. Although an iron kettle may have been fished up from the bottom of the sea, it might only show that it had been thrown overboard, or washed out of a sunken vessel.

As we had determined not to be defeated, we continued beating backwards and forwards until we saw the coast of Cornwall, and the bright beams of Saint Agnes’ Lighthouse appeared on our port-bow; while those from the light-vessel moored off the Seven Stones were seen on the other.

We hailed the Dolphin, which passed us on the opposite tack; and papa agreed to lead in; “The sooner we are in the harbour the better,” he observed; “I don’t quite like the look of the weather.”

Clouds had, indeed, been thickly gathering in the south-west; and the stars, which had hitherto shone brightly, were totally obscured. The wind also, which had been steady, now began to blow in strong squalls, compelling us to shorten sail. First, two reefs were taken down in the mainsail; it was then closely-reefed, while the foresail was hauled down, and the storm jib set. Still, it was as much as the cutter could do to look up to it. Heavy seas now began to roll in from the Atlantic, tumbling the cutter about. Now she rose to the summit of a foam-crested wave, now she sank down into the hollow.

“Will she ever come up again?” exclaimed Dick, who was clinging on to the companion hatch. “Oh, dear—oh, dear! I thought the sea was always going to remain as smooth as it has been since we sailed.”

Presently, up we rose again, and Dick drew a long breath. Papa, however, advised him to go below.

“We will look after the craft in the meantime, my boy,” he said. “There is nothing to fear, though it is possible that one of these seas may break on board, and if you are not on the look-out, may carry you away.”

A flash of lightning which now burst forth from a dark cloud, accompanied by a heavy squall, causing the cutter to heel over until her lee bulwarks were almost under water, revealed Dick’s terrified countenance. As may be supposed, he clung on the harder to the companion hatch; and papa had to repeat his advice and help him down the ladder.

“You’d better go too, Harry,” he said. “I can’t answer for a sea not coming on board; and it might tear even you from your hold. Those who remain on deck will secure themselves with lashings; and as the craft is as light as a cork, we shall weather out the gale, even should it come on to blow twice as hard as it now does.”

I begged to be allowed to remain.

“Well, it will be but a summer gale. You may stay on deck; but here, make yourself fast with this rope;” and papa secured one round my body, which he fastened to the companion hatch.

He now gave the word to set the trysail; and the mainsail being stowed, it was hoisted in its stead. Still we had as much sail as the cutter could carry. The night had become very dark, except when the flashes of lightning dashed from the black clouds. Papa had resolved to heave the vessel to, when we caught sight of a white sail a short distance ahead of us.

“That must be the schooner,” shouted Truck; “she is taking a wise course, and is intending to run under Cape Cornwall, or maybe to get into Saint Ives Bay, in case the gale should continue.”

“We may as well do the same,” observed papa; and the helm being put up, away we ran before the wind.

Though the cutter behaved very well, still there was a chance of our being pooped. A strong current was setting us in the direction of the Longships light, which now appeared broad on the starboard bow. We ran on, following, as we supposed, the Dolphin; but she was going faster than we were, and we soon lost sight of her. We knew our exact position, for, although we had got beyond the gleam of Saint Agnes’ Lighthouse, we could still see on our port-bow the two lights on board the light-vessel off the Seven Stones. I own I wished that we were safe back in port, though papa appeared so cool that I could not suppose there was any real danger; still, as the seas came rolling up on either quarter, high above our deck, it seemed impossible that the vessel could escape being swamped.

At last papa peremptorily ordered me to go below, and coming to where I was standing, lifted up the hatch and literally pushed me down, closing it again over me. I groped my way into the cabin, where I found Dick holding on to one of the sofas. The cabin lamp had not been lighted, so that we were in perfect darkness.

“Oh! where are we? Where are we going? What’s about to happen?” he exclaimed, in a weak voice, which I could barely hear amid the uproar caused by the seas dashing against the vessel’s sides and deck, the creaking of the bulk-heads, the whistling of the wind, and other sounds.

“Papa says there is no danger; so you need not be alarmed, Dick,” I observed. At the same time I confess that I felt far from comfortable myself. Poor Dick was dreadfully sick. I had to assist him as best I could; but I need not enter into particulars. His sickness overcame his terror. Every now and then, however, he cried out, “Oh, I wish I was on shore! couldn’t your papa land me? If he cannot, please ask him to throw me overboard. Oh, how miserable I am! Oh dear, oh dear!” and then for certain reasons he could not utter a word.

Having to attend to him made me think perhaps less of our situation; but I know that I was not at all happy. All sorts of dreadful thoughts came into my mind. Every instant I expected to hear a tremendous sea come rushing over our deck, and perhaps to find that papa or some of the men had been washed away. I was most anxious about papa. If he was lost, I believed that the vessel would be lost too; but then I remembered what a good sailor he was; and as he had been to sea all his life, he was sure to manage the vessel properly; and, as he had often said, she was such a tight little sea-boat she would go through anything. Still, we were in a part of the ocean where the tide runs with great force, and when meeting the wind a very awkward sea is beaten up. This made the cutter tumble about in a way I had never known her do before. Everything in the cabin had been securely lashed except a few books and charts. First one came flying out as the vessel rolled over, and hit poor Dick on the head.

“What a shame of you to be heaving books at me, Harry!” he cried out.

I assured him that I was innocent of anything of the sort; and presently another flew out, and nearly knocked me over. I tried to reach the books, to secure the remainder: but the whole lot came tumbling out, and sent me sprawling on the cabin floor. I picked myself up, and crawled back to assist Dick, who just then greatly required my support.

I cannot describe more of that fearful night. Finding that Dick was tolerably quiet, advising him to hold fast to the sofa, I lay down at the opposite end, where I clung on like grim death; and, in spite of the tossing and tumbling the vessel was undergoing, I at length fell asleep. I cannot say I was very fast asleep, for I was conscious all the time that something very unpleasant was taking place.

Occasionally I fancied that I was being tossed in a blanket by my schoolfellows, who were jeering round me as I entreated to be let down; then that a wild bull was throwing me up in the air, and was about to catch me on his horns. Then that I was on a raft danced up and down by the foaming waters. Now, that I was on deck, and was pitched overboard, and left to struggle alone amid the raging seas. My voice—as I shouted out for help—awoke me; and to my infinite satisfaction I found that the vessel was much steadier than she had hitherto been. In a short time daylight gleamed through the bull’s eyes on deck, and getting up, I made my way to the companion hatch. Just before I reached it, it was lifted up, and papa put his head down.

“All right, my lads,” he said; “we are under the lee of the land, and the wind has greatly moderated. In a short time, if it continues to be fine, we shall be able to haul up and beat back to Scilly. How is Dick?”

“He has been very ill; but he is now fast asleep; and it would be a pity to awaken him,” I answered as I got up on deck.

I looked round, and could see the land on the starboard side bearing south and east. The Longships Lighthouse was no longer in view. I could make out a cape, which papa said was Cape Cornwall, to the southward. I looked out for the Dolphin, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“I am rather puzzled about her,” said papa; “she could scarcely have run us out of sight. Perhaps the vessel we saw last night was a stranger bound up the Bristol Channel; still, she was closer in shore than was advisable. Possibly the Dolphin remained hove-to, or if not, perhaps she bore up before we did, and is already safe at anchor in Saint Ives Bay. We must make the best of our way there. Hand me the glass.”

I took the telescope from the bracket on which it hung inside the companion hatch, and gave it to him. He looked earnestly for a minute towards some high rocks which were at some distance from the land.

“I feared so,” he observed; “there’s a vessel on the rocks, with her masts gone; but she’s much too high for the Dolphin, or I should have supposed it was that. We will stand in closer and have a look at her; we shall find less sea there, and the wind has gone down so much and the weather is so evidently improving, that we shall run no unnecessary danger. What do you think, Truck?”

Papa had handed the glass to Truck, who was looking through it.

“If anybody is left alive, we may have a chance of taking them off,” answered Truck. “As the wreck lies, she is not likely to be seen from the shore, and the people may perish before they can receive assistance.”

As soon as it was settled that we should do so, the trysail was lowered, and the mainsail, with a couple of reefs down, was set, with a bigger jib and foresail. We now stood in towards the rocks. As we drew nearer, we saw that the wreck was that of a large vessel, and that she so lay as to be partially sheltered from the heavier seas, which must have been raging when she struck. The depth of water, however, would prevent us anchoring. Papa proposed to heave the cutter to while the boat pulled in under the lee side of the rock, whence he hoped to be able to communicate by means of lines with the people on board, should any still remain alive.

As we drew still nearer, I took the glass, and turning it towards the wreck, I could distinguish a number of people on the fore part, which was the least battered, from having been more protected than the stern. I spied out a man who had climbed to the upper part of the bulwarks, and was waving a handkerchief or towel.

“She went on shore at high-water, and the tide left her where she is. When it returns it will wellnigh cover her; and as those poor people will be washed off, there is no time to be lost,” observed Truck.

Papa agreed with him. We had a long way to beat back to where the wreck was lying. Those on board probably knew their danger. How anxiously must they have looked out for our coming!

It was a question whether we could get near the vessel. Papa ordered all the spare rope we possessed to be coiled away in the boat, and he had one of our round life-buoys, slung by four ropes, fastened to a block—the largest we had on board. This formed a cradle, by which, if necessary, we could haul the people from the wreck to the boat, could we once get close enough to pass a rope on board.

At length, getting sufficiently near to leeward of the rock, we hove-to, when, greatly to my satisfaction, papa allowed me to go and steer, while he, with two hands, went in the boat, leaving Truck and Dick to manage the vessel. We first pulled round to where the wreck lay; but papa was soon convinced that we could not approach her on the weather-side without great risk of being swamped. Papa hailed, and made signs that we were going round on the lee side of the rock; we there found a little cove, or bay, into which we could pull and remain without risk by securing the boat with a grapnel.

Carrying the line and the cradle, we made our way over the rock until we got abreast of where the vessel lay. The distance was considerable, and the water whirled and surged round and round in a way which would make swimming difficult; still I had often swum much further.

“Let me carry a line,” I said to papa. “I think I can do it, if no one on board will undertake to swim to the rock.”

We shouted to the people, who, strange to say, did not hear us; nor had they seen us come over the rock, for they had all been looking seaward. Two or three of the men at length appeared on the side nearest us; but when we called on them to swim on shore, they shook their heads, evidently not liking to make the attempt. The tide was now flowing fast, and their position was every instant becoming more perilous. It, however, made the passage less dangerous, as even in a few minutes the water became smoother than it had hitherto been.

The people on board threw an oar, with a line fastened to it, into the water; but it was carried sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other, and did not approach the rock.

“I am sure I can do it, papa,” I said, at length. “Just fasten a line round me, and I shall be able to get hold of that oar. You can soon haul me back.”

Papa no longer refused my request, and having stripped, and fastened a rope round my waist, I plunged in, and struggled hard to make way through the hissing water. Sometimes I found myself carried onwards towards the stern of the vessel, but another sea brought me back again; and in a few minutes, greatly to my satisfaction, I clutched hold of the oar, when, securing the end of the rope which held me round it, I sung out to papa and the men to haul away. In a short time I was brought back close to the rock. My chief danger was in landing, as the sea at times beat violently against it; but papa, quickly seizing me, hauled me up.

“You have acted bravely, Harry,” he said. “Now put on your clothes, and we shall soon have a communication with the vessel.”

While I was dressing, the rope with the cradle was hauled up to the side of the vessel, and secured to a stanchion; when the crew, getting up a stouter warp, shouted out to us to haul it in, they having secured the cradle to it. We thus had a safe communication established with the wreck, and a stout line to draw the cradle backwards and forwards.

Greatly to our surprise, a female was the first person we drew ashore; she burst into tears as we lifted her out of the cradle. Another and another followed; two had infants in their arms; and then came two little boys secured to the cradle. Three men followed, each with a child.

“Have all the women and children landed?” asked papa.

“All who have escaped,” was the answer. “Several were washed away with the master and two mates.—”

Six more men now came, the sole survivors of the crew.

“Are all hands out of the ship?” asked papa.

“Every soul, sir,” answered one of the men.

There was no time to make inquiries as to how the vessel was wrecked. We heard that she was a homeward-bound barque from the United States, and that the passengers on board were returning to see their friends. We hurried over to the leeside of the rock, and at once embarked the two women with the infant, who seemed to be totally exhausted.

As soon as we got alongside, we lifted them on board, where papa and I remained, he sending the boat back with our two men. Truck had lighted the galley fire, and we soon had some hot broth for the poor creatures, who, having taken off their wet clothes, got into our beds. Papa then looked out all the blankets, and we made up as many beds as we could on the sofa and cabin deck.

By this time the boat had returned with the remaining women and children. She made no less than seven trips before all were brought off; and, as may be supposed, our little vessel was pretty well crowded. Even the men were in a greatly exhausted state, and could not do much for themselves. Papa, however, seemed to think and act for everybody.

As soon as all were on board, we hoisted in the boat, and the wind being fair, having shaken out the reefs in the mainsail, we steered for Saint Ives. Dick, who was not fit for much when we first left the vessel, had now recovered, and assisted in getting off the wet clothes from our young passengers, and in carrying round food.

The cabin presented a curious appearance, with the people stowed as thickly as herrings in a cask, all wrapped up in blankets and peacoats. Fortunately, the water was smooth under the lee of the land; but the number of people on board brought the vessel much below her usual bearings.

“I am thankful we have not a long voyage to make, or we should soon be short of provisions,” said papa, as we got out tin after tin of soup and meat.

The soft bread and fresh beef we had taken on board at Penzance were soon consumed by the women and children, who speedily rallied from their exhaustion.

The wind, however, fell very light, and there appeared to be a prospect of our not being able to get in that night.

On inquiry, papa found that the master and first mate of the wrecked ship had been tipsy for some days, and had quarrelled desperately with each other, and the second mate, interfering, had been nearly killed. They had got completely out of their course, and none of them knew where they were. They had been bound for the Thames. The men said that when they saw the Longships they fancied that it was the Eddystone, and that when they struck they supposed that they were not far off Plymouth Breakwater, though they were wondering why they did not see the light.

“It is one of the many sad examples we have had of the effects of drinking,” observed papa. “If I had to make a voyage, I should choose a temperance vessel. Though a master may appear sober enough in port under the eyes of his owners, unless he is a temperate man, one can never tell what he may do at sea.”

On further inquiries we found that nearly half the crew were as tipsy as their officers, and that they, with the cabin passengers who had remained aft, had been washed away. The people saved were steerage passengers, with the exception of one little boy, whose parents and friends had perished. However, the satisfaction of having been the means of saving the lives of these poor people was to us very great. We were of course greatly interested in the boy, Nat Harvey, who was about six years old. Poor little fellow, he had been so frightened that he was not fully aware of what had occurred, and did not appear fully to realise his loss. He seemed to think that his papa and mamma, and his Aunt Fanny and brother and sister, had gone off in a boat, and that he should see them again before long. He kept continually asking why they were not with us. When he heard that we were going to Saint Ives, he said that he hoped we should find them there. One of the women, with a kind heart, had taken him under her charge, and she sat on the cabin floor holding him in her arms with his head resting on her lap, every now and then speaking words of comfort, and endeavouring to get him to go to sleep. Papa inquired from the passengers and crew if they knew anything of his family, or where they were going. No one could say what part of the States Mr and Mrs Harvey, with three children and a young lady, who was sister either to Mr or Mrs Harvey—these were their names—had come from.

“We can’t turn the poor child adrift among strangers,” observed papa. “We must take him with us, and try to find out his friends.”

“Oh pray do!” Dick and I exclaimed. “I’ll look after him, and keep him out of mischief,” added Dick.

At last papa agreed that the best thing he could do for the child was to keep him on board, unless some kind person of influence at Saint Ives would take charge of him, and endeavour to find out his friends.

When speaking of the way the wreck occurred, papa said he was not surprised, as he had known an instance of the master of a vessel who with his mate had got drunk, and who had managed to take his vessel to the south of Jersey, while all the time he fancied that he was among the Scilly Islands.

The wind had fallen, and we feared that a calm would come on and keep us all night, which would have been a great trial to our poor passengers. It was therefore with much satisfaction that, the wind holding fair, we came in sight of the peninsula on which part of Saint Ives is situated, the remainder being on the mainland on the south side of Saint Ives Bay.

The water was smooth, the sky bright, and as papa looked at the town he exclaimed—“Why, I could almost fancy myself among the Greek islands, so exactly does the place, in its form and picturesque beauty, remind me of a Greek village.”

We stood on until, running under a battery which defends the town on the seaside, we anchored off a pier. The view was indeed highly picturesque. The town has an ancient appearance, the houses being built without any regard to order, many of them looking as if destined ere long to tumble down. Then our eyes wandered round the deep bay, on the surrounding broken ground, and the commanding cliffs, lighted up by the rays of the setting sun, which cast a dark shadow over the town itself on the western side.

Papa, hastening on shore, immediately applied to the authorities, who received the shipwrecked crew. The poor people expressed their gratitude for the service we had rendered them; and papa, to assist them still further, healed a subscription which was raised in the town for their relief.

We were very thankful when we got them all on shore. We looked out on entering the bay for the Dolphin; but among the various vessels which had brought-up there, she was not to be seen; and on inquiring on shore we could gain no tidings of her. Papa now thought, or hoped, as he had at first supposed, that she had got safely into Saint Mary’s.

Of course our cabins had not been improved by being occupied by so many passengers. We therefore slept on shore, that our bedclothes might be washed and the cabin cleaned; and we had also to replenish our stock of provisions, which had been almost exhausted. Papa’s first care was to arrange an outfit for little Nat, as he had only the garments he wore. We soon had him rigged out in a regular sailor’s suit, with a piece of crape round his arm, for we could find no black clothes ready. He frequently asked for his papa and mamma, as well as for his Aunt Fanny.

“You must not expect to see them, my boy,” answered papa; “but we will take care of you; and Harry here will give you your lessons, as I dare say you do not wish to be idle.”

“Oh yes, I like lessons. Aunt Fanny used to teach me,” answered Nat; “but if she doesn’t come back soon I should like to learn of Harry.”

I gladly promised to be his tutor while he remained on board, and felt not a little proud of the position. I at times fancied that he had a suspicion of what had happened to his friends. The first time we were alone together he looked up into my face, while the tears sprang into his eyes, as he said, “Do you know, Harry, that I am afraid that the sea washed papa and mamma and Aunt Fanny and dear Reuben and Mary away? I don’t like to ask, because I am afraid of anybody telling me that I shall never see them again.”

I had not the heart to say that his suspicions were correct, so I at once got out a book and said, “Come, Nat, you shall read to me, then I will read to you, and then we will talk about what we have read.” I did the same whenever he again mentioned the subject.

Saint Ives itself was soon seen. There is a church standing so close to the sea that when there is a strong wind it is almost covered with spray. Most of the inhabitants are engaged in the pilchard and herring fishery.

We made an excursion along the coast to visit the ruins of the church of Perranzabuloe, supposed to be the most ancient in Britain. It had for centuries been covered up by the sand. We had left Nat under the charge of the landlady, and engaged a boat to carry us round to visit these interesting ruins. After a long pull we landed up a little creek, near which stand two rocks, known as “The Old Man and his Wife.” Near at hand was a small fishing-village, in the neighbourhood of which we visited an ancient amphitheatre, still wonderfully perfect. We here obtained a guide to conduct us to the church. It must be understood that the whole shore is covered with fine sand, which is moved in a wonderful manner by northerly winds. It has gradually swept over the country, destroying vegetation and covering up buildings as effectually as has been done by ashes from burning mountains. The progress of the sand is sometimes gradual and almost imperceptible; at other times, in the course of a gale, whole villages have been overwhelmed, allowing the inhabitants scarcely time to escape. Such was the case with this ancient church and the surrounding habitations. So completely had the sand swept over it, that it had quite disappeared; and it was only, after the lapse of centuries, discovered about forty years ago, though a tradition existed in the neighbourhood that a church had once stood there. It was discovered by a Mr Mitchell, who, undeterred by difficulties, succeeded in removing a mass of sand and exposing the building which had so long been covered up. The masonry is rude, but the walls are solid and complete. The interior was perfectly free from the modern accompaniments of Roman Catholic places of worship. There was no rood-loft, no confessional, no pictures of the Virgin and saints, nothing to indicate the unscriptural adoration of the wafer, or masses for the dead. The most diligent search was made for beads and pyxes, censers and crucifixes; not a fragment of either could be discovered. At the eastern end we saw a plain, unornamental chancel; in the nave are stone seats attached to the walls.

Near the church were discovered three skeletons, one of gigantic dimensions, the second of moderate size, and the third apparently that of a female; and the wind blowing off the sand, the ground around was found covered with human bones.

We were deeply interested with our visit to this ancient church, which tends to prove that our ancestors worshipped God in simplicity and truth, and that they knew nothing of the forms and ceremonies of Rome.

With regard to these sand-dunes we heard a curious circumstance, that even a narrow stream will stop the advance of the sand, which will accumulate on its banks, but has not the power to cross to the opposite side.

On returning on board, we found that our stock of provisions had arrived, that our blankets were dried, and the cabin cleaned out. We therefore immediately got under weigh, and stood out for the bay.

“What!” exclaimed Dick, “is this the Saint Ives I’ve heard of all my life?” and he repeated—

“As I was going to Saint Ives

I met a man with seven wives;

Seven wives had seven sacks,

Seven sacks had seven cats,

Seven cats had seven kits,

Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

How many were going to Saint Ives?”

Papa laughed, and said he believed that the honour was also claimed by a little town in Huntingdonshire of the same name. “The two,” he said, “may fight it out. It is not very important.”

The wind now blew from the northward, and in a short time we opened the Longships, bearing due south-west. It had hitherto been hidden by the land, so that we knew perfectly well where we were. We then kept away until we came in sight of the two lights of the Seven Stones Lightship, until we brought them on our starboard beam, when we were within the radius of Saint Agnes Lighthouse just before daybreak.

We were hoping to get in or off Saint Mary’s in the morning, when it fell calm; and there we lay, with our sails flapping idly, and rolling in the swell of the Atlantic, which came in from the southward. We could see through our glasses the Longships Lighthouse on one side and the light-vessel on the other, while the Scilly Islands rose blue and indistinct out of the ocean. One tide carried us to the northward; but in the next we regained our lost ground. It was, however, very tantalising, as we were anxious to ascertain what had become of the Dolphin.

Though papa always hoped for the best, he could not help acknowledging that he feared that she might have met with some accident. At length a breeze sprang up, but it was against us; still, that was better than a calm, as we could gain ground by tacking. Dick and Nat asked more than once why we were sailing away from the land when we wanted to get there.

At last we came in sight of a lofty tower on the top of a hill in Saint Martin’s Island, with the long low outline of Saint Mary’s beyond. Still, we had several tacks more to make before we gained the entrance to Crow Sound, between Saint Mary’s and Saint Martin’s. By this time it was dark. A bright look-out was kept for rocks and shoals in the channel. Suddenly rounding a point, the light from Saint Agnes shone brilliantly down on us, and further to our right we saw the little twinkling lights from the windows of the houses in Hugh Town, the capital of the Scilly Islands.

Having come safely to an anchor among several other vessels, we shouted out, “Dolphin, ahoy!” hoping that she was among them, though in the dark night we could not distinguish her. We had shouted out several times, and papa was on the point of putting off in the boat to make inquiries on shore, when a hail came down from the other side of the harbour, “Is that the Lively?”

“Ay—ay!” we answered. “Is that the Dolphin?”

“Ay—ay!” was the reply. “I’ll be aboard you presently.”

In a short time we heard the splash of oars, and, much to our relief, Uncle Tom, followed by Oliver and Jack, sprang on deck.

Our first inquiries were as to how they had weathered the gale. “Famously,” answered Uncle Tom. “We kept hove-to till the morning, when, as the wind moderated, we stood in here, a pilot having boarded us and showed us the way.”

“Who have you got here?” exclaimed Oliver, as he looked into Nat’s little berth.

Great was the astonishment of all the party when we described the adventures we had met with. We talked over various plans for finding out Nat’s relatives, and what should be done with him, should we not succeed.

Next morning we went on shore to inspect the town and to make the tour of the island, which is easily done, as it is only two and a half miles long and one and a half broad. The town had a somewhat sombre look until we got on shore, when the neat gardens full of flowers, and the clean appearance of the streets, made us think better of the place. Most of the houses are low, few of them having more than two stories.

On the hill, about one hundred feet above the town, is the castle, which has seen a good many stirring events in its time; but its only garrison now consists of a single individual, who, I suppose, is placed there to prevent the rats from taking possession. It was built in the time of Queen Elizabeth, by Sir Francis Godolphin; but its chief interest arises from its being the last spot on British soil which held out for the Royalists in the days of Cromwell, when Sir John Grenville was governor. Prince Charles fled here, and remained until he took his departure for Jersey. For six years the stout Sir John retained his post, and having collected a number of vessels, fitted them out as cruisers, for the purpose of crippling the forces of the Parliamentary party. These cruisers had, in truth, very much the character of pirates, and were not particular what vessels they robbed. Having plundered some Dutchmen, they were very nearly being severely punished by old Van Tromp, who appeared with a squadron. When summoned to surrender, Sir John refused, and Van Tromp sailed away. At length, so urgent became the representations of the merchants whose vessels had been captured, that Parliament sent an expedition, under Admiral Blake and Sir George Askew, when Sir John was compelled to surrender; and he, with the eight hundred men forming his garrison, received honourable terms.

Though at one time the inhabitants of the Scilly Islands were noted for their barbarous customs, they have now become as peaceably disposed and civilised as any of Her Majesty’s subjects.

Saint Mary’s is divided into two parts by a narrow neck of land, on which Hugh Town stands. It is very possible that some day it will be washed away. We passed over a well-laid-out piece of ground covered with soft turf, on which sheep and deer were feeding, called the Park; and from it we could see the tall lighthouse and the few cottages on Saint Agnes Island.

We then proceeded to Buzza Hill, whence we could look down on the harbour, which had the appearance of a large lake. Sometimes, we were told, several hundred vessels take shelter within it. Opposite to Hugh Town was Tresco, the residence of Mr Smith, the lord proprietor, surrounded by gardens containing avenues of geraniums and plantations of the rarest exotics.

Some of the heights we reached were grand and picturesque in the extreme—one of them, Penninis, especially so. Rocks seemed piled on rocks; beneath, vaults and caverns, abounding with lichens and ferns, with crystal pools in the hollows of granite. Climbing to the summit, our eyes ranged over the ocean, rolling in sublime magnificence, its voice never silent.

On Tolmen Point is a Druidical monument—a perforated stone, which we examined. Papa said that no one knew for what purpose this monument, and others like it, were intended. He told us of one especially, which he had seen at Constantine Penryn, of which he had a photograph. It had lately, he said, been thrown down for the sake of getting at the granite underneath. I think such destruction of old monuments ought to be forbidden by law!

Then we went to Porthhellick Cove, with wild rocks seen beyond it, on which, in the year 1707, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, with four of his ships and two thousand men, were cast away. The body of the admiral, known by a valuable ring on his finger, was buried on the shore of the cove. It was afterwards removed to Westminster Abbey.

Papa remarked that the strong current produced by the indraught of the Irish Channel drifted these ships out of their course, and was the cause of the catastrophe.

The inhabitants of the islands were once known for their smuggling and wrecking propensities. A fisherman whom we fell in with—a venerable-looking man, with white hair streaming under his cap—pointed out several spots on which ships with rich cargoes had run on shore, and assured us that coin was still to be picked up in the sand, if people would but take the trouble to look for it. In former days everybody was engaged in smuggling, or trusting to salvage from wrecks. There was but little farming. No potatoes were grown, and there were no gardens, while their huts were as low and damp as those in the Hebrides. But when Mr Smith came he changed all that; and now the people live in comfortable houses, have gardens full of flowers, and the productions of the islands afford them ample support. Wheat and rye, and every description of vegetable, are grown; scarlet geraniums flourish, while fuchsias, and a variety of other magnificent flowers, not only grow in the gardens, but form hedges several feet in height.

Next morning we got under weigh to take a cruise among the islands. Passing round on the other side of Hugh Town, we perceived the narrowness of the strip on which it stands, and sincerely hoped that the sea would not again—as it once did—break across and inundate the place. I cannot attempt to describe the numerous rocks and islands we sighted in our course, there being altogether upwards of three hundred, large and small. Steering to the south-west, we passed Gorregan and Rosevean, where our pilot told us that many a stout ship had been lost; some, striking on the rocks, having gone down and left no sign of their fate, except some articles thrown up on the shore. Coming to an anchor, we pulled off in the boat to catch fish, with which the sea literally swarmed. We could see them swimming about through the clear water. We were amused by the way in which our pilot, who was a great fisherman, caught them. Throwing the bait always before their noses, and singing out, “Come along, Dick, come along, Tom; bite, my boy;” and, sure enough, the fish bit, and were caught.

We afterwards passed several ruins of ancient chapels, when we arrived off Saint Agnes, on which the magnificent lighthouse stands. On the island were a few cottages; and here the scarlet geranium was almost a tree.

From this point we steered for the Bishop’s Lighthouse, the most western part of Scilly. It is a magnificent stone tower, one hundred and forty-seven feet high, with one fixed bright light. This can be distinguished from that of Saint Agnes, which revolves every minute.

Passing up Broad Sound we came off a fine headland, the proper name of which is the “Menavawr;” but our pilot called it the “Man o’ war.”

In our cruise we passed Bryher and Sampson, the two largest islands in the group. The latter island is called after a saint of that name. It consists of two hills, the outlines of which present the form of the back of a camel. Landing on the shore, we made a collection of beautiful shells, which accumulate in large quantities on the beach. Our pilot told us that, until lately, the isle of Sampson was thickly peopled; but the inhabitants, being addicted to certain illegal practices, such as wrecking and smuggling, and illicit distillation of spirits, it was found necessary, as the only means of weaning them from their bad habits, to disperse them, either on the mainland, or through the other islands, where they could be better watched.

We again got out our fishing-lines, which we baited with flies formed out of untwisted pieces of rope. In a short time we had caught a dozen fine whiting-pollock. We, however, had a still greater catch shortly afterwards.

As we were sailing along through the Sound, a herd of porpoises came gambolling by, their black bodies and fins now appearing, now sinking beneath the surface. Captain Truck had a harpoon ready, and he placed himself in the forechains, with a rope round his waist. He stood with his weapon high poised in the air, ready to strike. We were all on the watch. In a few moments his harpoon flew from his hand.

“Pay away, lads!” he shouted out; “the fellow’s fast.”

The porpoise dived, and the line ran out at a rapid rate. Truck sprang in board, and quickly checked it. We then got two running bowlines ready, one in the fore part of the vessel, and the other aft. There was great excitement.

“Now haul away,” he sang out; and the porpoise was dragged, in spite of its struggles, close alongside, when the running bowlines were passed one over its head, and the other round its tail; and all hands joining, including Nat, who took the end of a rope—although, as may be supposed, he was not of much use—we hoisted the huge fish on board. It was at once killed and scientifically cut up by Truck and the pilot. So eager was the latter, that he very nearly let us strike on a rock. We had some pieces of the porpoise beef for dinner, which were pronounced very good. We supplied the Dolphin with a portion of our catch, and our united crews lived on it for the next two days.

Next day we had another similar cruise, during which we visited the beautiful Sound called New Grimsby. On one side stands the tower, known as Cromwell’s Castle—not that he was ever in the island, but he ordered it to be built. On the opposite side are the ruins of another fort. It was here that the forces under Blake and Askew landed, and attacked the fortifications, though they met with a stout resistance from the Royalists, who at length took to flight.

Farther on we came off vast masses of rock piled one upon another. The two yachts having hove-to, we pulled on shore, and, under the guidance of the pilot, managed to land; when, climbing up some distance, we reached a cone, from the bottom of which we could hear the sea roaring fearfully. We then arrived lower down at a small opening, when a guide, who had joined us, lighted some candles, that we might find our way into a celebrated cavern, called “Piper’s Hole.” For some distance we had to crawl along on our hands and knees. At length we reached a narrow but high vault; this we followed until we arrived at the head of a ladder. “You will find a boat at the bottom, gentlemen,” said the guide.

Jack and I, with Uncle Tom, descended, as we were told that the boat could not carry a larger fare. After looking down for a few seconds, we distinguished a light; and going down the ladder, we stepped into a boat, in which a man, whom we of course denominated Charon, was seated. Instead of oars, he used a long pole to urge on the boat. We noticed the dark appearance of the water as we made our way through the vaulted chambers. We now found ourselves floating on a lake, the water black as ink, but perfectly smooth. Above our heads was a lofty and extensive dome; but the sides were invisible. Charon ferried us across, and landed us on a smooth sandy shore, along which we proceeded for a considerable distance through a succession of caverns, until we arrived at a small circular chamber where they appeared to terminate.

On putting my hand into the water on my return, to my surprise I found it perfectly fresh, although so close to the sea. Here any number of outlaws might take refuge, with small chance of being discovered, or defend themselves against any force sent in pursuit, provided they had food to hold out until their enemies had grown weary of looking for them. Charon—unlike his namesake—had no objection to ferry us back across the Styx; and having made our way into the upper air, we regained the boat.

Our next visit was to Rock Island, the resort of countless numbers of sea-birds. It is at the extreme northern end of the group, and consists of a high table-land, surrounded by precipitous cliffs. As we approached, the gulls rose in masses so thick as positively to darken the air, while all around the sea was speckled with the white feathers of innumerable puffins. On the cliffs were ranged numerous clusters of black cormorants, who seemed to be watching us eagerly. Their plumage was very fine, being of a lustrous invisible green, while their eyes were of the brightest emerald hue. The boats which went in pursuit brought back a number of gulls and puffins and cormorants, some of which Oliver begged might be preserved for stuffing.

We paid a visit on the last day of our stay to the residence of Mr Smith, in the island of Tresco. On landing, we proceeded across a park, and approached the large, many-gabled house, in front of which the rocky ground was completely concealed by masses of blooming creepers. We passed between beautiful flower-beds, among which grew magnificent aloes, twenty feet in height, covered with bloom. We wellnigh lost ourselves in the labyrinth of walks, literally shaded by scarlet geraniums of giant growth, and shrubs, such as grow nowhere in the open air on the mainland, many of them of extreme beauty, brought from all parts of the world. In the midst of the gardens we came upon the ivy-mantled arches of the ruined abbey of Tresco, which has reared its head in these far off islands for the last eight centuries. We all of us agreed that we had never before been in so perfect a garden, so rich with a profusion of flowers. Mr Smith, in making this “Paradise,” had an object in view—to set an example to the inhabitants of these lonely islands, to show them what Nature will do for them, when they put their shoulder to the wheel; and in few parts of the world are the climate and soil so suited to the production of floral wonders.

I must not venture to give a further description of the place, but I must say that Scilly is well worth a visit; and I am sure that any of my friends who may go there will not be disappointed. We were quite sorry when papa and Uncle Tom determined to sail, reminding us that, if we remained longer, we should have no time to see the other places of interest it was our intention to visit on our voyage round England.

Chapter Seven.

Out in the Lifeboat.

Once more we were steering to the north-east, intending to visit several places on the Cornish and Devonshire coast, before standing across the Bristol Channel. The sea was calm, and the wind, coming off shore, was light, as we slowly sailed past the Cow-and-Calf Rocks.

“Dear me, what a strange creature! Why, there’s a black calf!” exclaimed little Nat, who was looking over the side of the vessel as we glided on.

Captain Truck turned his eyes in the direction of the rocks, where, sure enough, there was a strange-looking creature lying perfectly still, and gazing up at us with large lustrous orbs.

“That’s a seal, Master Nat. If you could just look into one of the caverns on this coast, you’d find lots of them creatures. Though they are without feet or hands, they can manage to make their way along the beach at a pretty fast rate with their flappers and tails. If you were to see one, you would laugh.”

“Couldn’t we catch it?” asked Nat.

“Maybe if he was to come near enough I might with my harpoon; but he is too big to be a passenger on board our small craft.”

Truck got his harpoon in readiness, but, fortunately for itself, the seal did not come within reach of his deadly weapon.

Rounding Stepper Point, we stood up the broad estuary which forms the mouth of the river Camel, on the southern shore of which stands Padstow. The town is situated in a valley, with pretty gardens on every side, while in front is a lake-like expanse of water apparently surrounded by granite cliffs, the entrance being completely shut out from view. Vessels of considerable size were at anchor, showing that the water was deep. We observed many ancient-looking buildings in the old part of the town near the quays, from which a fine pier projected. Higher up were more modern-looking buildings.

Having replenished our stores, which was our chief object in coming in, though the place itself was well worth seeing, we again sailed, and the same evening came off Tintagel Head.

Here both yachts were hove-to. We all pulled on shore in the boats, taking Nat with us. The place where we landed was near the village of Trevena. Over an inn door was painted the name of “Charity Bray,” which we found to be the appellation of the landlady. As we promised to take tea at her hostelry before returning on board, she undertook to procure us a guide, who would lead us by the shortest cut to the far-famed ancient castle of Tintagel. Hurrying on, for we had no time to spare, we descended by a steep path along the side of the cliff until we reached a lofty rock, on which one part of the castle stands, while on the mainland another portion is built. We were now standing at the bottom of a chasm looking up two hundred feet or more to the castle walls, which were originally joined by a drawbridge. The castle was anciently called Dunchine, or the Fort of the Chasm. A zigzag path enabled us to gain the summit of the cliffs. The entrance to the castle was through a gateway, a ruined archway which still stands. Passing through it, we entered a court, called King Arthur’s Garden, immediately beyond which rose a precipitous rock, crowned by a tower and wall—evidently the keep. At the further side the cliff descends perpendicularly to the sea, while on the other is the chasm I have mentioned as dividing the two portions of the castle. The walls altogether encircled the larger part of the promontory, and in some places can hardly be distinguished from the cliffs, out of which they seem, as it were, to grow. The headland, I was told, contains about forty acres. We remarked that the walls were pierced with a number of small square orifices, probably intended for the use of bowmen. In the rock overlooking the ocean is a recess, which our guide told us was called “King Arthur’s Chair;” and in another part is a subterranean passage called “King Arthur’s Hiding-place.” It is undoubtedly one of the most ancient castles in the kingdom, though it was greatly enlarged in later years, and was kept up until the reign of Elizabeth, when it was abandoned as a stronghold, and allowed to fall into decay. As it was King Arthur’s birthplace, so it was the spot where he lost his life. I found some lines by the poet Wharton, describing the battle:

“O’er Cornwall’s cliffs the tempest roared;

High the screaming sea-mew soared;

On Tintagel’s topmost tower

Darksome fell the sleety shower,

When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks

On conscious Camlan’s crimson banks,

By Modred’s faithless guile decreed

Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed.”

Once upon a time the Cornish men were noted for being heartless wreckers. There is a story current of a wicked man, who, having tied up a donkey by the leg, fastened a lantern round its neck and drove it along the summit of the cliffs; the halting movement of the creature, resembling the plunging of a ship, being calculated to tempt vessels to their destruction, from the belief that there was ample sea room. Happily, at the present time the Cornish men are as prompt to save as they were in their savage days to lure hapless barques on shore. This part of the coast is indeed a fearful one for any unfortunate ship driven upon it, though, by means of the rocket apparatus and the lifeboats, the crew have a better chance of escape than formerly.

Soon after leaving Tintagel we came in sight of the higher light, which beamed forth from Lundy Island, revolving every two minutes. We stood on across Bude Bay, steering for Hartland Point, at the southern side of Barnstaple Bay. The wind heading us, we stood off the shore until we caught sight of the lower fixed light on Lundy Island, where, from the distance we were from it, papa calculated that the next tack would carry us into the bay.

I always enjoy sailing at night when finding our way by the lights, with the chart spread out on the cabin table. The lighthouse of Lundy Island—which is at the very entrance of the Bristol Channel—is a great blessing to mariners; while the island itself, which runs north and south, and is long and narrow, affords shelter in a westerly gale to the storm-tossed vessels bound along the coasts.

I was quite sorry when papa ordered me to turn in; but I was on deck again before daybreak, and found that we were standing towards the two bright fixed lights at the entrance of Bideford Harbour, while we could still see the lights of Lundy Island astern; so that we knew where we were as well as we should have done in broad daylight. By keeping the two lights in one, we knew that we were standing for the passage over the bar into the harbour.

It was just daylight as we entered the broad estuary where the rivers Taw and Torridge flow into the ocean. We came off Appledore, at the mouth of the Torridge, on which Bideford is situated. Bideford has an ancient school-house, where many a naval hero acquired such education as was considered necessary to prepare him for a life on the ocean. Another interesting object is its bridge, six hundred and seventy-seven feet in length, supported by twenty-four small arches, and carrying iron buttresses on its side to widen the roadway; very ugly, I thought.

From Bideford also sailed many an exploring expedition; while its gallant mariners were well-known on the Spanish main, where they filled their pockets with doubloons, won at the point of their swords from the haughty Dons. A new school has lately been established in this neighbourhood for the sons of naval and military officers; and Dick and I agreed that we should like to go there.

Returning down the river, we pulled up the northern arm of the estuary. Barnstaple is a place of considerable importance, which has existed since the reign of the Saxon kings: Athelstan, having built a castle here, made the town into a borough. It is a handsome-looking place, but the harbour is much blocked up, so that only small vessels can enter. The river is spanned by an ancient stone bridge, the width of which is increased, as at Bideford, by iron projections for foot passengers; there is also a railway on either side. We saw a number of vessels building, and passed some large woollen and lace manufactories.

As we had all read Westward Ho! we were anxious to see Clovelly, which lies at the south side of the bay. So, early the next morning, getting under weigh, the tide being favourable, we ran out of the harbour, and stood across to that most picturesque of villages. Bringing up, we went on shore. We might almost have fancied ourselves in some Chinese place, as we climbed up the High Street, which is built in a hollow, with cliffs on either side, a rapid stream rushing down it towards the sea. The streets are very narrow, running in a zigzag fashion; but the little gardens full of flowers at the side of each doorway give it a most attractive appearance. It is also clean and neat in the extreme; while the romantic scenery around, and the views over Bideford Bay, covered as it was then by the dark red sails of numberless trawling-boats, made us very glad that we had landed.

As we had not much time to spare, we again put off, and sailed to Ilfracombe. We passed on our way Morte Point, a dangerous headland, so called on account of the number of vessels that have been shipwrecked there. There is a lighthouse on the cliff, to show the position of this dangerous place, and a red buoy also floats over the sunken rocks.

We had with us a chart, showing the position of the wrecks round the English coasts. There were a considerable number around this headland; but many more up the Bristol Channel, especially at the mouth of the Severn, where the river appears crowded with black dots. Off Plymouth, long rows of dots show where vessels have gone down. Between Lundy Island and the Welsh coast they are numerous; while they are equally dense between the Eddystone and Falmouth. They cluster thickly in the neighbourhood of all the headlands round Cornwall. Though more sprinkled, they are almost within hail of each other across Saint George’s Channel,—from the entrance, to the north of the Isle of Anglesea,—and still thicker at the mouth of the Mersey. There are not a few off Portland. Between that and Beachy Head they lie very close; but from Dungeness to the North Foreland they almost touch each other, every part of the Goodwin Sands being covered by them. All along the shore at the mouth of the Severn they can be counted by dozens; but the sandbanks off Great Yarmouth have proved the destruction of more vessels than the rocks of any other part of the coast. There is scarcely twenty miles of shore anywhere which could be passed over without those dark spots which show that some vessel has been wrecked.

It was gratifying, however, to see painted on the map a number of little red dots, which mark the lifeboat stations. Where wrecks have more frequently occurred in past years, there they appear thickest. On the Norfolk coast there are close upon thirty lifeboats, so that they are in most places not more than five miles apart.

We got into the snug little harbour of Ilfracombe, and the next morning enjoyed a ramble among the picturesque rocks of that romantic watering-place. In winter people come from a distance to it, for it is one of the most attractive seaside places on the English coast, with rocks and sands, and comfortable lodging-houses.

As the wind was from the southward and the tide favourable, we did not stay long, but stood across to Lundy Island, a rock at the southern end of which is called Bat Island. We had seen the revolving light of the island before entering Barnstaple Bay. The east coast is bold and precipitous, with numerous deep ravines running into the cliffs. The south end is even more rugged than the northern. Near the landing-place is a cave hollowed out of a black rock, called the Devil’s Kitchen; and beyond it is a narrow opening filled with dangerous rocks, known as Hell’s Gate. Indeed, from their character many spots hereabouts are called after Satan or his imps. As papa observed, people are ready enough to give Satan credit for the physical ills they suffer, but too often forget the fearful moral power he exerts, and yield themselves his willing slaves. Curiously enough, the chief proprietor of the island, who lives in a substantial house, rejoices in the name of “Heaven.”

So narrow is the landing-place, that we had to follow each other in single file. We had a glorious scramble among the rocks. On the top of a height appeared Marisco’s Castle, with low walls and four towers, reminding us of the Tower of London.

Lundy Island has been the refuge of persons of high and low degree. No small number of smugglers have made it their abode, as from thence formerly they could carry on their lawless trade with impunity. The most noted of them was a man named Benson, at one time a member of Parliament, who had ultimately to escape to “foreign lands” to avoid punishment. The pirates also in days of yore used to make it their headquarters; indeed, Marisco, who built the castle, may be included in the category of outlaws. He, with a daring band of followers, long carried on their depredations on foreign and mercantile shipping, until they were all captured and hanged.

We met with vast numbers of puffins, cormorants, and sea-gulls, which inhabit the cliffs of the island; and we obtained some good specimens of their eggs. The most curious were those of the guillemot, which, though little larger than the puffin, have eggs as large as those of geese. They are white, chocolate, or verdigris green, covered with curious figures and dashes; and it is said that, notwithstanding the number collected, no two have ever been found exactly alike. We took on board a number of eggs to eat. The yolk is a deep red, and the white transparent. The egg of the cormorant is but little larger than that of a pigeon. All these eggs are laid on ledges of the rocks. Being small at one end and large at the other, the wind rolls them round, but does not blow them over the edge.

It did not take us long to inspect Lundy Island, for it is only about two and a half miles long, and less than a mile wide. It consists of a mass of granite rising about two hundred feet above the sea.

We regretted being unable to visit Swansea, away to the north-east, and Carmarthen; but the coast between them is dangerous, and the passage would have occupied a considerable time. We should also have liked to look into the very pretty little seaside place of Tenby, on the west of Carmarthen Bay.

Swansea is a town of very considerable importance. It has a large foreign and home trade, and contains a number of furnaces for the smelting of copper, the ore being imported from Cornwall and Devonshire, and even from Australia and other foreign places. Five or six thousand ships visit it every year. Several canals and railways connect it with other parts of the country. It is not surprising that the wreck chart should show a number of black dots off its harbour.

A fresh breeze from the south-east soon brought us in sight of Saint Ann’s lights, forming the south-west entrance of Milford Haven; and guided by them we stood on towards the mouth of that magnificent estuary, which we entered by the first dawn of day. Running up it, we steered due east until we came off the town of Milford, where we brought-up, and sent on shore for fresh provisions.

Milford Haven is a wide estuary, in some places four and five miles across. We went on shore, but there was not much to see in the town. A naval dockyard, which once existed here, was removed in 1814 to Pembroke, on the southern side of the estuary. Having obtained what we wanted, we stood across to the latter place. We anchored off the dockyard, which is even larger than that of Portsmouth. We went through it, visiting several ships of various sizes. We saw also buildings and manufactories similar to those at Portsmouth. Everything is on a large scale. We were much interested in all we saw; but as I have already described Portsmouth, I need not give an account of Pembroke. From the width of Milford Haven, and being open to the south-west gales, it does not when they are blowing, afford secure anchorage; and the wreck chart shows that a number of vessels have been lost within it.

Papa and Uncle Tom had a consultation on board the Lively, and agreed that they would stand on up the Irish Channel, and touch at no other place until we arrived at Caernarvon, at the entrance of the Menai Straits, through which they intended to pass on our way to Liverpool.

We accordingly sailed early in the morning, and steered across for the Smalls Lighthouse, to the westward of which they intended to keep before standing up Saint George’s Channel. Though we had a brisk breeze, it took us nearly three hours after we passed Saint Ann’s Lighthouse, the distance being eighteen miles, to reach the Smalls rocks. Before the lighthouse was erected many vessels were lost on them, or on others between them and the coast of Wales. To the northward are the Tuskar rocks, on the Irish coast, on which also stands a fine lighthouse; and the two may be considered the guardian angels of the Channel. Those keeping to the east can see the Smalls light, while those a short distance off more to the west are in sight of the Tuskar light, which revolves every two minutes.

The tides run with great fierceness between the Smalls and the mainland, amid the dangerous reefs which extend out from the island of Skomer. As it was nearly slack tide when we got up to the lighthouse, and as the water was smooth, papa and Uncle Tom agreed to land. The yachts were hove-to, the boats lowered, and we pulled in on the northern side, where we had no difficulty in landing.

Two of the light-keepers, seeing us coming, descended to our assistance,—for, as may be supposed, they are ever happy to receive visitors, especially those bringing newspapers and periodicals. Before ascending, our guides took us to the site of the old tower, and a curious store-room, which was cut into the rock to serve as a coal-cellar to the former edifice, of which one of them gave us an interesting account.

Centuries had passed by, and numberless wrecks had occurred on the Smalls and neighbouring rocks, when, about a hundred years ago, a ship belonging to Liverpool was lost on them. She was commanded by a Captain Phillips, who, with his crew, escaped; and from a feeling of gratitude for his providential deliverance he determined that he would do his utmost to get a lighthouse built on the rock. He shortly afterwards became a shipowner and merchant in Liverpool; and, being successful in business, he forthwith put his intention into execution. His first plan was to fit long cast-iron pillars deep into the rock, and to place upon them a circular room, as the habitation of the light-keepers, with a lantern at the top. He had already raised the pillars to a considerable height, when a heavy gale came on, and they were overthrown. Undaunted by his failure, Captain Phillips again set to work, and engaged a Mr Whiteside—an ingenious mechanic and a native of Liverpool. Curiously enough, Mr Whiteside, who was about twenty-six years of age, had hitherto employed his talents in making musical instruments, though, having means of his own, he did not depend upon his labour for his subsistence. He had never been to sea, and was ignorant of the power of the ocean. Accompanied by half-a-dozen Cornish miners, he arrived in the harbour of Solva, a small town near Saint David’s Head, on the north side of Saint Bride’s Bay, about twenty-two miles from the Smalls rock. He began the work by again using iron pillars, the task of the miners being to bore holes in the rock in which to fix them. Before they had been long at work a gale arose, which compelled their vessel to seek for safety in harbour, while they were left clinging to one of the iron pillars. During that fearful night several of them were nearly carried away. The gale abating on the third day, they were rescued in a very exhausted state by the crew of their vessel. Still Mr Whiteside continued the work. After the iron pillars were fixed, and already carried to some height, another gale so bent them as to convince him that another material must be used. He accordingly obtained the longest and stoutest oak trees to be procured in the kingdom. After undergoing many hardships, dangers, and disappointments, he ultimately erected five wooden and three iron pillars. On the summit an octagonal room was formed, with a lamp above. Afterwards the three iron pillars were removed, and oak placed in their stead, with another in the centre, the whole supported by diagonal stays, the lower ends of which were fixed in the rock.

A rope ladder leading from the rock to a trap in the floor of the room enabled the light-keepers to ascend; and in this room was stored oil, coal, provisions, and other necessities, with spare bunks for any mechanics employed on the work or shipwrecked mariners who might reach the rock. Thus but little space was left for the regular inhabitants, two of whom, however, generally remained at a time in the lighthouse.

During a severe gale, which lasted for many weeks, one of the men died; and the other, fearing that he might be accused of murdering his companion, kept the body, placed in a coffin hanging under the floor of the room, until he was relieved. In consequence of this event, three keepers were always stationed at the lighthouse. The room was only just of sufficient height for a man of ordinary stature to stand upright; indeed, one of the keepers, measuring six feet, was unable to do so, and had to bend his head, lest he should strike it against the beams.

Often, during even ordinary gales of wind, the whole structure was completely covered by the water, so that when the waves rose the light could not be seen. Having inspected the holes in which the towers stood, we examined the cellar. It was cut out of the solid rock, and is twenty feet long by eight wide, and four feet deep, and has a covering of granite eight inches thick, the entrance being by two gun-metal doors, or rather man-holes, perfectly impervious to water when closed; it was formed to hold the tools and stores of the labourers. The rock itself is twelve feet above the level of the sea at high-water, and the lantern of the old lighthouse stood seventy feet above the water.

For eighty years this curious pigeon-hole of a dwelling-house towered in mid air, surrounded by the furious waves which dashed wildly against it, until at length the Trinity Corporation, who had purchased it from the heirs of the original possessor, resolved on building a stone lighthouse, similar to that of the Eddystone; and Mr James Douglas was entrusted with its construction. The first stone was laid in 1857; and the light on the new tower was exhibited on the 1st of August, 1861, the old structure being immediately afterwards removed.

We made our way to the new lighthouse, which is of granite. Twenty-nine feet above high-water mark, it is of solid masonry; in the next eighteen feet there is a well-staircase seven feet in diameter, all the courses being secured in the most perfect manner. Having climbed up by thirteen gun-metal steps, wedged into the solid granite, we reached the entrance port. As may be supposed, we had to stretch our legs to get up to it. We ascended the staircase by twenty-eight steps to a room containing three iron water-tanks, holding a thousand gallons, with a coal-cellar below it. Here a crane is fixed for hoisting in stores. Seventeen more steps led us to the oil room. The arched granite floors are composed of twelve radiating blocks of granite, dovetailed to a centre stone nine inches thick in the centre, and one foot seven inches in circumference. A slated floor is cemented on to the surface of the granite. Another seventeen steps took us up to the store-room, in which the meat and bread casks are kept. Ascending a third series of seventeen steps, we arrived at the living room, the walls of which are two feet six inches thick. Here is a cooking-range with an oven, a bookcase, tables, etcetera. A fourth series took us to the bedroom, in which there are five berths; and by a fifth staircase of seventeen steps we reach the watch-room, immediately below the lantern; but there is no seat, as the keeper is not allowed to sit down during his watch. Sixteen more steps we mounted, making altogether one hundred and twenty-nine, when we arrived at the lantern. The apparatus is of the first catadioptric order, lighted by a first-class pressure lamp. By it stands the machine for striking the fog-bell, which weighs three hundredweight, and sounds about every two seconds by means of a double clapper. There is also a flagstaff, by means of which the light-keepers can hoist signals to passing vessels. The total height of masonry above high-water mark is one hundred and fifteen feet six inches; and the diameter of the tower over the outside of the cornice is twenty-one feet. Although not so lofty, this magnificent lighthouse is a far stronger structure than that of the Eddystone.

There are four light-keepers belonging to the lighthouse, one—as is customary—being on shore. They seemed perfectly happy and contented, liking the regularity of their lives, feeling, as they said, fully as safe as they would miles inland. They were very glad of a packet of newspapers and a couple of magazines we gave them, which we obtained at Milford; and the men begged us to give them another look in, should we come that way again. This we promised to do if we could.

The weather had hitherto been very fine, and we hoped to have a pleasant run. We were gliding smoothly on, and had got very nearly half across Cardigan Bay, when the weather gave signs of changing.

“We shall have a dirty night of it, sir, if I don’t mistake,” observed Truck to papa; “if the wind comes from the westward, it will be all we can do to weather Bardsey Island.”

“If we once round it, we shall have a clear run for Caernarvon,” said papa; “and I should be sorry to delay by making for another port.”

“If you please sir,” answered Truck, “to my mind it would be as well to get into port as soon as we can.”

“We will see what the glass says,” observed papa.

He sent me below to look. It had fallen greatly within the last half-hour. As we looked westward we saw heavy clouds banking up in that direction, and rapidly approaching. Papa, on this, ordered the gaff topsail to be taken in, and the jib shifted. Presently afterwards we had two reefs down in the mainsail, and a still smaller jib set. The wind rapidly increased. We went below and examined the chart. The nearest port was Aberystwyth.

“At all times there is sufficient water over the bar for small craft like ours,” observed papa. “We will run for it, and shall be in before dark; but if not, there are two lights to guide us into the harbour.”

On going on deck, we made a signal to the Dolphin, and Uncle Tom bore down to speak to us. Papa told him what he proposed doing, and immediately altering our course, we stood into the bay. Having a good chart, we had no difficulty in making out the landmarking. In about an hour we came in sight of the ruined walls of an ancient castle above the harbour. A number of fishing-boats were making for the harbour, to find shelter from the expected gale; and, following them, we ran over the bar—it being high-water—and brought-up before the old-fashioned town.

The old town has not a very attractive appearance, as the streets are narrow, and the houses covered with black slate, which give them a sombre look, but there are also a number of large good-looking houses, inhabited by visitors, who come here to bathe and enjoy the sea-breezes, and we saw several churches and other public buildings; so that Aberystwyth may be considered a place of some importance.

We were thankful to be in harbour, for we had scarcely dropped our anchors before the gale broke with fearful violence. The sun had already set, and the rain came down in torrents. We remained on board, hoping to be able to see something of the old town and its ruins the following morning, before sailing.

All night long we could hear the wind howling and whistling, and the sea dashing against the rocks outside the harbour. When morning broke, the storm was raging as fiercely as ever; but as the rain had ceased, as soon as we had had breakfast we went on shore and walked down to the beach.

We met several people, who looked eager and excited, and inquiring of them the cause, they pointed seaward to the north-west, where, amid the spray, we made out a large vessel on shore.

Presently we saw a carriage dragged by four horses, coming along at a great rate, and as it came up we discovered that it contained the lifeboat. Reaching the shore, it was turned round, with the back of the carriage, on which the bow of the lifeboat rested, towards the sea. The horses were now made to back it nearer and nearer the water. I felt so eager to witness the proceedings that I would have given anything to go off with the gallant crew.

“Now, lads! on board!” cried the coxswain.

As he uttered the words, not only the crew but a number of other persons rushed down to the side of the boat. I found myself among them. In one instant the crew leapt on board, and, seized by a sudden impulse, I too sprang up the side, and slid down into the bottom of the boat. The coxswain was standing up, watching the seas as they rolled in. That moment was a favourable one for launching the boat, and, crying out to the men on the beach to haul away on the detaching lines, the boat, ere two seconds had passed, began to glide towards the raging billows. The crew had seized their oars, and were already giving way. Bravely the boat rolled over the first sea she encountered; and in less than a minute—before I was discovered—she was far from the beach, and pulling swiftly away out to sea. Now, for the first time, the coxswain, casting his eyes down, beheld me.

“Where do you come from, my lad?” he exclaimed; “you have no business here.”

“I was on board before I had time to think about that,” I answered. “I beg your pardon; but now that I am here I hope that you will let me remain.”

“Provided you are not washed out of the boat,” he replied. “Here, take one of these cork-jackets and put it on, and then sit quiet. Whatever happens, hold fast,—or, stay, lash yourself down; remember your life depends upon it.”

I did as he directed, and had now time to reflect on the folly of my proceeding—not that I feared for myself, but I knew papa and the rest of our party would be dreadfully anxious when they missed me.

The coxswain took no further notice of me. He had enough to do to attend to the steerage of the boat. I confess that before many minutes were over I wished myself back safe on shore. Still, I kept up my spirits; my only regret was that I had got on board without papa’s leave, and that he, and Oliver and Uncle Tom, and the rest, would be made unhappy on my account.

In spite of the coxswain’s orders, I stood up, holding the rope with my left hand, waving my handkerchief with the other, hoping that papa would see it, and at once know what I was doing.

I quickly sat down again, for I heard the coxswain cry out, “Hold fast, my lads!” and, turning my head for an instant over my shoulder, I saw a tremendous wave come rushing on with a crest of foam curling over it as if about to overwhelm the boat. On the crew pulled, however; when in an instant the sea broke, a large portion coming right down into the boat, wetting us through fore and aft. But the men seemed to think nothing of it, and on they pulled. Several other seas broke over us in the same way, half filling the boat; but she was so constructed that the water ran out again, and directly afterwards she was as buoyant as ever. We were pulling away to windward, to get a sufficient offing from the land to set sail. It was a long business, for although the men pulled hard, the wind was in our teeth, and the seas seemed to be sending us back as fast as we advanced. Such, however, was not the case, for on looking towards the shore I saw that we were gradually increasing our distance from it.

Thus some hours were passed; they appeared to me the longest I had ever known, and I again and again wished myself on shore. Had I been one of the crew, and felt that by my exertions I might have contributed to the saving of the shipwrecked sailors, the case would have been very different; but I had to sit quiet.

At last the coxswain shouted out, “Make sail!” The mast was stepped, and a double-reefed foresail and mizen were set. The boat could scarcely carry a smaller sail out; even with that she heeled over. Her head was now pointed towards the wreck, which seemed farther and farther off; indeed, we could only occasionally get a glimpse of her as we rose on the summits of the seas. How fearful must have been the anxiety of those on board the wreck! They might possibly have seen the boat; but if they did they might have feared that she would not reach them, or that they would not be able to get on board her before their ship went to pieces. At length the bank was reached which must be crossed before the wreck could be gained. The sea here was breaking tremendously; the waves leaping and clashing together, gave the water the appearance of a huge boiling cauldron. The boat seemed literally struggling for life; now the water poured in on one side, now on the other, as she rolled to starboard or port.

“Hold on, hold on, my lads, for your lives!” cried the coxswain; and a tremendous sea broke bodily over her, threatening to sweep every man on board away. I held on, as may be supposed, like grim death. The men, slipping from their seats, placed their breasts on the thwart, thrust their legs under them, and clasped them with both their arms, while the water rushed over their backs and heads, so completely burying us that I fully believed the boat was going down; indeed, it seemed as if we were gone. Suddenly regaining its buoyancy, up it sprang again, throwing out most of the water through the side, while the rest sank to the bottom of the boat, and once more she floated bravely.

The men looked round, as did I, expecting that some of their number would have been washed away; but they had all instantly regained their seats, and on she sped amid the hissing foam.

The wind, instead of lessening, appeared to increase, and the clouds came down close above our heads, seeming almost to meet the dancing crests of foam. With the masses of spray which continually broke over her and the thick clouds above us, it was almost as dark as night; and even the coxswain, with his sharp eyes, could with difficulty distinguish the wreck. At last, the sands were crossed, and the boat was once more ploughing her way through the seas, which rolled in towards the shore with greater regularity than those we had just passed.

“I see her! I see her!” cried the coxswain, who was standing up peering ahead. “She is little better than half a mile to leeward.”

The direction of the boat was slightly altered, and we stood down towards the wreck. As we approached her we saw that her mainmast was gone, that her foremast and yards were still standing, with their sails fluttering wildly from them. The lifeboat crew now looked anxiously towards the wreck, to ascertain if any men were still left in the rigging or on the forepart of the hull, which alone remained above the water.

“I see one! I see two!” exclaimed the men, in rapid succession. “They are waving to us.”

As we got still nearer, we could count no less than eight men in the rigging; but how to get to them was the difficulty.

“The mainmast has not been cut adrift; it will be a dangerous task,” said the coxswain. “Lads, we shall have to board her on the weather-side, I fear.”

From the position we had gained we could now see to leeward; and there, sure enough, hung the mainmast, which the sea was tossing up and down in a way which would speedily have destroyed our boat. The coxswain’s resolution was taken. Running to windward, he ordered the anchor to be let go and the sails lowered. His object was to get sufficiently near the wreck to receive the people on board without actually touching her. This was a dangerous undertaking; but it had to be performed, if any of the shipwrecked crew were to be saved. Six hands went to the bow, and gradually the cable was paid out, the huge rolling seas carrying us nearer and nearer the wreck. Several broke over us, and, rising against the side of the vessel, concealed her and the crew hanging on to the rigging from our sight. I remained seated, clinging on to the thwart, for I knew that I could do nothing. The brave coxswain, standing up, watched for an advantageous moment to approach the wreck. It seemed to me that it would never come.

“Slacken the cable,” he shouted out; “three fathoms, a little more, a little more!”

And now the stern of the boat got close up to the wreck. With a wild cry of “Now, lads, now!” four men sprang into the lifeboat. They were active seamen, or they could not have done it. Scarcely were they on board, than, looking forward, I saw a tremendous sea come rushing down on the boat. The coxswain shouted, “Haul in, lads! haul in!” The crew, with two of the men who had just joined us, hauled away from the wreck, only just in time; for the sea would otherwise have carried us right up on her deck, and either have dashed the boat to pieces or upset her, and sent us all struggling into the water. The huge wave having broken, again the boat was allowed to approach, and six more of the crew, having unlashed themselves, sprang into her one after the other. Neither they nor we were in safety. “Are there any more of you?” asked the coxswain, who was compelled to keep his eye to windward to watch the approaching waves.

“Yes, five more,” was the answer.

“Haul away! haul away, lads!” shouted the coxswain, for at that instant he saw another huge wave rolling in.

The lifeboat crew saw it too, and knew full well that it would prove our destruction, should we not get to a safe distance. Still, the remainder of the crew were not to be deserted. Three were men, the other two boys. I could see the poor fellows, as I looked back, lashed to the rigging, holding up their hands in dumb show, imploring us not to desert them. Neither the coxswain nor his crew were men to do that; but already the boat was crowded, and should the sea break on board, some of those saved might be washed out of her. Sea after sea rolled in on the wreck; every moment I expected to see the masts go, with the helpless men clinging to the shrouds, when all must be lost.

“Pay out, pay out, my lads!” exclaimed the coxswain, just as a huge sea was breaking astern of us, and three or four smaller ones of less consequence were approaching.

Again the boat got close up to the wreck. Two more men sprang into her. Another made the attempt, but his foot slipped, or he let go his hold of the rope too soon, and, falling between the boat and the vessel’s side, disappeared. One shriek only escaped him; it reached the ears of the two poor boys, who seemed paralysed with fear and unable to help themselves.

The coxswain shouted to them to let go, and spring towards him. One did as directed, and was caught by the strong arm of one of the crew. The other appeared to be entangled in the rigging. The brave man who had saved the other lad, seeing that the boy would be lost, regardless of the danger he himself was incurring, sprang on board, cutting the lashings with his knife, which he then threw from him. He seized the boy round the waist. At that instant I heard the cry, “Haul off, haul off!”

“Hold fast for a moment!” shouted the gallant man who had gone to rescue the boy.

By the delay of that moment the lives of all of us were fearfully imperilled. The man sprang with the rescued boy on board; but scarcely had his feet touched the boat when the sea which had just before been observed surrounded her and carried her right up high above the deck of the wreck. The crew forward were hauling away with all their might, although the bow of the boat was pointed downwards, and must, I thought, be dragged under water. Every instant I expected to hear the fatal crash. Had our mizenmast been caught in any of the rigging, our destruction would have been certain; but ere the boat actually struck the wreck she was hauled off; and now the crew, labouring with all their strength, drew her up to her anchor. To weigh the anchor with the sea that was running was impossible. Should the boat drift down on the wreck before sail could be made she must be dashed to pieces.

“Hoist away!” cried the coxswain.

A few strokes with an axe severed the cable, the foresail filled, and away we dashed through the foaming seas, passing so close to the wreck that I thought our mast-head must have struck her bowsprit.

Fourteen human beings had been saved; and with our rescued freight on board we stood towards the harbour. Scarcely had we got clear of the wreck than the remaining mast and the bowsprit went. Had any delay occurred, all those fourteen of our fellow-creatures would have lost their lives. How long we had been away I could not tell, but it appeared like a lifetime to me. I saw that the day was waning, and it would be long still before we could get back safe to land. The gale blew as fiercely as at first, and the seas which occasionally washed over us seemed to threaten our destruction. We could dimly see the land; but the lifeboat crew knew well where they were going; and they now did what they could to relieve the sufferings of the shipwrecked seamen by handing them the flasks of restoratives, with which they had come provided.

Had I gone out with papa’s leave, I should have been delighted to see the gallant deed I had witnessed. As it was, I could not help being secretly pleased, though now, strange to say, as the danger decreased, and I had time to think again of my friends, I earnestly longed to be safe on shore.

At last we caught sight of the lights at the mouth of the river, towards which the boat was making her way, although we had to go a long distance round to reach it. I was, of course, wet through, and cold and faint from want of food, though I felt no hunger. The light grew higher and nearer. The wind was at last brought on the quarter, and on the lifeboat flew. I felt her lifted by a monster sea, then down she came, and was the next instant in comparatively quiet water.

Loud cheers greeted us from the shore, which were heartily answered by our crew.

We rushed on, the sails were lowered, and we were alongside the wharf. I was so numbed and cold that I could not stand or spring out of the boat; but I heard a voice, which I knew to be that of papa, shouting out:

“Did you take off a boy with you?”

“Yes, sir; all right; here he is;” and the coxswain, lifting me up in his arms, handed me to papa and Uncle Tom.

They neither of them said anything, but carried me to the boat, which pulled off at once to the yacht. My teeth chattered with cold, so that I could scarcely speak. I was very thankful that they did not ask me questions. I was immediately put into my berth, and Truck soon brought a basin of hot soup, while a stone bottle of hot water was placed at my feet. In ten minutes I felt wonderfully better. Hearing papa in the cabin, I at once acknowledged that I had acted very wrongly.

“The impulse seized me, and I could not resist it,” I said.

“You should not allow yourself to be influenced by a sudden impulse; but I am too thankful that you escaped destruction to be angry with you. Let us thank God that you are preserved.”

After offering our sincere thanks to God for His merciful deliverance, papa said no more; and a very short time afterwards I fell asleep. The next morning, when I awoke we were at sea with the wind off shore, the sun shining brightly, and the water comparatively smooth. There was still a swell from the westward, the only signs of the recent storm.

Chapter Eight.

Liverpool and Glasgow.

After passing Aberdovey and Barmouth, in Cardigan Bay, we sighted Saint Tudwell’s Island; and then rounding Bardsey Island, on which stands a square white tower, ninety-nine feet in height, with one bright fixed light shining far out over Saint George’s Channel, we ran north past Porthdinlleyn, steering for Caernarvon, at the southern entrance of the Menai Straits.

As we sailed along we had a great deal of conversation about lifeboats. They have been in existence since 1789, when the first boat built expressly for saving life was launched by Mr H. Greathead, a boat-builder at South Shields; but some years before that a London coach-builder—Mr Lionel Lukin—designed a boat which he called “an unimmergible boat;” and, for the purpose of carrying out his experiments, he purchased a Norway yawl, which he tried in the Thames. His plans were entirely successful. He soon afterwards fitted a coble, sent from Bamborough, in Northumberland. The Duke of Northumberland, approving of Mr Greathead’s invention, ordered him to build a boat, which was afterwards stationed at North Shields. For a long time his plan was considered the best, and there are several of his lifeboats, which are impelled exclusively by oars, still in existence.

For years after their invention, the greater part of the coast was without lifeboats, until Sir William Hillary, who, while residing in the Isle of Man, had seen numerous vessels cast away, and lives lost, expressed his wishes to Mr Thomas Wilson, M.P. for the City of London; and the two gentlemen called a meeting in 1824, the result of which was the establishment of the “Royal National Institution for the Preservation of Life from Shipwreck.” From that time forward great encouragement was given to the building of lifeboats; and there are few parts of the coast now without them. Of course, a lifeboat must differ greatly from a common open boat, for even the best of them is easily filled with water, or upset.

A lifeboat must be buoyant, and firmly ballasted, self-righting, containing plenty of space for the rescued, strength to battle with the heavy seas, and power to resist the many strikings against rocks and wrecks. The buoyancy is obtained by having air chambers formed along the sides of the boat, and a watertight deck, the space between which and the boat’s floor is filled by air chambers. Beside this, at each end there are air cases built across, and reaching to the high gunwales of the bow and stern. The power of discharging water is obtained by forming a watertight deck at the load-water-line. In this deck there are several large open tubes, having their upper openings on the surface of the deck, and the lower ones in the boat’s floor, thus passing through the space between the deck and the floor, and, of course, hermetically closed to it. In some boats the tubes are kept open, but in the self-righting boats they are fitted with self-acting valves, which open downwards only, so that they will allow any water shipped to pass through them, whilst none can pass upwards. Papa explained that, as the deck is placed above the water-line, any water resting on it will be above the outside level of the sea, and will run out through the valves and tubes into the sea. As fluids always gain their level by specific gravity, the water passes through the valves until none remains above the surface of the deck. In the smaller lifeboats, which have no decks, the only way to relieve the boat is by bailing. It is important that a lifeboat should be well ballasted, especially the larger sailing-boats. These are now ballasted with water, which is let in after the boat is off the beach, and is allowed to fill every available space to a certain height. By being thus heavily ballasted, they can make their way through the most tremendous seas, which would drive back any ordinary boat. Only once has a boat of this description been upset.

A very important feature is that of self-righting. This is obtained by having air chambers of large size, both at the bow and stern, placed high above the centre of gravity. As the boat must be well ballasted, she must have limited breadth of beam, as also limited side buoyancy. By being properly ballasted, a boat can pass either through or over a sea without being driven astern. The raised air chambers prevent the sea breaking over her at the bow or stern; while, if she dips into the sea, she instantly rises again. By having a limited beam, she gains in speed, although she loses in stability; but, at the same time, if upset, she is much more speedily righted; while shorter oars are required, and fewer men to work them.

Papa was strongly in favour of the self-righting principle. The best boats are diagonally built, and copper-fastened. The planks are of mahogany, two thicknesses of half-inch board, with painted calico between them. The keel is of American elm, and the false keel is one piece of cast-iron, two and a half inches in width, by four and a half in depth, weighing nine hundredweight. The stem is of English oak, and the gunwale of American elm. The floors are of ash or oak. The deck is of mahogany, well caulked, and seven-eighths of an inch in thickness. These boats are about thirty-three feet in length over all, eight feet in breadth, four feet in depth. They pull, when double-banked, ten oars, which are made of ash, or sometimes fir; and they carry five or six pairs of spare oars, to replace any which may be broken. They are fitted with life-lines outside, by which the men, if thrown out of the boat, can hold on to her, or people swimming can haul themselves on board. No other boats are built so strongly. The principle adopted for planking—that of placing the planks diagonally—gives the greatest possible strength and elasticity, while the mahogany used is of the best.

The lifeboats themselves are liable to disaster. They may be crushed by falling masts, or driven right on board a wreck, or against rocks, where, in spite of the efforts of their crews, they may be dashed to pieces. It is now very rarely the case that lifeboats are lost. In some places steamers are used to tow the lifeboat out to sea; but in most instances she alone can approach a wreck sufficiently near to take off the crew. The cost of establishing a lifeboat on a station is estimated at eight hundred pounds, five hundred and fifty being the price of the boat, her stores, and carriage, and two hundred and fifty pounds that of a substantial boat-house, while the annual cost is about seventy pounds.

The weather was remarkably fine, and the sea smooth, as the wind was off shore. We were generally in sight of the cliffs, which extend along the coast, and had occasional glimpses of blue mountains beyond, Snowdon towering above them all, with the Isle of Anglesea on our port side, and the county of Caernarvon on the starboard. After passing the entrance, the Straits widen out into a lake-like expanse; but the shores again close in where the town of Caernarvon is situated.

Except its far-famed castle, there is nothing very, particular to see in the town itself, which is not so picturesque as many we have visited. A small river, the Seiont, passes close to it. The whole town is surrounded by walks united to the castle. The streets, though rather narrow, are laid out at right angles to each other, and are well paved and lighted. We landed, and traversed the town. We presently made our way to the castle. The external walls are ten feet thick, are nearly entire, and enclose a space of three acres. Within them is a gallery running right round, with loop-holes for the discharge of arrows. We clambered up two or three of the towers, which had turrets on their summits; the most important of them is called the Eagle Tower. We were shown a dark chamber, twelve feet by eight; and our guide declared that it was the room in which the first Prince of Wales was born; but, as papa observed, that could not have been the case, as the tower was not built at the time; besides, it was not at all the sort of place the queen would have selected as her bed-chamber; it was far more likely to have been a prison or guard-room. The castle was built by Edward the First, soon after his conquest of Wales; and it was finished about the year 1293. We all considered it the finest ruin we had yet seen. About the time it was finished, the Welsh, led by Prince Madoc, attacked and captured the castle; when, according to the customs of the times, they put its garrison to death, and burnt the town.

Rather more than a century after, Owen Glendower attempted to take the castle, which was so gallantly defended by the governor placed in it by Henry the Fourth, that he was compelled to raise the siege. During the Civil Wars it was captured by the Parliamentary forces, under General Mytton. Such are the chief historical events I recollect connected with the fine old ruin.

A considerable number of trading vessels were alongside the quays, taking in slate and copper ore, the chief products of the district. Enormous quantities of slate are exported from Wales.

We remained a night here, as it was too late to run through the Straits to Bangor. Early the following morning, however, the wind was fair, and we continued on the same course. The tide also favoured us. Had it been against us, as it runs at the rate of between five and six miles an hour, we should have made but little progress. The shores are high and picturesque, with villages here and there, and some handsome residences, the finest belonging to the Marquis of Anglesea.

We soon came in sight of the tubular bridge carrying the railway across the Straits. The distance between the cliffs on either shore is eleven hundred feet. It was curious, as we sailed under it, to look up to a height of one hundred and four feet, and to see these two enormous tubes above our heads. Their total length is one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three feet, which includes two hundred and thirty feet at either end resting on the land. The tubes are composed of wrought-iron plates, three quarters of an inch thick, tightly riveted together, the one carrying the up, and the other the down line. The bridge is supported by three vast piers, measuring sixty-two feet by fifty-three feet at their base. This wonderful work is considered to surpass that of the Menai Bridge. It may be asked how these tubes could ever have been got up to their present positions. This was accomplished by means of hydraulic presses of the most powerful description; indeed, it is asserted that one of them could throw a stream of water twenty thousand feet into the air,—above five times higher than Snowdon, and five thousand feet higher than the summit of Mont Blanc. The bridge was commenced in 1846 by Robert Stephenson, and the first train passed through it on the 1st of March, 1850; since which time no accident has happened to it.

A little further on we saw above us the celebrated Menai Bridge. The piers are each one hundred and fifty three feet high, and five hundred and fifty three feet apart. Sixteen iron chains, one thousand seven hundred and fifteen feet in length, pass from pier to pier, and support the bridge. The chains have a dip in the centre of forty-four feet, thus allowing the roadway to have a clear elevation of a hundred feet above high-water at spring tide. These sixteen chains are carried through sixty feet of solid rock. The whole length of the bridge is about one-third of a mile, including four arches at one end, and three at the other, which carry the road out to the two suspending piers. The bridge was opened in January, 1826. It was designed by Thomas Telford, the engineer. The work occupied six years, and cost 120,000 pounds,—much less than an ironclad, and infinitely more useful and durable. Before it was built people had to cross by a dangerous ferry. We were surprised to hear that the compensation given to the owners of the ferry for the surrender of their right amounted to 26,577 pounds—the annual income of the ferry being computed at 815 pounds 18 shillings.

We sailed on to Bangor, before which we brought-up in the Bay of Beaumaris. There is not much to see in the town itself, except that it is pleasantly situated. By climbing the hill above it we obtained a fine view over the island of Anglesea.

Our chief object in coming here was to see the slate quarries at Penrhyn. They are of enormous extent, and not less than three thousand men and boys are employed in them, whose wages amount to upwards of 2000 pounds per week; and it is calculated that upwards of 11,000 people, including wives and children, find subsistence from working these quarries. A railway conveys the slate about six miles, to the shores of the Menai Straits; and upwards of 70,000 tons of slate are annually exported, the income derived from them being 250,000 pounds per annum. They are the property of the noble owner of the magnificent Penrhyn Castle.

We passed through the village of Llandegai—a model of beauty and neatness—situated at the chief entrance of the castle grounds. We crossed over by the ferry to Beaumaris, in the island of Anglesea. It is a very picturesque place, on the north-western side of the bay called after it. The distance across the bay is about eight miles. From the shore we could distinguish Penmaenmawr, Puffin Island, Great Orme’s Head, Conway Bay, and other interesting spots. The distance round the whole island is about eighty miles. On the western shore lies the island of Holyhead, joined to Anglesea by a bridge. This little island is made the chief port of departure for the Irish coast.

The appearance of Anglesea is not picturesque, as the country is level, and there are few trees; but it is surrounded by rocks on the northern shore. The most rugged portion is Moelfre Bay, where the unfortunate Royal Charter was wrecked, when so many people lost their lives.

Anglesea was the last part of England in which the Druids practised their rites. Many of the Druidical remains still exist, the most remarkable of which are called cromlechs—flat stones resting upon others, probably serving as altars. Anglesea was governed by its native princes until the reign of Edward the First, when it became subject to England. We made our way to the ivy-covered castle, which stands a short distance from the town. It is nearly square, has a round tower at each angle, and another at each side, and is surrounded by low massive walls. The inner court is about one hundred and ninety feet square. To the north-west of it stands the banqueting hall, seventy feet long. On the east side is a chapel, in the Early English style of architecture. The castle was built by Edward the First, soon after those of Conway and Caernarvon. It was surrounded by a deep fosse, which could be filled by water from the sea. It held out like that of Caernarvon, but was captured by the Parliamentary forces under General Mytton.

We got back late, and did not sail until next morning, when we stood for the entrance of Conway harbour, but had to pull up to the town in a boat.

We have seen many interesting places; but as we gazed up at the great walls of the ancient castle of Conway, we agreed it is the most beautiful and picturesque of them all.

I can give only a brief description of the town. It is surrounded by a wall twelve feet thick, and a mile and a quarter in length, having twenty-seven towers and battlements. One of them is called Llewellyn’s. It is entered by five gates, three principal, and one postern; and another has been formed to admit a suspension-bridge across the river, similar to that constructed by Mr Telford across the Menai Straits. Mr Stephenson also designed the tubular bridge through which the Holyhead railway passes. The town contains some very picturesque houses, built in the time of Elizabeth.

The castle stands on the verge of a precipitous rock on the south-east corner of the town. Its walls are triangular in shape, being said to resemble a Welsh harp; they are fifteen feet thick, and are strengthened by twenty-one towers. The most striking portion is Queen Eleanor’s Tower; the most curious is the Fragment Tower. Two centuries ago some of the inhabitants, searching for slate, undermined it, when a portion fell, leaving a perfect arch, since which period not a stone has fallen away, and it is still as firm as ever. We wandered round and round the castle, wondering at the massiveness of the masonry. It would have still been perfect—for it was spared by the Parliamentary forces who captured it—had not a Lord Conway, in Charles the Second’s reign, stripped off the timber, lead, and other materials to sell. The vessels, however, conveying the materials to Ireland, were lost, and the greedy baron gained nothing by the barbarous proceeding.

Pulling down the river, we returned on board, and immediately getting under weigh, beat out of Beaumaris Bay. Having taken a look at Puffin’s Island, and rounded the lofty promontory of Great Orme’s Head, with a fair wind, we stood for the mouth of the Mersey.

By keeping very close in shore for some distance we got a view of Llandudno, now become a fashionable watering-place, and sighted Abergele, where the fearful railway accident happened some years ago, when so many people were crushed or burnt to death. We also passed over the spot where the Ocean Monarch was burnt, almost close to the land; yet out of nearly four hundred passengers, nearly half were lost. The ship was so near the beach that good swimmers could easily have reached the shore. The survivors were rescued by the boats of various vessels which came to their assistance.

It was getting dusk when we sighted the bright light on Ayr Point at the mouth of the river Dee. As the navigation of the Mersey is difficult during the dark, we ran up the river a short distance, and came to an anchor off the town of Mostyn.

The Dee is a most picturesque river, from its source in Merionethshire to Chester; but its navigation at the mouth is somewhat difficult, owing to the large deposits of sand, which have to a great extent blocked up the channel. Between Chester and the mouth are two nourishing towns, Holywell and Flint. The chief wealth of Flintshire consists in its lead mines, which are very productive; and not only is lead dug up, but silver, of which about ten ounces is found in every ton of ore. Flint has a castle; but it is not equal in picturesque beauty, we are told, to those we had already seen.

Before daylight we were again under weigh, as we had numerous lighthouses and lightships to guide us; indeed, no river is more perfectly lighted than the Mersey, for numerous shoals lie at its entrance, and few rivers have so many vessels standing in and out at all hours. We counted no less than eight lights as we sailed along.

Daylight broke as we came off the mouth of the river; and the wind being fair and moderate, we stood up without fear of getting on shore. We followed a homeward-bound clipper fruit vessel, passing the entrance to numerous fine docks, and shipping of all descriptions. We picked up a tolerably safe berth among several other yachts. It was well we got up when we did, for soon afterwards the whole river seemed covered with spluttering, hissing, smoking, panting, busy little steam-vessels, crossing to Birkenhead, on the Chester shore, or running up the river or down the river, or visiting vessels at anchor in the stream. The tide also had just turned. The wind being light and fair, numbers of outward-bound ships got under weigh, carried on their course by steamers lashed alongside. As soon as we had dressed and breakfasted, we pulled to a landing-stage outside the docks.

Giving a description of Liverpool is out of the question. We made our way over bridges until we reached the quays, and then through streets with enormously high warehouses, many of them constructed entirely of iron. We passed the Custom House, which stands on the very site of Lyrpul, the old pool from which Liverpool derives its name having been long since filled up. It is said to be one of the most magnificent pieces of architecture that our age has produced. Near the Custom House is the Exchange, with a wide square in front; and further to the left the parish church of Saint Nicholas, interesting from its antiquity. Passing along a fine street, we reached Saint George’s Hall, a sumptuous Corinthian building, upwards of four hundred feet in length. As within it the judicial proceedings of Liverpool are conducted, it is known as the Assize Court. The most interesting place we visited near the water was the Sailors’ Home, a fine building, opened in 1850. At each corner is a square tower, surmounted by a dome, the summit of which is one hundred feet from the ground. Passing through the Canning Place entrance, we entered a lofty hall, surrounded by galleries communicating with rooms on the several floors. The building contains a large dining-hall, a lecture-room, reading-room, savings bank, and nautical school. Both officers and men are received, and a seaman may lodge there a day, or for as long a time as he remains in port, during which time he is provided with board and medical attendance at a very moderate rate.

After walking through the streets of Liverpool, we crossed by a ferry to Birkenhead, and made our way to a spot of high ground, from whence we could obtain a complete panoramic view of the town and river. Looking to our right, we saw the Mersey flowing from the south in a northerly direction towards the Irish Sea. Below us, in the midst of the stream, we could distinguish, extending in a long line from right to left, some of the largest merchant-ships in the world. There were also smaller craft of every description, with the flags of nearly all nations flying from their mast-heads, either ready to sail, waiting for orders, or preparing to go into dock; while others, with wide-spread canvas, or with steam tugs alongside, were coming up or down the river. Before us we made out a huge tobacco warehouse, and behind it, dock beyond dock, far away to the south, and still further towards the sea and the north. On one side was the King’s Dock, the Queen’s Basin and Dock, the Coburg Dock, the Union Dock, and the Brunswick Dock—“their names showing,” as papa observed, “the periods at which they were formed.” To the north of King’s Dock we saw the Albert Dock, with the Marine Parade in front of it; also Salthouse Dock, Canning Dock, George’s Dock, with its landing-stage towards the river; and the enormous Prince’s Dock still further to the south, and a line of basins and docks beyond. These docks are not small pools, but large rectangular lakes, crowded thickly with magnificent shipping loaded with the produce of numberless countries, their tall masts rising towards the sky in dense groves, their yards so interlocked that it seemed impossible that they could ever be extricated. The sight gave us some idea of the number of vessels which belong to Liverpool, or annually visit this port.

Beyond this double row of docks we saw the vast city rising gradually from the water, with winding streets extending from the Custom House in all directions, the larger running eastward, with numerous churches and other public buildings scattered amid them; and far beyond, squares and parks, with streets of handsome private residences.

Little more than a century ago Liverpool possessed only three small docks, and the shipping belonging to the port amounted to only 236 vessels. At present upwards of 10,000 vessels belong to the port; while the ships entered outwards and inwards number upwards of 30,000, with a burden of more than four million tons. We went on board a training-ship for poor boys taken from the streets, to fit them for becoming seamen in the merchant service. There is also another ship to prepare officers, conducted on the same principle as that of the Worcester in the Thames. We then pulled on board a large Australian emigrant ship about to sail. She carried three classes of passengers. The first had very handsome cabins surrounding the saloon, which was fitted up in a luxurious style. On the deck below there were the second-class passengers, whose cabins were comfortable, but confined, and their mess-cabin was rather small for the number of people to occupy it. The larger part of the lower deck was fitted with rough wooden berths, partitioned off for each family, one sleeping-place being above the other, and a small space in front for the people to dress in. There was an after division occupied by the single women, who had a matron to superintend them; while the single men were also in a division by themselves. They were all under the care of a surgeon. There was a schoolmaster, to teach those who wished to learn during the voyage, and to act as chaplain. Constables were selected from amongst the most respectable of the married men, whose duty it was to keep order, and to see that the rules and regulations were properly observed. Of course, with so many people crowded together, it is highly necessary that cleanliness should be attended to. The ship was getting under weigh, and the people who had come to see their relatives and friends off were ordered into their boats. We witnessed many pathetic scenes. There was much fluttering of handkerchiefs as the boats pulled away, while the women crowded the sides, and the men climbed up into the shrouds and waved their hats. The moorings were slipped, the tug began puffing and snorting, and the stout ship commenced her voyage half round the world, bearing away many who were never again to see their native shores. Many thousands of people thus leave Liverpool for Australia, New Zealand, or the Cape, as well as for Canada, the United States, and South America, every year.

It took us four days to obtain even a cursory view of Liverpool and Birkenhead. We were very glad to be at sea again. The weather was hot, and running about all day was tiring work. Leaving the river, we steered along the Lancashire coast, but did not put into any of its numerous harbours, contenting ourselves with looking at the chart and reading a description of each place as we came off it. Our course was for the Mull of Galloway, the most southern point of Scotland; but we could not steer directly for it, as we should have run down the Isle of Man, “and sunk it, for what we could tell,” as Dick observed. We had therefore to keep to the eastward of that island. Among the places we passed were Lytham, Blackpool, and Fleetwood; and then, crossing Morecambe Bay, we passed Walney, to the south of the river Duddon. From Fleetwood a number of vessels run across to the Isle of Man. We were much amused on coming on deck in the morning to hear Dick Pepper remark:

“Hullo! what’s become of the land?”

It was the first time that we had been actually out of sight of land.

“How shall we manage to find our way now?” he asked.

I pointed to the compass.

“That will take us there,” I answered.

“Oh, yes; but suppose it made a mistake? We should be running on to some coast or other before we knew where we were.”

“We crossed the big sea,” observed Nat, “and for days and days together we did not see any land.”

I got out the chart, and showed Dick the point of Ayr, the most northern part of the Isle of Man, towards which we were now directing our course.

“We shall see it in the course of the morning. If you were to go to the mast-head, you would probably make out the land to the south of it.”

“Are we to touch at the Isle of Man?” asked Dick. “I should very much like to see some of the places described by Sir Walter Scott.”

“Papa says that we have no time,” I replied. “If we don’t make more speed than we have hitherto done, we shall not get round England before the summer is over; and the east coast is not to be trifled with. Although he says that we shall be unable to see many of the places he would like to visit, we shall nevertheless obtain a general view of the country.”

I have not said much about Nat. Poor little fellow! He was quite reconciled to his lot, and had become completely one of us. We had as much affection for him as if he had been our brother. I took a special interest in him, as he was my pupil; and I devoted a part of every day to teaching him. He was very obedient, and always did his best to learn his lessons; so that it was quite a pleasure for me to instruct him.

Dick was greatly astonished when papa came on deck with the sextant in his hand, and “shot” the sun, as it is called; that is to say, he ascertained our exact latitude by observing through the instrument the height of the sun at noon. Placing it to his eye, he watched it until it ceased to rise, the indicator showing the number of degrees it was above the horizon. The Nautical Almanack gives the height it would be at noon on that day along every parallel so that a few figures enabled him to ascertain how far north we had sailed. The way to find the longitude, he explained to us, was by means of the chronometer. An observation is then taken of the sun, moon, or a star, which would appear at a certain height above the horizon at that particular hour.

The wind fell before we reached the Isle of Man. In the evening we saw several bright lights burst forth—some on the Isle of Man, others on the mainland. On the right we saw a fixed light, which the chart showed us was Saint Bees’ Head; while another shone from the point of Ayr. Leaving Saint Bees’ Head astern, with the light on the point of Ayr on our port beam, we came in sight of the intermittent light of the Mull of Galloway. Most of these lights were visible at the same time; and as we sailed up the channel we could see those on the Irish coast, as well as those on the coast of Scotland.

When we came on deck the next morning, we were passing along the coast of Ayrshire, within sight of Ailsa Crag, a fine rock, which stands out of the sea to a great height. It is a mass of columnar trap of a grey colour. We steered so as to pass it on our starboard side. We had come in sight of the southern face, where we could distinguish a square tower, perched on a terrace, about two hundred feet above the sea. The ascent to the summit must be no easy matter. As we sailed on, we came off the north-west side, which is almost perpendicular, and composed of successive tiers of enormous columns. Here we made out a cave, above which was a grassy declivity sloping upwards towards the summit. Though it is at the very mouth of the Clyde, its great height causes it to be seen at a distance, preventing it being dangerous to vessels bound to Glasgow. Any person inclined to solitude might take up his abode there, and live without leaving it, as it is inhabited by numerous flocks of sea-fowl, with goats and rabbits; while nettles, and a variety of hardy plants, grow in the interstices of the rocks. I asked Dick if he would like to remain there, saying that I would get papa to put him on shore, if he wished it; but he declined the offer, preferring rather to go back to school at the end of the holidays.

Passing Ayr and Troon, we came off Ardrossan, then stood on to Port-in-cross, close to Fairlie Head, which forms the south-eastern point at the entrance of the Firth of Clyde. Opposite, in the distance, rose the Isle of Arran, with its lofty picturesque hills. We brought-up off Port-in-cross for the night, as we wished to have daylight for ascending the Clyde, so as to enjoy the scenery.

Next morning, the wind being fair, we made good progress. The country on our right, though very smiling and pretty, was not so grand as we expected; but we saw, far away over the port-bow, blue mountains rising one beyond the other. Directly after getting under weigh, we passed two islands, the Lesser Cumbrae, at the entrance of the Firth, and the Greater Cumbrae, a little higher up.

To our right we saw the village of Largs, celebrated as the scene of a great battle, won by the Scottish army, under Alexander the Third, over Haco, King of Norway. To our left was the Island of Bute. We sailed on nearly due north, until the channel gave a sudden bend, just after we had passed the town of Greenock, a busy-looking place, with shipbuilding yards, and smoking chimneys, interesting to us because Watt was born here; near it we had seen on the opposite shore the village of Dunoon, a pretty watering-place. The wind being from the southward, we were able, close-hauled, to stand up the Clyde. We passed Port Glasgow, which was at one time really the port of Glasgow; but the river having been deepened by dredges, vessels of large size can now run up to Glasgow itself.

We appeared to be in quite a labyrinth of lochs, Holy Loch running up in one direction, Loch Long in another, and Gare Loch in a third, all joining the Clyde on the north. We were eagerly looking out for Dumbarton, which stands on a lofty projecting point of rock where the river Leven runs into the Clyde. The scenery round us was the finest we had yet beheld. The summit is crowned by bristling batteries pointing down the Firth. Bringing up, that we might pay it a visit, we at once pulled towards the Governor’s house, which stands on a platform at the base of the rock. We ascended a flight of steep steps to a space between two summits, where are erected some barracks and the armoury. The most interesting object we saw was Wallace’s great double-handed sword, which he wielded with such terrific power against his southern foes. Of course, as we looked at it, we sang—

“Scots wa’ hae wi’ Wallace bled.”

When the unfortunate Mary was Queen of Scots, in the year 1571, and the place was in possession of her partisans, it was captured in an extraordinary manner by Crawford, of Jordan Hill, an officer of the Lennox. He and a few followers, landing there during the night with ladders, climbed the cliffs. During the ascent one of the party was seized with a paralytic fit. As any sound would have aroused the garrison, the man was lashed by his companions to the ladder. It was then turned round, and they all ascended, leaving him hanging there until they had gained the fortress, when he was released.

From this eminence we obtained a magnificent view over the Vale of Leven, with lofty Ben Lomond in the distance; while the views down and up the Clyde were such as we had never seen surpassed in beauty.

As papa and Uncle Tom did not wish to take the yachts further, we got on board one of the steamers running up to Glasgow. During the passage we passed numbers of steamers, large and small, rushing up and down the stream at a rapid rate; and sailing vessels of all sizes outward-bound, or returning home; the former laden with the cotton and woollen manufactures produced in Glasgow and the neighbourhood, giving us some idea of the vast amount of trade carried on in the city. Curious-looking steam dredges were also at work, with wheels ever revolving, ladling up the mud from the bottom of the river—an endless task, for fresh mud is constantly being washed down from the upper parts of the stream. Clouds of smoke and increasing signs of activity showed us that we were approaching Glasgow.

We took a hurried view of that famed city, wandered through its broad streets, with stone-built houses and fine edifices, people bustling about, and numberless tall factory chimneys smoking; drays and carts carrying merchandise from the quays, and everything wearing an air of prosperity. We looked into the ancient sombre Cathedral, with its beautiful modern stained-glass windows, and visited the University, with its museum and library—the museum bequeathed by William Hunter, the great surgeon, who gave at the same time 8,000 pounds to erect a building for its reception.

Uncle Tom told us a story of Hunter’s first lecture. Being unknown to fame, no one had come to hear him. On entering the hall, he found only Sandy McTavish, the old custos. He was not daunted, however. Bidding the old man sit down, he brought a skeleton from a cupboard, and having placed it in front of him, he began to lecture to it and Sandy. First one student by chance looked in, and, seeing what was going forward, beckoned to another. In the course of a few minutes another dropped in, and soon discovered that no ordinary lecturer was speaking. The whole audience could not have amounted to a dozen; but they soon made a noise about what they had heard, and the next day the hall was crowded.

Our next visit was to a fine cemetery across a valley above the town; and Dick declared that it would be quite a pleasure to be buried there. It was crowded with fine monuments to celebrated persons.

Glasgow owes much of its prosperity to its situation in the midst of a country producing coal and minerals, and having water communication down the Clyde towards the west into the Atlantic, and through the great canal which connects that river with the Forth and German Ocean. We got back to Dumbarton, where the Dolphin’s boat was on the look-out for us, just at nightfall.

It being moonlight, we sailed down the Clyde, and enjoyed the beautiful scenery under a different aspect. Had we possessed steam, we could have run through the channel of Bute, and then up Loch Fyne, passing through the Crinan Canal into Loch Linnhe; but as that could not be done, we had to sail round Arvan and the Mull of Cantyre, and then up the Sound of Jura. We thus lost the enjoyment of much magnificent scenery; but the shorter route would probably have taken us a far longer time to perform, as in those narrow waters we could only sail during daylight, and might be detained by a contrary wind.

Chapter Nine.

The Caledonian Canal.

The day after leaving the Clyde, we were coasting along the not very attractive-looking island of Islay, inhabited by the Macdonalds. It was often the scene of forays, which one clan was wont to make on another, in the good old days, as people delight to call them, when the ancestors of the present race were scarcely more civilised than the South Sea islanders. Though rock-girt, Islay is fertile, and a large portion has been brought under a state of cultivation.

A fair breeze, with the tide in our favour, carried us through the sound between the islands of Islay and Jura, the broadest part of which is about a mile in width, and is lined by abrupt but not very high cliffs. More than a century ago, Islay received a visit from the French Admiral Thurot; and a few years later Paul Jones made a descent on the island, and captured a packet which had on board a Major Campbell, a native gentleman, who had just returned with an independence from India, the larger portion of which he unfortunately had with him in gold and jewels, of which, as may be supposed, the American privateer relieved him. In later years another American privateer, “the true-blooded Yankee,” captured a considerable number of merchant vessels at anchor in Port Charlotte.

We anchored at nightfall in a deep bay at the southern end of Colonsay, called Toulgoram. A narrow strait divides that little island from the still smaller one of Oronsay.

Next morning, before sailing, we pulled across the strait, which is dry at low water, and visited a ruined priory of considerable extent and tolerably entire. We saw also many other ruins of abbeys or monasteries; indeed, the monks must have been almost as numerous as the rabbits, which we saw running about in all directions. The wind still favouring us, we steered for the western end of Mull, and in a short time came in sight of its lofty cliffs; while we could see in the distance astern the peaked mountains of Jura and the island of Scarba, between which lies the whirlpool of Corryvrechan, a place we had no desire to visit. In stormy weather, when the tides rush through the passage, a regular whirlpool is formed, which would prove the destruction of any vessels attempting to pass that way. Standing on a height above it, the waters are seen to leap, and bound, and tumble, then whirling along as over a precipice, then dashed together with inconceivable impetuosity, sometimes rising in a foaming mass to a prodigious height, and then opening and forming a vast abyss, while the roar of troubled waters as they strike against the rocky shore is heard far and wide.

We reached Iona in ample time to take a walk around the island. This was the island on which the so called Saint Columba lived. It is about three miles long, and one wide, and the most lofty hill is not more than four hundred feet in height. The remains show that the nunneries and monasteries Columba established were of a very rude kind. It was looked upon as a holy island, and many kings and chiefs were buried there. Macbeth was the last king of Scotland who had that honour paid him. Opposite the cathedral we saw a beautiful cross, carved in high relief. It had fallen down, but had been replaced on a basement of granite.

The next place of interest before which we brought-up was the island of Staffa. We could see in the distance the islands of Coll and Tiree. The latter, only about a mile and a half in circumference, rises out of the ocean to the height of about one hundred and forty-four feet. Before landing we sailed along the eastern shore, examining the wonderful caves and the fine colonnades which form its sides. One might suppose that it was rather a work of art than thrown up by Nature. The yachts were hove-to, and we pulled off to examine the caves in the boats. One is known as the Clam Shell Cave, another as the Herdsman’s Cave, and a third is denominated the Great Colonnade and Causeway. Then there comes the Boat Cave, and Mackinnon’s Cave, and lastly, the most magnificent of all, Fingal’s Cave. Into this we at once rowed. I scarcely know how to describe it. On either side are lofty columns, mostly perpendicular, and remarkably regular, varying from two to four feet in diameter. The height of this wonderful cavern is sixty-six feet near the entrance, but it decreases to twenty-two feet at the further end; it is two hundred and twenty-seven feet long, and forty-two wide. At one side is a causeway formed of the remains of broken columns, upon which people can walk to the very end. We next pulled into what is called the Boat Cave, where columns are even more regular than in Fingal’s Cave, but it is much smaller. Our last visit was to Mackinnon’s Cave; its sides are perfectly smooth, it is about fifty feet high, and forty-eight broad, the roof being almost flat. We pulled on for two hundred and twenty-four feet, until we reached a beach of pebbles at the further end, when we appeared to be in a vast hall. Several places, where the tops of the columns crop up, have the appearance of a tesselated pavement.

A steady breeze carried us in sight of Ardnamurchan, when, steering to the east, standing close to the sea-coast, we passed Castle Mingary, the battlemented walls of which presented no opening. A few miles further on we came to an anchor in the snug harbour of Tobermory. It is a very picturesque village, situated at the foot of hills which run round the bay. We were told that one of the ships of the Invincible Armada, the Florida, was sunk in the bay by something resembling a torpedo, manufactured by a renowned witch who lived in those days on Mull. She was instigated to the deed by the wife of Maclean of Duart. The lady had become jealous of a fair princess, who was voyaging on board the Florida, and had fallen in love with her lord. It is asserted that the Spanish damsel was a daughter of the King of Spain; and having dreamed that a young gentleman of engaging appearance had invited her to become his bride, was sailing round the world in search of him, when, on seeing Maclean, he seemed to be the creature of her fancy.

Sailing from Tobermory, bound for the western coast of Skye, we passed the island of Muck, an unpleasant-sounding name. To the north is the curious island of Eig, the southern side of which is perfectly flat, but in the north rises a lofty perpendicular rock, called the Scuir of Eig. Within it is a large cavern, which was the scene of one of those atrocious acts in “the good old days” when might made right. Two hundred Macdonalds, fugitives from a superior number of Macleods, had taken refuge in the cavern, when, unfortunately for them, one of their party, having left the mark of his footsteps in the snow, their place of concealment was betrayed. The Macleods filled up the mouth of the cavern with wood and dried sea-weed, and setting it on fire, literally smoked them to death. One of the Macdonalds being connected by marriage with the Macleods, was offered permission to crawl out on his hands and knees, and to bring out four others along with him in safety; but having selected a friend hated by the Macleods, who refused to spare the man’s life, he preferred to suffer death with his clansmen than to live on without them. Until quite a late period, the bones of the ill-fated Macdonalds were still to be seen lying near the entrance. Say what we will in favour of the Highlanders, they were a fearfully savage people in those days.

The part of the Highlands amid which we were sailing was the scene of many of the Pretender’s adventures. Had not Prince Charles been an excellent climber, he would not have escaped his enemies, when they were hunting him like a hare. They nearly entrapped him in one of the many rock fastnesses in which he took shelter.

We passed along these coasts a continual succession of caves and wild rocks, presenting the appearance of ruined castles, Gothic arches, buttresses, towers, and gateways; others again having a curious resemblance to faces, profiles, even ships under sail.

Passing the Point of Sleat, at the southern end of Skye, we sailed up the wild and grand Loch Scavaig. Rising up abruptly from the water are rugged mountains of a dark and gloomy aspect,—the bare rocks alone are seen without a particle of vegetation. Their metallic appearance arises from their being composed of a mineral called hypersthene. On either side rose sharp peaks, one called the Shouting Mountain, another the Notched Peak; while a small island at the foot of another height, called the Hill of Dispute, goes by the name of the Island of the Slippery-Step. From its appearance no one would wish to land there. Not a tree was to be seen.

“The essence of savagedom!” cried Uncle Tom.

“Well, grand; yes, very grand!” exclaimed Oliver; “but I’d rather not live here.”

“I shouldn’t like to be on shore there during an earthquake!” cried Dick. “A fellow would chance to have his head broken if those mountains should begin to tumble about.”

An artist who came here is said to have thrown away his pencil in despair; but it is still more difficult to give a description of the place in words. Having selected a spot for anchoring, with the help of a fisherman who acted as our pilot, we pulled on shore, and making our way over about four hundred yards of rock by the side of a small stream, we reached the dark fresh water Loch Coruisk, round which rose a circle of gigantic barren mountains of purple hue. On this side the sun was shining brightly, lighting up the pointed crags, while the other was thrown into the deepest shade.

“I shouldn’t like to find myself here in the evening, without knowing my way out!” exclaimed Dick. “I wonder how the clouds manage to get over those tall peaks.”

Dick might have wondered, for several of them are nearly three thousand feet in height; and on the topmost, called the Black Peak, probably no human foot has ever trod.

“Just give a shout, sir,” said the fisherman, who, having been on board a man-of-war in his youth, spoke English. As he uttered the words he gave a loud hail, the echo coming back with wonderful distinctness. We all followed his example, and it seemed as if a thousand people were all shouting together in chorus,—the sound at length dying away, apparently many a mile off. Dick then began to laugh, and immediately a laugh came back, which set us all laughing, and a curious chorus we had, till our jaws began to ache from over-exertion.

We then made our way out of this wild region, not sorry to get on board, and to dive down into the comfortable cabin of the Dolphin, where dinner was waiting us. Still, although everything was familiar round us in the confined space of the yacht’s cabin, so deeply impressed on my vision was the grand wild scene outside, that I could not help viewing it over the sides and back of the vessel, and I never for one moment lost the consciousness of where we were.

We remembered that it was at Coruisk that Bruce encountered Cormack Doil. Sir Walter Scott makes him say:

“A scene so wild, so rude as this,

Yet so sublime in barrenness,

Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press,

Where’er I happ’d to roam.”

At dawn next morning we left this wild bay, not without regret, though Dick declared that he felt much happier when he was once more on the open sea. We then sailed along the western coast of Skye, looking into many other places (which, if not so wild and grand, were highly picturesque), until we reached Dunvegan Loch; and making our way amid several small islands, we came to an anchor a short distance from the castle, and took to the boat. The castle stands on a rock projecting into the water, protected by a stream on one side and a moat on the other, and before conical shot were invented must have been a very strong place. Though it retains much of its ancient and imposing appearance, it is still in perfect repair, and is of great extent. It belongs to Macleod of Macleod, whose father and grandfather expended large sums in making it one of the most comfortable residences in the Western Highlands. On the side next the sea is a low wall, pierced with embrasures, while a handsome centre building is also surmounted by battlements. There are two towers, one of which the steward, who politely showed us over the castle, said was built in the ninth century, and the other was added in the thirteenth. Doctor Johnson paid this castle a visit, and was hospitably received by the laird.

We were shown the drinking-horn of Sir Roderick Macleod, an ancestor of the family, and the remains of a “fairy flag,” made of stout yellow silk, which used to be unfurled when the tide of battle was turning against the Macleods, and which always had the effect of again turning it in their favour.

Again getting under weigh, we sailed round the northern end of Skye, up the Sound of Raasay, between the small island of that name and Skye, to Portree. It stands on the end of a point of land, far up a deep harbour, and is a picturesque-looking place.

Here we had a long discussion as to our future proceedings. It was finally settled that Uncle Tom should sail round the north of Scotland in the Dolphin, while we were to go south again, and through the Caledonian Canal, waiting for him off Fort George, at the mouth of the Moray Firth.

Early in the morning we sailed with the Dolphin, to accompany her as far as the Island of Rona, to the north of Raasay, where we looked into a curious little loch, at the head of which is a farm-house. The owner—as is the case with most people residing on that shore—had been a seafaring man. He had gone away to Skye, and was expected back by his loving wife, when a furious gale arose. To light him on his way, she had been accustomed to place a large lamp in the window of the cottage, which looked down on the loch. On that night she trimmed it with double care. In vain, however, she sat and watched; hour after hour passed by as she waited, expecting to hear her husband’s cheerful voice as he came on shore, calling out to her amid the howling storm; but in vain she watched. Day dawned, and the little vessel had not reached her accustomed moorings. The next night her lamp was lighted as usual. When the storm abated, tidings came that portions of a wrecked vessel had been picked up on the shore; but she hoped against hope that it might not be her husband’s craft. Still, though he came not, she lighted the lamp. Night after night, and month after month, that bright light streamed forth from the solitary cottage on the beach; and many a storm-tossed vessel owed its safety to that unpretending beacon. At length the Scottish Commissioners of Lighthouses heard of this volunteer lighthouse. An annual sum of money was voted for its support, and the widow received a lamp with reflectors, with a supply of oil to keep her lamp burning. The commissioners paid her and her family a visit; and, though years have passed, that lamp burns as brightly as ever.

As papa wished Oliver to see the Caledonian Canal, he had returned on board the Lively. We now parted from the Dolphin, saluting each other with loud cheers; and while she sailed northward, with the wind on the beam, we steered south through the broad passage which separates Raasay from the mainland.

“I’ll tell you all about the northern coast and John o’ Groat’s House; and you shall give me an account of the canal, though I don’t envy you,” shouted Jack, as we parted.

The wind sometimes headed us, but we saw more of the coast until, passing Applecross, we reached the Island of Scalpa. We then had a fair wind past Loch Carron to Loch Alsh, which lies between one end of Skye and the mainland. Steering due east, we ran through it, and then again had to haul up to pass through the narrow channel which separates the south end of Skye from the main.

Hauling our wind, we stood through a very narrow passage, and entered Sleat Sound, a broad expanse, when once more we had Eig in sight on our starboard bow, and passed the entrance to numerous lochs, many of them, like Loch Hourn and Loch Nevish, between lofty mountains. Passing Muck and then Ardnamurchan on our port side, we entered Loch Sunart. Running by Tobermory with the wind nearly aft, we entered the Sound of Mull, which carried us into Loch Linnhe, opposite the Island of Lismore. Just opposite to us, on the south end of the island, we saw Auchindown Castle, a lofty square building on the top of a rock rising out of the sea, which was once in possession of the Bishops of Argyle and the Isles, but which is much more like a castle than an episcopal residence.

Standing on, with the wind on our port beam, we ran up Loch Linnhe, passing the entrance to Loch Leven, near to which is the Pass of Glencoe, where, as every one knows, Mac Ian, the chief of the Macdonalds of Glencoe, with a number of his family and followers, was treacherously murdered by Campbell of Glen Lyon, and a party of military under his command.

It was dark when we reached Fort William, at the head of Loch Linnhe, though the water still ran a long way, turning to the left and forming Loch Eil. This loch gives its name to a branch of the Camerons, to which belonged one of the most redoubtable opponents of Cromwell in the Highlands—Sir Ewan Cameron. In consequence, the Protector built a fort at Inverloch, which in King William’s reign was greatly enlarged, receiving the name of Fort William.

Beyond the fort to the eastward we saw Ben Nevis, while to the north was the entrance to the Caledonian Canal. Not far off from Loch Eil is Loch Shiel, at the head of which is the spot where, on the 19th of August, 1745, Prince Charles Edward unfurled his standard, when he made the audacious attempt to win the crown which his ancestor had forfeited. On that occasion the then Lord of Lochiel headed seven hundred of the clan Camerons, who with three hundred of the Macdonnells formed the chief part of the hapless band. Of course, they thought themselves very fine fellows, and were so, in one sense, though terribly mistaken; and had they succeeded they would have brought ruin and misery on the country. A monument was erected on the spot, some years ago, by one of the Macdonnells, and a bronze tablet on it records what took place.

As soon as daylight broke we went on shore, and walked to the old castle of Inverlochy. It stands above the river, and consists of four large round towers connected by high walls, forming an extensive quadrangle. The greater part is entire; indeed, the walls being ten feet thick are calculated to stand for ages. A moat surrounds the walls. The principal entrance is on the south-east side, and directly opposite it is a sally-port. Above the gateway was a guard-room, defended by iron gates and a heavy portcullis.

Below its frowning towers, the Marquis of Montrose defeated the Duke of Argyle, in the year 1645. It was just when the first rays of the sun shot athwart Ben Nevis, that, having led his men across pathless wilds covered deep with snow, he pounced down on the astonished Campbells, who were driven back in confusion, when numbers were slaughtered or drowned in the waters of Loch Eil. Of the latter, fifteen hundred men fell; while only three of Montrose’s soldiers were killed, and one officer wounded.

As soon as we got back we made sail; and no other vessel impeding us, we entered the basin of Bannavie, from which a series of eight locks, called Neptune’s Staircase, raised us to the level of Loch Lochy. It was rather tiresome, though at the same time interesting work, to see the yacht lifted gradually up step by step, while the water rushed down from the lock above to raise that on which we floated to its own level. Whoever first thought of such a contrivance deserves great credit.

As the wind was perfectly fair, we sailed along the canal for about eight miles without any impediment. It is deep and broad, and would allow a very much larger vessel than our little yacht to pass through it. It was on the banks of the river Lochy that a body of King George’s soldiers first encountered the Macdonnells of Glengarry, who were up in arms for Charles Edward, when the former, being greatly overpowered, had to yield themselves prisoners.

Soon after entering the lake, we came off the house of Achnacarry, the mansion of Lochiel, on the northern side. The mountains on the south side extended nearly the whole distance of the lake without any break, while those on the other are rent by numerous gullies. The ground, though covered with heather, had few trees to ornament it. We were quite sorry when, in about an hour and a half, we had again to enter the canal, which quickly carried us into the small, pretty Loch Oich. We passed two or three islets decked with trees, which greatly embellish them. On the north side the mountains of Glengarry shot up in a succession of high and bold peaks. Below them is the castle of Invergarry, standing on a rock overlooking the waters of the loch.

The last Glengarry who claimed to be the Lord of the Isles, instead of Lord Macdonald of Sleat, resided here, and did his utmost to keep up the recollection of former days by his mode of life. On his death his property was bought by Lord Ward.

We passed a curious monument raised by the last Glengarry over what is known as the “Well of the Seven Heads.” It consists of a pyramid, with seven human heads carved in stone placed on the summit. The story is that two sons of Keppoch, a branch of the Macdonalds, having been sent to be educated in France, their affairs were managed by seven brothers, who, on the return of the young men, murdered them, in order that they might continue in possession of their property. The old family bard, discovering the bloody act, applied to the Glengarry of those days for assistance; and having been furnished with a body of men, caught the assassins, and cut off their heads, which, after having washed in the spring, he presented to the noble chief in Glengarry Castle.

Just before leaving Loch Oich we passed Aberchalder, an unpretending-looking house, where the forces of Prince Charles assembled before crossing Corryarrick. We soon reached Fort Augustus, when we descended by some locks into Loch Ness, where, on account of the depth of water, we had to anchor close to the shore, with warps made fast to some trees, to prevent our drifting away. As there was nothing to see at Fort Augustus, the garrison having been removed, we did not go on shore.

At an early hour the next morning we got under weigh, and glided down Loch Ness, which is twenty-four miles long, and about a mile and a quarter broad, although it is narrower in some places. The depth is very great, in some parts one hundred and thirty fathoms. In consequence of this the water seldom freezes in the loch. The rugged and heath-covered mountains rise on either side to the height of about a thousand feet; and frequently we saw growing on them forests of oak, ash, elm, and other trees, with a thick underwood of hazel and holly intermingled with a profusion of wild roses.

About midway we passed the lofty dome of Mealfourvournie, rising in solitary grandeur to the height of upwards of four thousand feet. Here there were tracts of cultivated ground; and in the openings of Glen Urquhart and Glenmoriston we came in sight of fields and substantial-looking houses. A few miles further we passed under a magnificent precipice crowned by pines. Not far distant we came to the House of Foyers, where we landed and hurried up the glen to the falls. We got down to the bottom of the perpendicular cliffs, over which we could see a large volume of water rushing with headlong force and speed, bubbling, foaming, and roaring into the channel which leads to the loch. Above us was a bridge thrown across the chasm, while the mountain sides were clothed with graceful birch and other trees. We had brought a copy of Burns, whose lines on the subject begin:

“Among the heathy hills and ragged woods

The roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods;

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,

Where through a shapeless breach his stream resounds.”

which describe the falls far better than I can do.

Hurrying back, we continued our voyage. We passed the mouth of the deep denied Inverfarigaig, with the black rock resembling a ruin above it, and further on Urquhart Castle, built on a detached rock overlooking the loch, the most conspicuous object being a strong square keep, surmounted by four turrets. The banks of the loch now appeared far more cultivated than at the other end. Sailing through little Loch Dochfour, we again entered the canal, which runs down into Loch Beauly; while the river Ness, which we had on our right side, falls into the Moray Firth, close to Inverness, which stands on a plain about a mile off.

It was curious to be looking from the deck of our yacht down on the loch so far below us, while we could see on either side of the town the far-famed battlefield of Culloden, where Prince Charles and his hapless followers were so signally defeated by the Duke of Cumberland.

Descending the locks at Muirtown, we could see in the far distance, guarding the entrance to the upper part of the mouth of the Moray Firth, the walls of Fort George extending out into the blue water. On reaching the ocean level, we at once made sail, standing for Inverness. By the time we dropped our anchor it was dark, so that we did not go on shore until the following morning. We then took a ramble round the town.

It stands on both sides of the river, across which a handsome stone bridge is thrown, but the finer portion is on the east side. The monasteries and churches were mostly knocked to pieces by Oliver Cromwell; but a good many fine buildings have been erected of late years, one of the most important of which is the Academy.

Inverness has always been a place of importance, and from its situation has a considerable trade. It was looked upon also as the capital of the north of Scotland. The inhabitants were staunch Jacobites, and very much inclined to be lawless, though at the present day they are as peaceably disposed as any in the country. Expecting to encounter stalwart Highlanders in kilts, with dirks by their sides, we were disappointed to meet only staid-looking burghers and labouring men, in the ordinary dress of the present day.

There was a castle, built by Cromwell to overawe the turbulent inhabitants, but it was pulled down, and the inhabitants had erected many of their houses with the materials. We, however, took a walk over the ramparts, which still remain. Here Queen Mary had her quarters for some time, protected by the clansmen of Frazer, Mackenzie, Munroe, and others, who kept the garrison of the castle in awe.

Far more interesting is an account we obtained of the Caledonian Canal, which may truly be said to make an island of Sutherland, Caithness, Cromarty, Rosshire, and a part of Inverness. The canal was designed by Watt, as far back as 1773; but the present work was not commenced until the year 1804, when Telford was directed to make a report on the subject. By his plan the canal was to be one hundred and ten feet wide at the surface and fifty feet at the bottom, and the depth of water twenty feet; so that a thirty-two gun frigate of that day, fully equipped and laden with stores, could pass through it. The works, however, were carried out on more moderate proportions. There are twenty-eight locks, each one hundred and seventy feet long and forty feet wide, with an average lift of eight feet. Some of the lock gates are of timber, and others are of cast-iron, sheathed with pine planking. The summit level is in Loch Oich, into which pour a number of streams, supplying an abundance of water for both sides. It stands exactly one hundred feet above high-water mark at Inverness. The extreme length from sea to sea is sixty and a half miles; and so direct is the continuity of the lakes that a line drawn across from point to point would only exceed the distance by rather more than three miles. There are twenty-two miles of canal cutting, and thirty-eight and a half miles of lake water is made available for the canal.

We found passing through the lakes the pleasantest part of the voyage. We might have been many days doing the distance, had we not had a favourable breeze. The wind changed directly after we reached Inverness, of which we were very glad, as it gave us some hopes of soon meeting the Dolphin, which we feared must have been detained off John o’ Groat’s House.

We made several trips down to Fort George, to look out for the Dolphin. At length one evening, having stood further down the Firth and looking into Cromarty, made classic by having been the scene of many of Hugh Miller’s rambles, we caught sight of a small white sail, shining brightly in the rays of the setting sun. Papa, taking the glass, looked steadily at her, and then, to our great satisfaction, declared his belief that she was the Dolphin. We immediately tacked towards her, and in a short time heard Uncle Tom’s cheerful hail across the water. We immediately hove-to, and the Dolphin doing the same, papa and I pulled on board her. They were in good spirits, although they had begun to think that they should never get round Duncansby Head, which is close to John o’ Groat’s House, until the wind drawing once more from the westward, they had reached Wick, the great resort of fishing vessels. After this they had a dead beat until they sighted Tarbet-ness Lighthouse, on the northern side of the Moray Firth. Their further adventures they kept for another day.

“I am glad to get back again to you,” exclaimed Dick; “it’s dull work sailing all alone. I confess that I sometimes thought you would never get through overland; for by no other way, it seems to me, could you have come, except along those little trout ponds I saw marked on the map.”

Dick was not a little astonished when we told him the size of the canal and its locks, and that a vessel very much larger than the Dolphin could have got through with equal ease.

We had brought an abundance of fresh provisions for both yachts, and were glad to find that Uncle Tom did not wish to go to Inverness; and we accordingly shaped our course for Kinnaird’s Head, not intending to touch at any place on the Scotch coast until we reached Aberdeen.

Chapter Ten.

Another Wreck.

As we sailed down the Moray Firth with a northerly wind, which enabled us to stand close in shore, the water being perfectly smooth, we passed numerous headlands, the names of which we learned from the chart. After the mountainous scenery amid which we had been sailing, the shore looked flat and uninteresting.

I had thus plenty of time to attend to little Nat, who was fast becoming very dear to all of us. We looked forward with regret to the time when he might be sent away to join his friends, should they be found. He had learned to walk the deck in true nautical style; and in his sailor’s suit, with his broad-brimmed straw hat, he looked every inch a young seaman. He was generally in capital spirits, apparently forgetting his loss; but if any allusion brought back to his remembrance his father, mother, or Aunt Fanny, his brothers and sisters, the tears sprang to his eyes, and he looked grave and sad.

Happily, however, a cheerful word brought him back to his usual mood, and he became as merry as ever.

“Do you know, Harry,” he said to me one day, “I intend to be a sailor. I should like to have just such a vessel as this, and cruise about the world that you tell me is round, though I cannot make it out; still, as you say so, I am sure it is.”

I pointed to the top-gallant sails of a vessel on which the sun was shining brightly,—“Now, watch that sail, and in a short time you will see her topsails, and then her courses, and then the hull. If the world was not round, we should see them all at once, just as clearly as we now see the top-gallant sails.”

As I spoke I took up a large ball of spun yarn, and placing a splinter on it, I advanced the piece of wood gradually until he saw the whole of it. “Now, this splinter represents that ship,” I said, pointing to it. “As we also are moving towards her, we shall soon see all her sails and her hull.”

Nat kept watching the ship with intense interest; and although summoned to luncheon, he begged that he might have something brought up to him, so that he could watch her hull come in sight. This in a short time happened, when he clapped his hands and shouted—

“Now I know that the world is round; but I thought it was so very big it could make no difference.”

“Well,” exclaimed Dick, who had been listening to my remark, “I never knew before how it was people guessed that the world was round. I saw ships’ sails popping up out of the ocean, but had not any idea how it was, and did not like to ask.”

“There you showed your want of wisdom,” observed papa; “you should have tried to think the matter out, or inquired.”

The wind continued to favour us, drawing gradually to the westward. We sighted a red light on Kinnaird’s Head, which, as we got more to the eastward, changed to a bright colour. Beyond it was Fraserburgh. By hauling our wind we were able to steer for Rathay Head. Near it we caught sight of Inverugie Castle. We gave a wide berth to the head, from which a dangerous reef of rocks run out; for though the ocean was tolerably calm, we could see the water breaking over them.

We were now hoping, as the wind was off shore, to stand due south for Aberdeen, which we were all anxious to see. We had sighted Slaines Castle, standing out solitary and grand on the very edge of the crag, when the wind suddenly backed round to the southward, and in a short time began to blow very hard. Dark clouds, which had been gathering thickly in the horizon to the south-east, came careering on over the blue sky. In spite of the heavy sea which was getting up, we held our course, standing away from the land, intending to tack again when we could to fetch Aberdeen. By the way the Dolphin was tumbling about I could readily understand how we must have appeared to her. Dick began to show signs of being far from happy, and Nat’s cheerfulness entirely left him. Papa sent him down below, and told him to turn in. Dick, however, braved it out, but grew more and more yellow and woebegone.

“This won’t do,” observed papa; “it’s fortunate that we have a port under our lee. Up helm, ease away the main sheet. We’ll let the Dolphin know that we are running for Peterhead.”

The Dolphin followed our example; and away we went, careering on before the fast-rising seas. Very glad we were that we had so fine a harbour to run for. The gale blew harder and harder, and the waves looked as if every instant they would engulf us; for we were now exposed to the whole roll of the German Ocean. On sailing in we were struck by the remarkable appearance of the flesh-coloured pinkish rocks, whose needle-shaped points rose up out of the water. We had, however, little time to notice them, ere rushing by we brought-up in the harbour of Peterhead. Most thankfully we dropped our anchor and furled our sails.

Peterhead appeared to be a bustling place. A number of merchant vessels, coasters, and fishing-boats were at anchor. As the days were long, we hoped the gale would blow itself out before the next morning. Directly we had dined we set off on foot to visit a curious cavern called the “Bullers of Buchan.” After walking for about two hours we found ourselves on the top of a cliff, from whence we looked down into an immense cauldron some fifty feet in diameter, open at the bottom to the sea, which was rushing in, and whirling round and round in foaming masses. We went round it, between the cauldron and the sea, where the ledge, with the foaming whirlpool on one side and the perpendicular cliffs on the other, was sufficiently narrow to make us feel the necessity of keeping our eyes open. On the west side, or the furthest from the ocean, we observed that the water rushed under an arch. A person told us that in fine weather a boat could pass under this arch, though at present one would have been immediately dashed to pieces. The whole cliff was completely perforated by caverns. “Buller,” I should have said, means the “boiler.” Having watched it until our ears were wellnigh deafened by the roar, and our eyes dizzy from gazing at the seething whirlpool, we hastened on to get a sight of Slaines Castle, which we had seen from the sea. As we viewed it from a distance, the walls appeared to be a continuation of the cliff on the summit of which it stands. It is a large quadrangular building, without a tree in the neighbourhood. It had a somewhat gloomy aspect under the dark sky when we saw it. The property belonged, till lately, to the Earl of Errol, whose nearest neighbour to the eastward was, as Dick said, “Hamlet’s Ghost,” or the Castle of Elsinore, which stands on the shores of the Skagerack.

We had spent a longer time in visiting the castle than we had intended, and had only got a short distance back when we were overtaken by the gloom of evening. The wind was blowing dead on shore, and a tremendous sea running. We were casting our eyes over the German Ocean, when we saw what we took to be a brig, with her mainmast gone, and several of her sails blown away, evidently steering for Peterhead. Unable to keep close to the wind, she was drifting every instant nearer and nearer the shore.

“I fear she’ll not weather that point,” observed papa; “and if she comes on shore, there’ll be little chance for any of her people, as no lifeboat could get near her.”

We had passed a Coastguard station a little way to the northward. Uncle Tom volunteered to hurry on, and I accompanied him—in case the people there should not have observed the brig—to give them notice of the danger she was in; that, should she strike, they might be ready to render assistance with their rocket apparatus.

It was now quite dark, and we had great difficulty in making our way; there was a risk of finding ourselves at the edge of some chasm, down which we might fall. The distance seemed very long, and I thought we must have missed the Coastguard station, which was situated at the edge of the cliffs. At length, however, we saw a light gleaming from a window, and arrived at the wall which enclosed the house where the lieutenant and his men lived. We found them on the alert. Two had just gone off for some horses to drag the waggon in which the rocket apparatus was to be carried, as one of the men stationed to the southward had seen the brig and reported her danger.

In the waggon were already placed the rocket tube, with three rocket lines, several rockets, three spars to form a triangle, an anchor, lantern, spades, and pickaxes, some signal rockets, a rope ladder, and a sling life-buoy, with what are called “petticoat breeches” fastened to it, in which a person can be placed.

There were also a strong hawser and a whip or fine rope, by which the sling life-buoy was to be drawn backwards and forwards from the wreck to the shore. By the time these were got into the waggon a couple of horses had arrived, and a party of men immediately set off with the waggon.

The lieutenant conducted us back by the way we had come; as he knew every inch of the ground, we had no fear now of falling over the cliff. We had not gone far before we saw a rocket thrown up about a mile to the southward.

“It is as I feared,” said the lieutenant; “the brig has gone ashore, and that rocket, fired by one of my men, shows the spot where she has struck. There is no time to lose, for in all probability she will not hold together long.”

The signal made us hasten on even faster than before.

“There she is! there she is!” cried the lieutenant, just as we reached the summit of a cliff.

We could see the brig about a hundred fathoms off on the rocks, the sea making a fearful breach over her. There was light sufficient to enable us to see that the foremast was still standing.

We found that papa and the rest of our party had arrived at the spot, and were watching her, but of course utterly unable to afford any assistance. It would have been a sad thing to watch her, had we not known that we should soon have the means of saving the poor people. Scarcely a minute had passed when a shout gave us notice that the waggon had arrived. We all instantly hurried to her to assist. While the men handled the heavier articles, we carried the lighter ones. Each man knew exactly what he was to do. The lines, I should have said, were in boxes, two of which were carried to the cliff; the tube was then fixed, and the line fastened to it. It was an anxious moment. Would the line pass over the vessel? would the crew be able to secure it? I could not help fearing that the rocket might strike the vessel, and perhaps kill some one on board; but the lieutenant took very good care to avoid that, by giving the tube sufficient elevation.

“Now, lads, stand by!” he sang out.

The men tilted the box in which the line was secured, so that it might run out freely. The officer now fired; and the rocket, rising in the air, made a grand curve of light, which we watched with intense interest until we saw it fall completely over the vessel. We had now to ascertain whether the men on board had secured it. No signal came, and of course we could not venture to haul in on the line, lest we might draw it back.

“They probably have no blue light or gun on board, or any other means of making a signal,” observed the lieutenant.

Scarcely, however, had he spoken, before a faint light from a lantern was shown in the rigging.

“All right,” he exclaimed: “they have secured the line; make it fast to the warp.”

Upon this, one of the Coastguards, going a short distance from the rest of us, exhibited a lantern with a red light, and presently we found that the whip—or double line—with a tailed block was being hauled off by the men on the wreck.

We had now to wait again until once more the lantern was shown on board. This was a signal to the Coastguard to secure the end of the hawser to one part of the double line or whip, when all hands taking hold of the latter, we hauled off the hawser to the wreck. The tailed block had probably been secured to the mast; and as long as that held we had every hope of establishing a communication.

If we felt anxious, how much more so must the poor fellows on the brig, which might at any moment be knocked to pieces, and they be sent struggling hopelessly in the foaming seas! We knew from the length of the whip that we must haul out the hawser almost to its end. Soon after we had done so another signal was made, which implied that the men had secured it round the mast. We then immediately hauled away on the hawser until we had got it stretched and secured to the anchor, which had been imbedded in the earth some way back from the cliff. It was necessary, however, not to get it too taut, as the vessel was moved by the seas, and might either break it, or tear the anchor out of the ground. This done, the “buoy with the breeches” was secured to a block, adjusted to the hawser, and was immediately hauled off.

I should have said that a triangle, formed of three small spars, over which the hawser passed, was fixed in the ground nearest to the edge of the cliff; and now, to our infinite satisfaction, we had a perfect communication with the wreck. Still we had to watch for another signal, to give us notice that a person had been placed in it. Again the light appeared. We hauled away on the warp.

“Handsomely, handsomely!” sung out the lieutenant, as the men were hauling in rather fast on the line.

We eagerly watched; when at last through the gloom we saw the life-buoy appear, and discovered that a person was in it. With anxious haste the lieutenant and two of his men stepped forward, and grasping the buoy and its burden, gently lifted out the occupant.

“My arm is broken, sir; take care, please.”

We found that it was the mate of the vessel who spoke; he was the first sent on shore. We carried him up to the waggon, where he could be sheltered from the wind by the awning which covered it. While Uncle Tom remained with him, we hastened back to the cliff.

By this time another person had arrived—a young boy—who was also somewhat hurt. He was almost fainting from pain and terror; his state was such that he could only utter the words, “Make haste! make haste!”

There was good reason for this, for we could judge by the way the hawser was moved that the vessel was rolling more and more; and the men were compelled to slacken it out every now and then. It may be supposed no time was lost. Three men were now successfully brought on shore.

We were going to carry the boy to the waggon, but he intreated to remain. The first of the men who arrived told us the reason. He was the captain’s son. The captain himself would not leave the vessel until the last. Two of their number had been washed overboard, the captain alone now remained. We could hear the boy crying out every now and then, “Make haste! make haste!”

Once more the life-buoy was hauled off; every possible speed was made. I don’t think I ever before felt so intensely anxious; for I could sympathise with the poor boy whose father was still in fearful danger. Each moment it seemed as if the hawser would be carried away. Again the light was shown, and seemed to be advancing towards us. The Coastguard hauled away with all their might, helped by two of the rescued crew, while the lieutenant and the rest stood by ready to take hold of the captain. The light drew nearer and nearer. “Make haste! make haste!” again cried the boy. When at length he saw his father safe, in spite of his hurts, rising up from the ground, he rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck.

Scarcely had the captain’s feet touched the ground than the hawser slackened, a loud rending sound was borne to our ears by the wind, and we knew that some huge billow had dashed the brig to pieces. Indeed, I fancied I saw fragments tossing about in the seething waves which dashed up against the cliffs.

All felt that they had done their duty, and that the lives of their fellow-creatures had been saved by their promptitude, and the skill with which the operations had been carried out. The Coastguard men, having hauled in the hawser until the mast was brought close under the cliff, the rocket apparatus was returned to the waggon, in which also the mate and the captain’s son were placed, and we then all set off to the Coastguard station.

The lieutenant invited us to remain at his cottage until the morning. We gladly accepted his offer; and his wife, who was a very nice person, treated us in the kindest manner, and produced a variety of garments, which we put on while our wet clothes were drying. Uncle Tom had a lady’s cloak over his shoulders. Dick was dressed in an old uniform coat, and papa got into a pea-jacket.

The shipwrecked crew were looked after by the Coastguard men, and the lieutenant and his wife attended to the mate and the boy; while the master of the vessel had a room to himself, being completely knocked up, and as soon as he had had some supper went to bed, and happily was soon fast asleep.

Papa and the lieutenant found that they had many mutual acquaintances, and they sat spinning yarns before the fire—for, although summer, a fire was very pleasant—until late in the night. The lieutenant described to us the gallant way in which the lifeboats of two neighbouring stations had gone out on several occasions to rescue the crews of vessels either on the rocks or sandbanks at the mouth of the Moray Firth.

One hears but little of the wreck of coasters; but were it not for the assistance of lifeboats, in most instances the crews, consisting of three to six men, would be lost; as the vessels, being often old and rotten, quickly break up, and being low, the seas wash completely over them. Not long ago a boat was discovered by one of the Coastguard men on the beach; and on hurrying towards her, he found a poor fellow lying on the sand almost exhausted. On carrying him to a neighbouring fisherman’s cottage, he recovered; and he then stated that he belonged to a large barque which had gone on the sands; that he and twelve other men had taken to their boat, but that she had capsized, and that all hands, with the exception of himself, had been drowned; that he had swum on shore, though he could scarcely tell how he had managed to reach it. He said that there were four men still on board. On this the Coastguard men hastened to the nearest lifeboat station, when the boat was immediately manned and pushed off for the wreck, the position of which the seaman had described, though as it was night she could not be seen. Away the gallant crew pulled through tremendous seas, which were rolling in on the coast. Having gained an offing, they made sail, and steered for the wreck, which at length was discovered with two of her masts gone, while the crew were clinging to the rigging of the remaining mast, which threatened every instant to follow the others. The lifeboat, showing a light, indicated to the poor fellows on the wreck that help was near. After considerable difficulty they got up under her lee, and were able to heave a rope on board. Getting a stronger warp, they hauled up near enough to enable two of the men to jump on board. The third slipped, and fell into the water, running a fearful risk of being crushed; but, happily, he also was got into the boat. As is often the case, the cabin-boy was the last left. It was a trying thing to see the poor little fellow clinging to the rigging, but unable to help himself.

“We can’t let him perish!” cried one of the lifeboat men; and at the risk of his own life, the boat being hauled up to the wreck, he sprang into the rigging, and with his knife cut the lashings by which the poor boy was held. A crashing sound was heard, the weather shrouds and stays were giving way. In another instant the mast would fall, and not only the gallant fellow and his charge, but all in the lifeboat, would perish.

“Leap, man! leap!” shouted the crew, ready to shove off, and watching the tottering mast with anxious gaze; but even though they all knew the fearful risk they incurred by remaining, they would not desert their companion or the lad he had gone to save. The gallant boatman, seizing the boy in his arms, slid down the rigging and sprang from the chains into the boat, where he was caught by the outstretched arms of his companions. The next moment the boat was many fathoms from the wreck, when down came the mast on the very spot where she had been floating, the cap of her topmast almost striking her bow. Still the crew had a heavy struggle to reach the shore, for the gale came down with greater force than ever, and the hungry seas seemed ready to engulf her; but the shipwrecked men were landed in safety. Not until they met their companion did they learn that he and they were the sole survivors of the crew.

The lieutenant told the tale so graphically that I have tried to put it down in his own words. He related many other similar anecdotes; and it was not until the night was far spent that we dropped off to sleep in our chairs.

At daybreak, as the rain had ceased, and the wind had somewhat gone down, we started for Peterhead, papa promising to send a conveyance for the mate and the boy, that they might be carried to the hospital.

Peterhead is a substantial-looking seaport town, the houses being mostly built of granite from quarries near. It stands on the south side of the mouth of the river Ugie, and has two harbours, one on the north and the other on the south side of the peninsula. The latter, which is the oldest, was formed in the year 1773, from plans by Mr Smeaton, the great engineer of those days; and the north harbour in 1818, from those by Mr Telford. Piers run out from the shore, which is lined by fine quays.

We had to wait the whole day before proceeding on our voyage, so we had time to see a great deal of the town, and something of the neighbourhood. We paid a visit to the hospital, and were glad to find that the poor mate and the captain’s son were going on very well.

Next morning broke bright and beautiful, with a fine northerly breeze, which raised our spirits; and sailing out of the harbour, we stood towards Buchan Ness, on the summit of which stands a stone tower, with a light flashing from it at night, to show the approach to Peterhead. We sighted Slaines Castle, from which we steered a direct course for Aberdeen. About ten o’clock, the distance run being about thirty miles, we sighted the Girdlestone Lighthouse, on the southern side of the river Don, on which Aberdeen stands. Crossing the bar, we found ourselves in a wide bay. Several vessels and a number of boats were standing towards the spacious quays, backed by the fine granite-built houses of New Aberdeen.

On landing, we noticed the massive appearance imparted to the houses by the granite of which they are composed.

Our first visit was to Marischal College, the great seat of learning in the north, where Captain Dalgetty, that redoubted soldier of fortune, according to Scott, obtained his education. We went through the museum, library, and observatory, saw a good collection of paintings, and were especially struck by the handsome way in which the whole building is furnished.

Hurrying on, however, to the old town, on the south bank of the Don, we visited the parish church of Old Machar, a grand and venerable building. The pillars in the transept have their capitals beautifully carved in oak. We then went to King’s College, a large quadrangular edifice, including the chapel, built of granite. The examination hall contains a collection of the portraits of the old Scottish kings and the early principals of the college,—a Bishop Elphinstone, the founder, being among them. We were amused by seeing the students, of whom there were between two and three hundred, walking about dressed in red gowns. They belong to all ranks of society, many labouring during the summer to obtain the means of educating themselves in the winter. We heard a pleasant anecdote of the late Duke of Gordon, who used to send out a carriage when he knew that the young men were on their way to college, in order to give them a lift for a stage or two. Many, we were told, had worked at the Caledonian Canal before thus arriving in the ducal carriage.

We saw many evidences of the prosperity of Aberdeen; and while we lay in the harbour two or three steamers came in and out; one on its way to the islands of Orkney and Shetland, and others to Leith and the Thames. Our few hours at Aberdeen were among the most interesting we spent on shore during our voyage.

Sailing again in the afternoon, with a fine northerly breeze, we passed the neat town of Stonehaven, about fifteen miles to the south, and soon afterwards the grand ruins of Dunnottar Castle, a large square tower rising from amid the ruins of other buildings on the very edge of the cliff. We could judge of its size by the extent of the remaining walls. It was here that the crown and sceptre of King Charles were kept during the Civil Wars. The castle was besieged, and the garrison was about to capitulate, when Mrs Ogilvie, the governor’s wife, put them in charge of Mrs Grainger, the wife of the minister of Kinneff, who had paid her a visit by permission of the Republican General Lambert. Mrs Ogilvie managed, with wonderful boldness, to smuggle out the crown, fastened under her cloak, while her servant hid the sceptre and sword in a bag of flax which she carried on her back. It was here, also, that many of the Covenanters were imprisoned, and, according to an ancient chronicler, Wallace put to death four thousand Englishmen, who had fled for safety into the church. The approaching night hid the gloomy walls from our view.

As we passed the towns of Montrose and Arbroath during the night, we saw nothing of them. The wind fell light when off the latter place, and then blew from the south-west, bringing up a thick fog, which shrouded the whole surface of the water. Papa being told of it, he went on deck, and Dick and I followed him; when he at once hauled the yacht on the wind, and stood off the coast. After running on for about an hour, the peculiar mournful sound of a bell reached us. As we stood on, it sounded every half-minute, louder and louder.

“Where does that come from?” inquired Dick.

“From the Bell Rock,” answered Truck. “If it wasn’t for the fog we should see a light from the tall tower which now stands on the rock, bright and red alternately. Once upon a time there was no tower there; but there was a bell fixed on a buoy, and as the waves beat against it, it tolled without ceasing; but I have heard say that there was a pirate, who used to cruise in those seas, who cut the bell off; but not long after, when making for Dundee, during a dark night and a heavy gale, he ran his ship on it, and was lost with all his men—a judgment on him for his evil deeds.”

The wind dropping altogether, we lay becalmed, within the sound of the bell, until morning broke and the fog lifted, when we saw the tower just ahead of us. The centre part of the building was coloured white, and could scarcely be seen against the sky; but the lower part, which was dark, and the lantern, which was in shadow, were perfectly visible. We pulled towards it; and as we approached we saw the rocks on which the lighthouse stands rising ten feet or more above the water. Iron ladders were fixed for landing, and by a gun-metal ladder we were able to reach the entrance port. The head keeper came down and received us cordially. As in other lighthouses, the first story is used for storing coal; the second for water; the next for oil; and the next for bedrooms, with berths for six persons. Above it is the kitchen, and above that the sitting-room, in which we saw a bust of Stevenson, the engineer. The light is revolving, and has five reflectors, on each of which are two faces, one red and one white. The red colour is produced by chimneys of red glass. The keeper told us that four men belonged to the lighthouse, that they are all married, but that three only were on duty. As at the other lighthouses, birds are occasionally killed by flying against the glasses.

Soon after we left the Bell Rock, the wind freshening from the southward, we stood on for Dundee, from which it is about five and twenty miles distant. We passed through the narrow entrance of the Firth of Tay, with Broughty Castle on our right, beyond which we came off Dundee, standing on the northern shore, and rising on a gentle declivity from the water’s edge, towards a high hill called the Law. The estuary here is nearly two miles wide. A number of vessels were at anchor, while the docks seen beyond the quays were full of shipping. Dundee has a handsome appearance, with its broad streets and fine stone houses. About the centre of the town, we passed what looked like one enormous church, with a lofty tower at the western end; but we found that it consisted of four parish churches, which are built side by side, so as to form one edifice.

“I wish that all Christian communities could thus live in unity,” observed papa.

These churches were, as may be supposed, all Presbyterian. There are several others in the town. We were told that there were nearly ninety schools in Dundee, at which upwards of four thousand children are educated. One of the most interesting places which claimed our attention was the Watt Institution, established in honour of James Watt, for the instruction of young men in science. There are also nearly forty mills for spinning flax, weaving linen, sail-cloth, sacking, and cordage. On the quay stands a handsome arch, built after a Flemish model. Besides the patent slip and graving dock, there are three wet docks and two tidal harbours, while other improvements are being carried on; so that Dundee is a most flourishing place.

Not far off is Camperdown, once the residence of Lord Duncan, who called it after the famous victory he won over the Dutch; and a little distance further is Rossie Priory, belonging to the Kinnaird family.

As we were anxious to look into Saint Andrews, we sailed again next morning, in the hope that the wind would continue in the north, or at all events that we should be able to beat down thus far. It is situated on the south shore of Saint Andrew’s Bay, some little way outside the entrance to the Firth of Tay. The wind favoured us more than we expected; and a pilot-boat showing us the way, we stood into the harbour, passing close under the peninsula on which the town stands. Above us were the ruins of the cathedral and the chapel of Saint Rule, who was supposed to have founded the place, with several other buildings. Saint Andrews presented a very quiet aspect, forming a great contrast to the bustling town of Dundee; but I must say it is a far more picturesque place. Of course we visited the university, the most ancient in Scotland. It consists of the colleges of Saint Salvator, Saint Leonard, and Saint Mary. There is also a school called the Madras College, founded by Dr Bell, the originator of the Madras system of education. By means of these colleges, at which an almost free education can be obtained, young Scotchmen without means are able to enjoy advantages which they could not do in England. The town is certainly more alive than it was when Dr Johnson visited it in the last century; he declared that one of the streets was lost, and that in those that remained there was “the silence and solitude of inactive indigence and gloomy depopulation.” We thought it a very picturesque-looking place, and should have remained there longer had the wind not changed and induced us to put to sea.

Having passed round Fifeness, the eastern point of the peninsula, and opened the Isle of May lights—for there are two on the summit of the island—we stood across the Firth of Forth, intending to visit Edinburgh. The wind being light the whole night, we made no way.

When morning broke, we were in sight of Fenton Law, which rose beyond North Berwick, and the Bass Rock, at no great distance off, standing high up above the blue sea. We passed close to it, and got a view of the almost inaccessible castle perched on its cliffs. It is now in ruins, but at one time was used as a state prison, in which several of the most distinguished Covenanters were confined. Wild flocks of sea-fowl rose above our heads from off the rock, and among others were numbers of gannets or Solan geese.

As we had lost so much time, and had still the whole English coast to run down, papa and Uncle Tom, after a consultation, agreed to give up their visit to Edinburgh, and to continue their cruise across to the southward.

Chapter Eleven.

The North-East Coast.

We got a view of North Berwick, which stands on the extreme northern point of Haddington; and about three miles to the eastward of it we came off the far-famed Tantallon Castle, in days of yore the stronghold of the Douglases. Of course, we got out Marmion, and read the description of this celebrated fortress, which by the extent of its ruins must have been of great size and strength.

“I said, Tantallon’s dizzy steep Hung o’er the margin of the deep. Many a rude tower and rampart there Repelled the insult of the air, Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. A parapet’s embattled row Did seaward round the castle go. Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, Sometimes in platform broad extending, Its varying circle did combine Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign. Above the booming ocean leant The far-projecting battlement; The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, Upon the precipice below.”

We passed the mouth of the river Tyne, south of which stands Dunbar. The next place of interest we came off was Fast Castle, of which two tall towers remain close to the cliffs,—in former days the stronghold of the Homes. It is supposed to be the original of Wolfs Crag in The Bride of Lammermoor. We looked through our glasses at the spot where the unhappy Master of Ravenswood sank with his steed into the treacherous quicksand.

About fifteen miles farther on, we passed the bluff promontory Saint Abb’s Head, and soon afterwards arrived off Berwick, which, I need hardly say, stands at the mouth of the Tweed, the river dividing England from Scotland. So close does the railway run to the cliffs, that we could hear the trains passing as clearly as if we were on shore, and could see them shooting by at a speed which made us jealous. As the wind was fair, we did not put into the Tweed, but stood close enough to Berwick to have a cursory view of it. As all the world knows, Berwick is not within any county, for although really in Berwickshire, it belongs to England. It is a county in itself. A portion is still surrounded by walls erected in the time of Elizabeth; and it is defended by several bastions, with batteries commanding the entrance to the harbour. We could see the remains of an ancient castle, which is now a heap of ruins, but above it stands the Bell Tower, still almost perfect. A number of vessels passed in and out of the harbour while we were off it, showing that the place has a good deal of trade. As we looked through our glasses, we saw a number of churches and public buildings. A long stone pier runs out on the north side of the Tweed, with a lighthouse at its end.

We now stood on towards Holy Island, a few miles south of Berwick, off the Northumbrian coast; and as we had still several hours of daylight, we hove-to off the island. Here, in the early days of Christianity, was a college of evangelists, who went forth to preach the simple gospel through the northern portions of the country, to its heathen kings, as well as to the people over whom they held sway. Ultimately, monasteries were built here, famous for the supposed piety of their inmates.

We pulled on shore to visit the ruins of the celebrated Abbey of Lindisfarne. If the pilgrim visitors arrived at low water, they could get across by following the sandbank which connects it with the mainland; but they had to make haste, to escape being caught by the flood.

Besides the monastery, there was a castle of great strength, which often resisted the invader’s hostile attacks; and heathen Danes had again and again been driven back to their ships by its stalwart garrison. Its glories, however, are departed. We could find only a few low walls, over which we could leap, and the remains of a staircase of eight or ten steps in a tower but little higher than the wall. A board warning off trespassers took away what little romance we had conjured up.

Returning on board, we again stood to the southward, sighting Bamborough Castle, elevated on a green mound above the village. Off it lies the Longstone Rock and the Farne Islands. The coast looked bleak and desolate, with here and there dark rocks running into the sea. The wind was very light as we came off the Longstone Lighthouse.

While the yachts hove-to, the boats were lowered, and we pulled up to it, in order to pay a visit to the scene of Grace Darling’s heroism. For upwards of fifty years the lighthouse was under the charge of William Darling, the father of Grace. We understood that the present head keeper was a member of the family. The tower stands on a rock, is painted red, and the light revolves every half-minute. We were much interested with the memorials of Grace Darling which embellished the sitting-room. The light-keeper on duty pointed out the various localities connected with the wreck of the Forfarshire.

Before daylight, on the 6th of September 1838, a furious gale blowing, Grace Darling, who acted as William Darling’s assistant and was on watch, heard, as she thought, the cries of people coming from the direction of some rocks a mile away. She awoke her father, and together they stood listening to the appeals for help; but in the dark, with the furious sea there was running, it was impossible to put off to their assistance. When day broke, however, the old man launched his boat, and was about to shove off, when, observing the state of the tide and weather, he hesitated to make the attempt. As the light increased, Grace, who had been anxiously watching the wreck, declared that she saw some people still clinging to it.

“We must save them!” she exclaimed; and seizing an oar, she stepped into the boat.

The old man, aroused by her example, followed her. Through the foaming seas, which threatened every moment to overwhelm the little coble, they pulled off to the wreck. The fore part of the vessel, to which nine people were clinging, alone remained; to reach them it was necessary to land on the lee side of the rock. This, after considerable difficulty, William Darling succeeded in doing, when immediately Grace rowed off in the coble, to prevent it being dashed to pieces. One by one, five of the crew and four passengers were drawn by the lighthouse-keeper off the wreck, and placed on the rock, from whence they were transferred to the boat, and conveyed, a few at a time, to the lighthouse.

Owing to the state of the weather, no communication could be held with the mainland for two days, during which time the nine shipwrecked persons were treated with the utmost kindness by Mr Darling and his daughter. The calm bravery of Grace, who was at that time only twenty-two years of age, excited the admiration of all who heard it. Testimonials and suitable presents, together with seven hundred pounds sterling raised by subscription, showed how highly the public appreciated her conduct. The Forfarshire steamer, of three hundred tons, had sailed the previous evening from Hull, bound for Dundee; but her boilers becoming defective, the engines could no longer work, and at three o’clock the following morning she struck on the Longstone, the outermost of the Farne Islands, between which the master was endeavouring to run the vessel. The mate, with seven seamen, lowered a boat, and were escaping, when one of the passengers leaped on board, others in vain attempting to follow his example. The nine occupants of this boat were the following morning picked up by a coaster and carried into Shields,—they, with those rescued by the Darlings, being the only persons who escaped out of sixty souls.

Four years after this heroic deed, Grace Darling lay upon her dying bed. The grief of the family was very great, for Grace was endeared to them all. “Do not mourn for me,” she said; “I am only exchanging this life for one far better. If I remained here, I should be subject to trouble and sickness; but in dying I go to be with Christ my Saviour.” Two beautiful memorials of Grace have been erected: one in Bamborough Churchyard, and the other in Saint Cuthbert’s Chapel, on the Farne Island. Our picture represents that in Bamborough Churchyard. Her sleeping figure lies under a Gothic canopy, backed by the blue waves, and within sight of the scene of her heroism.

“She is lying and sleeping now

Under the verdant turf.

Ah, there were breakers she might not ride!

And her hair grew damp in that strong, dark tide,

But not with the briny surf.

“And out of her lonely grave

She bids us this lesson prove,

That the weakest may wipe some tears that flow,

And the strongest power for good below

Is the might of unselfish love.”

In 1860, the Iris, of Arbroath, struck on the rocks close to where the Forfarshire was lost. The wind was so terrific, and the sea ran so high, that the crew were afraid to take to their boat. They accordingly leaped into the water, and were washed on to the rock, though it was with the greatest difficulty that they managed to reach it. Here they remained twelve hours, the sea being so rough that no boat could come to them. Towards evening, the wind having slightly fallen, William Darling, who was then seventy-five years of age, and had been watching the wreck all day, put off with several hands from the lighthouse, and rescued the poor fellows from their perilous position.

We had a scramble over a portion of the Farne Islands, on which there are two lighthouses at a considerable distance from each other. There are three keepers belonging to the two, but only one remains on watch at a time; he has to attend to both lights, and has to walk from house to house. The keeper showed us a curious contrivance by which he can at once rouse the sleeping keeper without leaving his own post. It consists of a hand-bellows attached to a tube which rings a bell at the ear of the sleeper. He told us that occasionally blackbirds and thrushes are killed by striking against the lantern. We saw a number of rabbits running in and out of their burrows. There is an old chapel which has been restored and another building, converted into a dwelling-house for the clergyman, who at times comes across from Durham.

Nat, who had landed with us, was very anxious to keep a young cormorant which he had picked up. He took it under his arm, intending to carry off his prize; but the mother bird attacked him so furiously with its long beak, that it nearly put out one of his eyes, and succeeded in severely biting his lip. On this, Nat very naturally let go the youngster, which scuttled off, determined not to be caught again, and, taking to the water, swam away at a great rate. The odour produced by the birds was anything but pleasant. We saw a number of cormorants diving in search of prey, and they came up with eels in their mouths. One had caught a big eel, which it battered against the rock until it had killed it; but others gobbled down small eels without the slightest hesitation. The young birds were the oddest-looking creatures imaginable. Their covering was a hard black skin, with here and there black woolly down upon it. The old birds’ heads and necks were black, speckled with white feathers, while the upper part of the body was brown mingled with black. They had also white patches on their thighs, and yellow pouches under the throat edged with white. They were fully three feet long; so that, with their strong beaks, they were formidable antagonists.

The gulls were even more numerous than the cormorants. Though they kept out of our way, they did not appear otherwise to fear us. They looked very large on the wing, as their white feathers glanced in the rays of the setting sun; but they are not more than half the size of the cormorant. They act the useful part of scavengers on the coast, and eagerly pick up all the offal thrown on the shore.

We returned to the yachts, and once more made sail. We got a good view through our glasses of the old towers of Dunstanborough Castle. As the wind fell light, we pulled in to have a look at it, papa being anxious to do so, as he had visited it in his younger days. The weather-beaten ruin stands on the summit of a black cliff, rising sheer out of the ocean. Three towers, one square, and the others semicircular, remain, with the greater portion of the outer wall, enclosing several acres of green turf, over which, instead of mail-clad warriors, peaceable sheep now wander. The principal tower overlooks a deep gully or gap in the rocks, up which the sea, during easterly gales, rushes with tremendous force and terrific noise, lashed into masses of foam, which leap high over the crumbling walls. This gully is known by the significant name of the Rumble Churn. This ocean-circled fortress was erected—so say the chroniclers—in the fourteenth century, by Thomas, Earl of Lancaster. Many a tale of siege and border warfare its stones could tell; for the Cheviot hills—the boundary between Scotland and England—can be seen from the summit of its battlements. Having bravely held out for Queen Margaret of Anjou, it was completely dismantled in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and has ever since remained like a lion deprived of its claws, crouching over the ocean, a sad memento of its former power. Had it remained until gunpowder was in general use, it would probably have been entirely overthrown.

Papa described to us Warkworth Castle, which stands further south, above the banks of the Coquet river, on a high wood-covered hill. The greater portion of the ruins remain; indeed, the woodwork alone has disappeared, and the masonry is in so good a state of preservation, that the late Duke of Northumberland proposed to restore it, and make it his residence, instead of Alnwick Castle. Near it a hermit dwelt in a cavern: he became a hermit in consequence of having killed the brother of his betrothed, whom he mistook for a rival, after his return from the Crusades.

We sighted Coquet Island, with its square white lighthouse, from which a light burst forth as we approached. Near it were the castellated dwellings of the keepers, painted different colours. In its neighbourhood are dangerous rocks, and over each a red ray is shown, to warn vessels which might otherwise run upon them. We were now almost constantly in sight of some light, which enabled us to know our exact position. Dick and I turned in while Coquet Island light still shone brightly.

We expected the next morning to be off Hartlepool, at the mouth of the Tees; but when day broke we found ourselves in sight of a picturesque castle standing on a point of land, with a broad river flowing below it, and a town at its foot. When we asked Truck what it was, he answered:

“That’s Tynemouth, at the mouth of the Tyne; and the captain says he intends to run in there to have a look at the place. It’s as well worth seeing as any place we have been to. Beyond it you see North Shields, and South Shields on the southern bank; and higher up is Newcastle, where coals come from, as you’ve heard tell of.”

We laughed at Truck’s description. “If they don’t come from Newcastle, I don’t know where else they come from,” remarked Dick.

“A good many other places, young gentleman. There’s no small quantity shipped from Sunderland and Swansea; and also from some of the Scotch ports. If we go up to Newcastle, we shall see the curious way they are put on board the colliers.”

“But why haven’t we got further?” I asked, “Because we have had light winds, and the tides have been against us most of the night,” answered Truck.

As not only the tide, but the wind also was against us, papa, on coming on deck, agreed to run up the Tyne. Hauling our wind, we stood in for North Shields, passing close under the lighthouse, which stands amid the ruins of the castle.

North Shields was evidently an active commercial place. Shipbuilding was going on in the yards, and vessels were loading with coals, bound to all parts of the world, each with a number of keels, or oval boats, alongside, which had brought down the coal from the upper part of the river. On board the vessels cranes were at work lifting up tubs of coal from out of the keels, and depositing them in their holds. Of these keels I shall have more to say by-and-by. Steamers emitting black wreaths of smoke were coming and going,—some towing vessels out to sea, others taking them up the harbour; while several were conveying passengers. After breakfast we went on board one of the passenger vessels, for papa and Uncle Tom did not wish to carry the yachts higher up.

We had clear evidence that we were in a region of coal. The greater number of vessels we met were colliers, their crews begrimed with coal dust. “Everybody,” as Dick remarked, “had a coaly look.” People were heard conversing in a broad Northumbrian accent, with a burr in most of their words. They were broad-shouldered men, capable of doing any amount of hard work. We came in sight of a fine stone bridge with nine elliptical arches, which connects Newcastle with Gateshead, on the opposite bank. Above it is another magnificent bridge; it is double, the lower roadway, ninety feet above the river, being used for carriages and foot passengers, while the upper carries the railway. It has two piers at the margin of the river, and four others in the stream itself, besides smaller piers. It was curious to walk under it, and to hear the trains rumbling by overhead.

Newcastle stands on the north bank of the river. At first we thought it a very smoky town, but on emerging from the narrow old streets we reached some fine broad thoroughfares with large houses and magnificent public buildings. At the quays were a vast number of vessels, some of considerable size. Formerly coals used to be put on board vessels from the oval boats I have before mentioned, called keels, of which a considerable number are still employed. Each keel carries about twenty tons of coal, the larger masses being piled up in the vessel, but smaller coal is carried in tubs, each keel having about eight tubs. The keels are antique-looking craft, such as were probably used in the earliest days of our history. They are propelled by large oars. The keel man, commencing at the bow, presses the oar before him, until he reaches the after part of the boat; he then hurries back to the bow, and again puts down his oar. The keel men are a fine hardy race. Formerly they were spoken of as “bullies;” but this, among the colliers, means “brothers,” or is derived from “boolie,” that is, “beloved.” Though their manners are rough, their character is good, and they are remarkably friendly to each other. Being all “keel bullies” or “keel brothers,” they support an extensive establishment in Newcastle called the “Keelmen’s Hospital.” We met a whole fleet of these keels as we came up, working their way down with their “puys” or oars. A considerable quantity of coal is scattered over the sides when hoisting it on board, and this is brought back by the flood tide into shallow water, where a number of people are seen in their little cobles dredging for it.

The larger number of vessels are, however, loaded from the “straiths.” These are platforms placed over the river and connected with tramways, joined to the various pits. The waggons, each containing two and a half tons of coal, come down for many miles until they reach the “straith,” when they are brought to a stand. In the “straith” is a hatchway, which opens by machinery, through which the waggon descends with a man in it, who, when it arrives over the hold, unfastens a catch which secures the bottom of the waggon; this being made to turn upon hinges, like a trap door when opened, the whole of the coal is poured into the hold. Attached to the suspending machinery are two counterpoising weights, which being less heavy than the waggon laden with coal, do not impede its descent. The moment it is discharged of its coal it is drawn up again by these weights.

As we descended the river we were much amused by seeing these coal waggons running swiftly on the “straith,” stop a moment, then go down with the descending men; and having got rid of their coal with a loud rushing noise, rise up again, as if perfectly aware of what they were, about.

We returned in the afternoon to the yachts, and stood out to sea, hoping to obtain a slant of wind which might carry us further down the coast.

Having seen the largest coal-shipping place, we had no particular wish to visit Sunderland, the chief port of Durham. Beyond it is Seaham, which has of late years sprung into existence. The mines in the neighbourhood belonged to the late Marquis of Londonderry, who wisely formed a fine harbour here by constructing two piers running out from the land; and his heir has been richly rewarded by his enterprise.

Further south is the seaport of Hartlepool, jutting out into the sea, a short distance from the river Tees. It was once a place of great strength, and contained one of the most ancient monasteries in the kingdom. A portion of the walls which defended the old haven still remains; and the new harbour has been formed by a pier run out from the south side of the town. It will not, however, hold vessels of large tonnage. The inhabitants are mostly engaged in fishing.

The next day we were in sight of the Yorkshire coast. Passing Whitby and Scarborough, after rounding Flamborough Head, opening up Bridlington Bay, we stood for Spurn Head, on the top of which are two lighthouses.

As we had still sufficient daylight, we ran up the Humber to visit Hull, which stands on its northern bank. A large number of coasters were at anchor before its extensive quays; it has also docks of great size. Numbers of steam-vessels were gliding in and out of the harbour. It is properly called Kingston-upon-Hull. It took its name when it was purchased by Edward the First, who, seeing the great natural advantages of its position, formed here a fortified town and port. There is nothing very attractive in the appearance of the place; but we were interested by a visit to a fine column on a square pedestal, erected to the memory of the great Wilberforce, whose statue adorns the summit. The town contains two colleges, several hospitals, and numerous other public institutions. We went on board the guardship stationed here, with some of the officers, with whom papa was acquainted, and were interested in hearing an account of the Coastguard system. Ships are stationed at different ports round the coast, and are called “Coastguard” or district ships, for Coastguard and Royal Naval Coast Volunteer duties. The English coast is divided into six districts; namely, the Hull district, which extends from Berwick to Cromer; the Harwich, from North Yarmouth to Ramsgate; the Newhaven district, from Folkestone, including Southampton Water, the Isle of Wight, and Lymington; the Falmouth and Weymouth district, including Bournemouth, Land’s End, and taking in Penzance and the Scilly Isles. The rest of the coast is divided between Milford and Liverpool. Scotland has two “Coastguard” districts, the east and the west coasts. Ireland has also two districts. The services on which the ships are employed are numerous. First, for the protection of the revenue; to keep up a reserve of seamen, and as a depôt for stores and clothing. The captain of the ship takes the duties of the old inspecting commanders, and the officers—of whom there are a large number appointed to each ship for that especial purpose—have command of the different stations. Each ship has four or five tenders attached to her, employed in protecting either the revenue or the fisheries. The ships generally go to sea for a month or so in the course of the year, and are kept ready to proceed to any part of the world. They do not keep up their usual complement of men, but when required the crew are drawn from the Coastguard. Besides these ships, there are six in England and two in Scotland, called “drill ships.” They, however, never go to sea. They are employed in receiving on board the Royal Naval Reserve Force,—seamen as well as officers,—who go through a periodical drill. The Royal Naval Coast Volunteers also drill on board these ships. These volunteers are seafaring men, and they rank with ordinary seamen, and not, like the men of the Naval Reserve, with able-bodied seamen.

Both the men of the Reserve and Coast Volunteers are expected to drill twenty-eight days in the year, either on board a district ship, a drill ship, or at the shore battery. By these means an efficient body of men is kept up, ready for immediate service in case of war. The men quarrel at times among themselves, the result frequently being a black eye; but they will never tell upon each other; and sometimes a very curious cause is assigned as the reason of having a black eye. A man once said “that he had slipped and kicked himself,” though how he managed to kick his own eye it is difficult to say! Another reason often given is, “that they have run up against a pump-handle,” The man-of-war hats are very unpopular, for they are particularly heavy. Good straw hats having lately been scarce, an armourer was found constructing one of tin; but that must have been not only heavier, but much hotter. The men usually make their own hats, and as usually manage to lose them. As soon as the hat is found, the man is placed before it, and compelled to look steadily at it for a certain time.

We got under weigh again in the afternoon of the next day, and stood down the Humber, until we came in sight once more of the Spurn lights. During the next night, while we were steering for the Dudgeon floating light-vessel, one of the men on the look-out shouted—

“A light on the starboard bow! Starboard the helm! Hard a starboard!” and I saw a screw steamer rapidly approaching us. Had the night been thick, and the look-out not been on the alert, we should certainly have been run down.

It was two hours before we sighted Dudgeon light, and from thence we steered for Cromer, which we knew by its having a bright light revolving every minute. Outside of it was the Hasborough floating light, and beyond that another light-vessel. We came off Cromer in the forenoon, when the vessels were hove-to; and we pulled in for the shore to visit some friends of Uncle Tom.

We landed among a number of fishing-boats, the place itself being a large and flourishing village, though there were a number of nice residences for people who visit it during the summer. In the middle rises a remarkably handsome church, its tower rising high above the surrounding buildings.

Along the coast are several round towers, which were built during the last war to defend the shore from invasion, though at present they would be of very little use. Papa was so pleased with the appearance of the place, that he said he should come there some summer with the rest of the family.

Leaving Cromer, we stood on for Great Yarmouth, inside a long line of sandbanks, which are known by the light-vessels stationed at their different ends.

Great Yarmouth is situated on the seashore, at the southern end of Norfolk. The river Yare follows a serpentine course, and falls into the sea at the village of Gorleston, a short distance from Yarmouth to the southward.

We waited until a pilot came on board to take us in, as the entrance is very narrow, between two long wooden piers, one projecting a considerable way into the sea. Further along the shore to the south rises a high sandy cliff, on the top of which we saw a good-sized vessel building. We asked the pilot how she could ever be launched, and he told us that she would be eased down the cliffs by ropes at high tide, when the water, rushing close up to the base, would float her.

We brought-up at some little distance from the entrance, opposite a line of neat-looking cottages, forming the village of Gorleston, and inhabited chiefly by pilots. As it was getting late, we settled not to go on shore until the following morning.

Chapter Twelve.

Yarmouth.

After an early breakfast, we landed on the north side of the river, and made our way over a level sandy plain towards a tall column which rose in the midst of it. The plain is called the Denes, and extends from the mouth of the river to the town. It is scantily covered with grass and sea plants, round which the sand collects in little hillocks.

We had to steer our way among a vast number of tanned nets spread out to dry. Here and there fishermen and their wives and daughters were employed in mending those which had received damage. There must have been acres upon acres of these nets. We soon reached the column, which we found was erected by the inhabitants of the county to the memory of Lord Nelson, who was a Norfolk man. At the top of each side of the pedestal were the names of the hero’s chief victories. At the summit is a ball, on which stands the figure of Britannia holding a trident and a laurel wreath. The keeper invited us to enter; and we ascended by a flight of two hundred and seventeen steps to a gallery at the top of the column, the total height being one hundred and forty-four feet. From the platform we got a good bird’s-eye view of the town below us, and the country as far as Norwich, and a wide extent of ocean.

“Have you been here long?” I asked the keeper.

“Not so long as the man who had charge before me,” he answered; “he came here when the column was first put up, and here he stayed for wellnigh forty years.”

“What was his name?” I enquired, finding that the old custos was more inclined to speak of his predecessor than himself.

“James Sharman. He was with Lord Nelson at Trafalgar. It was he who helped to carry the admiral from the upper deck to the cockpit. He came home in the Victory, and afterwards joined several other ships, until he bore up for Greenwich Hospital; but not liking to be shut up there, Sir Thomas Hardy—who, you mind, was Lord Nelson’s flag-captain—got him appointed to look after this column; and a good berth it is. He entered the navy as far back as 1799, and was afloat wellnigh twenty years. He came here, as near as I can remember, in 1819. He was as brave a seaman as ever stepped. I mind hearing of a gallant act of his, after he had been here about ten years. It was at the end of November; and the day was fast closing in, when the Hammond, a brig bound from Newcastle to London, drove on shore during a heavy gale, just a little way to the south of where we are standing. As she was heavily laden, and the water is shallow thereabout, she grounded more than a hundred fathoms from the beach. In a short time the wreck parted, and both her masts fell, carrying away, as was supposed, the whole of the crew. A short time after dark, however, one of the preventive men, named Smith, brought word to Sharman that he heard groans upon the wreck.

“‘The groans must come from some poor fellow, and we will do our best to save him,’ cried Sharman; ‘come along, Smith.’

“Taking a long rope, they hurried back to the beach.

“‘Now you hold on to the rope, and I’ll make the other end fast round my waist; and I’ll see what I can do,’ cried Sharman.

“Without a moment’s delay he plunged unto the surf, which three times carried him off his legs and sent him back on shore. Again he tried, and this time the sea drove him right against the wreck. The night was so dark that he had a hard matter to find out where the poor fellow was. At length he found a man clinging to the breastwork. The poor fellow told him that just before three men who had clung on until then had been washed away, and if he had come a few minutes sooner they might have been saved. As to swimming to shore, that he was certain was more than he could do. On this Sharman, taking the rope off himself, made it fast round the seaman’s waist, and shouted to Smith to haul in, while he himself trusted to his strong arms to hold onto the rope. They thus mercifully got safe to shore.”

A more appropriate spot than this could not have been fixed on for a monument to Nelson, who was born at Burnham Thorpe, of which his father, the Reverend Edmund Nelson, was rector. His mother was Catherine, daughter of Dr Suckling, Prebendary of Westminster, with one of whose sons, Captain Maurice Suckling, he first went to sea, on board the Raisonnable, of sixty-four guns. His education was obtained, first at the High School at Sanwich, and afterwards at North Walsham. After the misunderstanding with Spain had been settled, he left the Raisonnable, and was sent in a West Indian ship, commanded by a Captain Rathbone, who had been in the navy with his uncle. So great a dislike for the Royal Navy was instilled into him by the merchant seamen, that it was many weeks after he had joined the Triumph—to which on his return he had been appointed—before he became at all reconciled to remaining in it. How different might have been his lot had he not got over his prejudices though, wherever he might have been, he would have contrived to make his name known.

On leaving Nelson’s column, we proceeded along a road parallel with the river, having on our right the new barracks and on our left the Naval Hospital, which is placed in a fine airy situation, with the Denes in front and the sea beyond. It was here that Nelson, when the fleet came into Yarmouth, visited the poor wounded seamen, and going along the wards, spoke a kind word to each. It was by acts such as these that the admiral won the affection of his men, who used to say of him, “Our Nel is as brave as a lion, and as gentle as a lamb.”

We presently found ourselves on the quays, running for a mile along the bank of the river, and which are considered equal to any in the kingdom. Opposite to us, on the south shore, a modern town has sprung up; and we here saw a number of vessels building, the chief of them, judging from their size, intended for the deep-sea fishery.

We had heard that Yarmouth was likened to a gridiron, and we now saw the reason. Comparatively few broad streets run north and south; they are, however, joined by one hundred and fifty or more narrow passages, called rows, which run east and west, like the bars of a gridiron. In many of them the houses project beyond their foundations, so that the inhabitants can almost shake hands with their opposite neighbours. Most of the rows are paved with pebbles brought up from the beach. Uncle Tom observed that the word “row” is probably derived from the French rue, a street. In many of them we observed curious pieces of old architecture. They are now numbered, but used to be called after the names of some of the principal inhabitants. One is called George and Dragon Row; and in it we noticed a somewhat tumbledown cottage, built in what is denominated the “herring-bone pattern;” the bones or frame being of wood placed in a zigzag fashion, filled up with masonry. Another row is Kitty Witches Row. One end is scarcely three feet wide. It is supposed that this row was inhabited by women, who used to go about at certain seasons of the year, dressed in fantastic fashions, to collect contributions. Yarmouth carts are formed probably after the model of the most ancient vehicles in the kingdom. They are long, narrow, and low, the wheels being placed under the seat, so as to occupy as little space as possible. The shafts are fastened to the axles, and two or three perpendicular pieces of wood—the hindermost being the longest—support the seat, on which a person can recline at his ease. It will thus be seen that wherever the horses can go, the cart can follow.

Passing a very fine Town Hall we reached the end of a remarkably handsome bridge, which unites Southtown to Yarmouth. We then turned to our right through some narrow roads; and having crossed a broad street, we found ourselves in an open space in front of the Church of Saint Nicholas, one of the largest parish churches in the kingdom. Turning back and passing the fine Fisherman’s Hospital, we entered the market-place, which occupies nearly three acres of land. About the centre of the market-place there are some smooth stones in the form of a cross, which mark the spot where the town cross once stood. It was formerly adorned with the pillory and stocks, but they have long disappeared. The freemen of the town have the right of selling here free, with one stall. At the north end of the market is an avenue of lime-trees, which adds to its pleasant foreign appearance. In the yard of the Fisherman’s Hospital we saw a figure of Charity; and the cupola above is adorned by a statue of the Apostle Peter, who, in former days, was looked upon as the patron of fishermen.

We went to see the Toll House and Gaol, which are the oldest buildings in the town. We entered a hall by an external staircase, leading to an Early English doorway, which has the tooth ornament on the jambs. Opposite to it is an enclosed Early English window, with cinquefoil heads and shafts in the jambs.

We were shown an ancient iron chest, called a hatch, in which the Corporation of Yarmouth kept their charters and valuable documents. Among the contents are the tallies or cleft sticks upon which the accounts were formerly kept, the stick being notched according to the amount of money advanced, one part being given to the creditor, and the other to the debtor. The same plan is used in the present day by the hop-pickers in Kent, the overseer having one stick, while the picker keeps the other, and notches it each time a basket is emptied. Beneath this Toll House is the ancient Gaol or House of Correction. Up to the present century this gaol was as defective as that of prisons generally. Under the ground is an apartment called the hold, with iron rings fixed to a heavy beam of wood crossing the floor. To this beam—in olden times—prisoners were wont to be chained. The sufferings of these unfortunate persons stirred up the heart of a Christian woman, Sarah Martin, residing in Yarmouth. Though compelled to support herself as a dressmaker, she devoted much of her time, as did John Howard and Elizabeth Fry, to visiting her suffering fellow-creatures. For twenty-four years she thus laboured, visiting day after day the prisoners and malefactors in the town gaol. There was no one on earth to reward her, no one to thank her; but she trusted in God, and gave Him the praise that she was thus able to labour in His service. By her instrumentality many who were looked upon as hardened wretches by their fellow-men were brought to the foot of the cross as penitent sinners. When she lay dying, a friend asked, “What shall I read?” her answer was one word, “Praise.” To the question, “Are there any clouds?” she answered, “None: He never hides His face; it is our sins which form the cloud between us and Him. He is all love, all light.” And when the hour of her departure was come, her exclamation was, “Thank God! thank God!”

We read this account of the humble dressmaker near the spot where she laboured, and from whence her spirit took its flight to be with Him whom she had served on earth.

Between the old walls and the sea a new town has sprung up, with fine terraces facing the water, and a battery at either end; running out from it, over a narrow part of the Dene, into the ocean are three piers. The one known as “the Jetty,” from its jutting out into the sea, is between the others. It is composed of strong oaken piles driven into the soil and braced together with wooden beams, further secured by iron fastenings. During heavy weather, at high tide, the sea breaks completely over the end, while at low-tide it is left almost completely dry. Of late it has been considerably extended. We walked to the end, to have a look at the town, with its towers and windmills rising from amid the smaller houses. Near the beach we visited the Fishermen’s Chapel, to which an Institute is attached, containing a library, reading-room, etcetera.

Along the shore are several high wooden structures with platforms on the top. They are built to enable the pilots or boatmen to take a survey of the roadstead and the sands beyond, that they may see any vessel requiring their assistance.

Near these structures were two or more handsome boats drawn up on the beach, which are called yawls. They can be launched when no ordinary boat can put to sea, and they are principally used for rendering assistance to vessels in distress. They are from fifty to seventy feet in length, and each carries from ten to twenty men.

An old boatman told us of a very disastrous accident which occurred some years ago to the Increase, to which a man named Samuel Brock belonged. A signal of distress was seen flying on board a Spanish brig in the offing, when the Increase, with a crew of ten men and a London pilot, put off to her assistance.

The yawl, having reached the brig, put three hands on board to navigate her into Yarmouth Harbour. She stood back for the shore. On passing the Newarp Floating Light, a signal was made requesting them to take a sick man on board, which they did, and then continued their cruise with a strong breeze, under three lugs. They were taking a snack of food, when, having imprudently trimmed the ballast to windward—a most dangerous practice—a tremendous squall took the sails aback, and in a moment capsized her. Brock being a good swimmer, struck out to get clear of his companions, his ears assailed by their cries, mingled with the hissing of water and the howling of the storm. After a moment or so he swam back to help an old man to get hold of a spar; he then himself got on the boat, and stood upon its side; but finding that she was gradually settling down, he again struck off. By this time he supposed that all his companions were lost; and he began to think of the awful position in which he was placed, the nearest land being fully six miles distant. He remembered that it was half-past six just before the boat went over, and that as it was now low water, the tide would be setting off the shore, making to the southward, and that, therefore, he must swim fifteen miles before the ebb would assist him. Just then, a rush horse-collar, which had served as a fender to the boat, floated by. He got hold of it, and putting his left arm through it, was supported until he had cut the waistband of his cloth trousers, which then fell off. He in a similar way got rid of his frock, his waistcoat, and neckcloth; but he dared not free himself from his oilskin trousers, fearing that his legs might become entangled. He now put the collar over his head, but although it assisted him in floating, it retarded his swimming, and he had to abandon it. He had gone some little distance, when he discovered one of his messmates swimming ahead of him. The wind having gone down, no cries were heard, and the moon shone calmly on the water. Ere long he beheld the last of his companions sink without struggle or cry. Should he give in also? Not for a moment would he yield to such a thought; and he prepared himself for the desperate struggle.

For some time Winterton Light, to the north of Yarmouth, served to direct his course; when the tide carried him out of sight of it, a star served to guide him. At length this was obscured by the clouds, from which flashes of lightning, with crackling peals of thunder, burst forth. Still he swam on, until again the moon shone forth. Having cut off his heavy boots, he swam more easily. And now Lowestoft Light came in sight, and he saw the checkered buoy of Saint Nicholas Gat, opposite his own door, but still four miles away from land. He had been five hours in the water. Here was something to hold on by; but he reflected that his limbs might become numbed from exposure to the night air, and that it would be more prudent to swim on. So abandoning the buoy, he steered for the land. Not long afterwards he heard a whizzing sound overhead. It was a huge gull which had made a dash at him, mistaking him for a corpse; a number followed, but by shouting and splashing he drove them off. He was now approaching Corton Sands, over which the sea was breaking, and he much doubted whether he could live through it; but in a short time he was driven over them into smooth water, and the wind and swell coming from the eastward, he regained his strength. Some distance to the southward, he saw a brig at anchor. He was in doubt whether he should make towards her or continue his course to the shore. There was a great deal of surf breaking on the beach, and he might not have strength to climb up out of its reach. Also, if he swam to the brig, he might fail to make himself heard by the crew. However, on reflection, he determined to make for the brig. He got within two hundred yards, but nearer it was impossible to get. He now sang out with all his might. Happily, his voice was heard by the watch, a boat was lowered, and at half-past one, having swum seven and a half hours, he was on board the Betsey, at anchor in Corton Roads, nearly fifteen miles from the spot where the yawl was capsized. On being lifted on deck he fainted; and it was not until long afterwards, by careful attention from the captain and crew, that he was brought round. He suffered great pain in several parts of his body, and it was with difficulty that he swallowed some warm beer. He was landed at Lowestoft, and five days afterwards was able to walk back to Yarmouth. We were shown the knife with which he was enabled to cut off his clothes and boots. A piece of silver was fixed to it, on which were engraved the names of the crew of the yawl, and the words, “Brock, aided by this knife, was saved, after being seven and a half hours in the sea. 6th October, 1835.”

It was a remarkable thing that for some time previous he had been without a knife, and only purchased this two days before. Nearly half the time he was exposed to the full sweep of the North Sea; the other half he was partly sheltered by the Newarp and Cross Sands.

Between this and Yarmouth Roads is another long sandbank, at the south end of which is the Nicholas Gat; then comes the Corton Sandbank, over the end of which he was driven. He was described to us as a strongly-built man of five feet five. Though Captain Webb and others have swum far greater distances, few Englishmen have ever performed such a feat as this under similar circumstances.

Afterwards we inspected the lifeboats, which are kept in houses built to shelter them from the weather. They belong to an institution called the Norfolk Association for Saving Life from Shipwreck, and are similar in construction to those already described. They are fitted to carriages to convey them along the beach or down to the harbour.

We went through a number of sheds where were some fine luggers, used for the herring and mackerel fishery. Their crews were getting them ready for sea. Each vessel is from forty to fifty tons burden, and carries a crew of ten men.

The herring usually arrives on the Norfolk coast about the last week in September, for the purpose of spawning, and they are then in the best condition to become the food of man. The name “herring” is derived from the German heer, an army, to which they are likened in consequence of the vast number which keep together. They are mostly caught at a considerable distance from the coast; but they do not always appear in the same place. Formerly it was supposed that they were migratory; but it is now believed that they keep within the deeper parts of the ocean until they rise nearer the surface in the autumn to deposit their eggs. For some years they have appeared near the surface as early as the last week in August. A herring seldom measures more than fourteen inches in length; but we were told that one was caught some years ago seventeen and a half inches in length, seven and a half in girth, and that it weighed thirteen ounces! Each lugger carries from sixty to a hundred nets; each net is about fifteen yards long, and is floated by corks placed a few feet apart. The united nets form what is called a train fleet, or drift of nets. The depth to which they are sunk is regulated by ropes seven or eight yards long, called seizings, of which there are two to each net. They are made fast to a stout warp, running along the whole of the train, which is upwards of a mile in length, and supported near the surface by kegs, called “bowls.” The warp is useful in taking the strain off the nets, and in preventing their loss, in case the nets should be fouled, or cut by a vessel passing over them. The meshes are about an inch square.

Drift fishing is carried on at night. The nets are “shot” a little before sunset, the vessel keeping before the wind, with only enough sail set to take her clear of the nets as they are thrown overboard. When all the nets are out, about fifteen more fathoms of warp are paid out; and by this the vessel is swung round, and then rides head to the wind, a small mizen being set to keep her in that position.

One of the masters of a lugger showed us the way the nets hang in the water; the whole train being extended in nearly a straight line, the big rope to which the corks are fastened being uppermost, and the body of the net hanging perpendicularly in the water, forming a wall of netting more than two thousand yards long and about eight yards deep. The strain from the vessel serves to keep the net extended, and the whole—vessel and nets together—drifts along with the tide.

During the day the fish keep near the bottom; but as night closes in, should the weather be fine, they swim nearer the surface, and attempting to swim through the barriers of net on each side of them, a large number become entangled or meshed, their gills preventing their return when once their heads have passed through the meshes.

After waiting two or three hours, the first net is hauled on board, when, if it is found that a number of fish have been caught, the whole of the net is hauled in by means of a capstan and the warp to which the nets are fastened. The fish are then shaken out, and the vessel beats up again to the spot from which the net was first shot, and the process is repeated.

Mackerel nets have larger meshes, being twenty-four or twenty-five to the yard. They are not so deep as the herring nets, but they are twice as long, often extending to a distance of nearly two miles and a half. Occasionally in one night a single boat has taken from twelve to fourteen lasts of herrings, each last numbering ten thousand fish; but of course the catch is uncertain. One boat, however, has been known to bring in the enormous quantity of twenty lasts. Some few years ago upwards of nine thousand lasts, or nearly one hundred and twenty millions of fish, were caught by the Yarmouth luggers. Several vessels bring in one hundred lasts each.

As is well-known, immediately the herring leaves the water it dies; hence the phrase, “dead as a herring.” To preserve the fish, salt is immediately thrown upon them in the boats; they are carried to the fish-house in open wicker baskets, called swills, where they are delivered over to a man called a “tower,” when they are placed on the salting floor. If they are to be used at home, they remain for only twenty-four hours; but if for the foreign markets, for several days. They are afterwards washed in fresh water, and strung up by splits passed through their gills, one tier below another, to about seven feet from the ground. Oak-wood fires are then kindled under them for fourteen days, if intended for the foreign market; but if for home use, only twenty-four hours. The first are called red-herrings, and the latter are known as bloaters. When sufficiently cured, they are packed in barrels, each containing about seven hundred fish. Between thirty and forty thousand barrels are sent to the Mediterranean, but a far larger quantity is used at home. Upwards of two hundred boats, carrying two thousand men, are employed in the herring fishery; but many more are engaged on shore in curing the fish.

Hearing that the deep-sea fishing was going on, papa and Uncle Tom agreed to accompany one of the cutters which was about to rejoin the fleet; and as we had seen more of Yarmouth than of most places we had visited, we returned on board to get ready to sail with our friend.

Before long the cutter appeared, and we stood out of the harbour after her. We sailed in company for two days, when on Sunday morning, shortly after breakfast, we made out the fleet, with most of the vessels near us hove-to, a steamer being among them, stationary, like the rest. In the distance were many other vessels, some standing towards the fleet, others sailing in different directions, and a few ships passing by. On getting near enough to distinguish their flags, we found that several of them carried the “Bethel” flag, a notice that service was to be held on board. Both the yachts therefore hove-to, and under the guidance of our friend we pulled on board one of the vessels. We were gladly received by the master, who was going to conduct the service. The crews of several other vessels having come on board, he invited us to join them, which we willingly did, although the space was somewhat confined. Several hymns were sung, the fine manly voices of the fishermen producing a good effect. A chapter of God’s Word was read, and a gospel address was given. After service, the men returned on board their vessels with books and tracts, which had been distributed among them.

We remained until the following day, that we might see the fish caught. Our friend the skipper gave us a great deal of information about trawlers. The Yarmouth fleet consists of several hundred vessels, ranging from fifty to seventy tons. They have increased rapidly. Fifty years ago, there were none belonging to Great Yarmouth. They only form a small portion of English and Irish trawling vessels. Many hundred sail leave the Thames, the Humber, Scarborough, and Lowestoft, to fish in the North Sea; while several other places send out fifty or sixty vessels to the English or Irish Channels, manned by some thousands of fishermen. It is calculated that they supply the English markets daily with three or four hundred tons of fish.

The beam trawl consists of a triangular purse-shaped net, about seventy feet long, forty wide at the mouth, gradually diminishing to four or five at the commencement of the cod, as the smaller end is called. This part of the trawl, about ten feet long, is of a uniform breadth to the extremity, which is closed by a draw-rope, like the string of a purse. The upper part of the mouth is made fast to a beam about forty feet in length, which keeps the net open. This beam is supported by two upright iron frames, three feet in height, known as the trawl heads, or irons; the lower being flattened, to rest on the ground. The under side of the net is made with a curved margin. The outside is guarded from chafing, when the trawl is being worked over the bottom, by pieces of old net. The meshes vary in size according to the part of the trawl. Near the mouth, they are four inches square, and in the cod, an inch and a quarter. The trawl is hauled along by a bridle, that is to say, by two ropes of about fifteen fathoms each, which are fastened to the ends of the trawl heads, and unite at a warp, one hundred and fifty fathoms long, which serves to haul the net along. Trawling, as a rule, is carried on in the direction of the tide, although sometimes across it, but never against a stream. It is usually kept down for one tide, and its rate of progress is generally from half a mile to two miles an hour faster than that of the stream. The fish caught are turbot, skate, soles, though others are occasionally taken in the net. The trawl can only be used with advantage on smooth ground; and, of course, a sandy bottom is preferred, not only from that being the usual resort of several valuable kinds of ground fish, but from the less danger there is on such a surface of tearing the net to pieces.

Formerly, the fish as soon as they were caught, were sent to market in fast-sailing cutters, but now steamers are generally employed; the fish, as soon as collected, being packed in ice. The trawlers themselves stay out for six weeks at a time, in all seasons of the year. They are remarkably fine vessels, and capable of standing a great deal of rough work; and a hardier set of men than their crews can scarcely anywhere be found. Steam trawlers are gradually coming into use, being independent of wind and weather, and one boat is capable of doing the work of several ordinary vessels.

Chapter Thirteen.

Safe in Port.

Steering for Harwich after we had left the fleet, we passed, at a distance, the handsome town of Lowestoft, from which a considerable fishing-fleet sails, and then Aldborough, an ancient seaport, with a number of new houses near it. When off Orford, on the Suffolk coast, papa told us that we were crossing the submarine telegraph line which runs from thence to the Hague. We had also passed another, which extends from Cromer to Emden.

Catching sight of the pretty little village of Felixstowe—the houses facing the sea on the north side—and of the neat watering-place of Dovercourt on the left, we stood in between Landguard Fort, on the north shore, and the long breakwater which runs out from the south, when we crossed the mouth of the Orwell at the point where the Stour falls into it, and came to an anchor off Harwich, among a considerable number of vessels, the guardship rising like a giant in their midst.

Though the town is small, the port has long been famous. We saw several steamers start for different parts of the Continent. If I was asked what was the chief article of sale in the town, I should say, Shrimps.

We made a short excursion up the Stour, the banks of which are richly wooded; and we also pulled up to Ipswich, where the Orwell may be said to commence, for the river above the town is confined in a narrow canal-like channel. On our return, while at anchor in the harbour, an oyster-dredging vessel brought-up close to us, and papa, who was always on the look-out for information, invited the skipper to come on board.

He gave us a good deal of curious information about the oyster. They are obtained by means of a dredge, which consists of a flat bag, the under part made of strong iron rings looped together by stout wire. The upper side is merely a strong netting, as it is not exposed to so much wear as the part which is drawn along the ground. The mouth of this bag is fastened to an iron frame, with an opening about four inches deep, extending the whole breadth of the bag. The lower part of this frame is flattened and turned forward at such an angle as to enable it to scrape the surface of the ground. To the ends of the scraper two stout iron rods are firmly welded; these, after curving upwards, form the narrow sides of the mouth, and extend forward four or five feet, when they unite at a handle, to which a stout warp is made fast. The free end of the bag is secured to a stout stick, which forms a convenient hold when the contents of the dredge are being turned out. The weight of the dredge keeps it at the bottom, and but little skill is required in working it. A good-sized boat can work two dredges at one time, one from each quarter.

Oyster-beds are often valuable property, and they are rented by various companies. Rules have been made for the preservation of oysters, and to allow of new beds being formed. Oysters require nursing, and unless the beds were carefully preserved and reconstructed, they would disappear. The beds are level banks of no great depth, which are seldom or never uncovered by the tide. The first important business, when preparing a bed on which the oyster may spawn, or spat, as it is called, is to sprinkle over it broken plates and pans and tiles, with empty shells and such like substances, to which the embryo oyster immediately attaches itself. This broken stuff is called “skultch.” The oyster deposits its spawn in July; and a month afterwards the young oysters can be seen sticking fast to the skultch in confused clusters. Here they remain for two or three years, until they become about the size of a shilling; they are then taken up and spread evenly over the surface. After another year they are once more dredged up and scattered on the beds, where they are to remain until full-grown. Seven years are required to bring an oyster to maturity; but many are dredged up and sold when only five years old. The muddy shores of Essex are highly favourable to the breeding of oysters; and those are considered very fine which are dredged from the beds at the mouth of the river Colne.

“You see, sir,” said the skipper; “oysters ain’t fit to eat except in certain months. They are only prime from October to March. In April they begin to sicken, they are of a milky white colour, though fit enough to look at; then they become of a dirty grey colour, and then change to black by July, when they cast their spawn. After this it takes them two months to get well again, and they ought to have another month to fatten up, which brings us to October. It always makes me angry-like when I see people eating oysters in August; but there are poachers at all times ready to fish them up; and there would be many more if they were not sharply looked after. It is a curious fact, that while the beds on the coast of Kent make very good nurseries for oysters, they do not grow as large and fat as they do on the Essex coast. A little fresh water don’t hurt them; but snow water kills them, as it does other fish, outright. To most people, one oyster is just like another; but there are many different sorts, and each sort has a fancy for a particular place. The oyster gives us work for most months in the year; for when not fishing to sell, we are either dredging up the young oysters or laying them down again.”

It is calculated that one spawn oyster produces eight hundred thousand young; and if we suppose that of every five hundred oysters, only one hundred breed during the season, and if the spat of only one of this latter number is shed, notwithstanding the great loss, the yield will be ten thousand young oysters.

The oyster has many enemies besides man. There are creatures in the sea which are very fond of them; among these are the sea urchin, the “five finger,” and the “whelk-tingle.” This creature sticks to the shell, through which it pierces a small hole, and sucks out the delicate morsel. One thing, however, is very certain—that the supply of oysters has very greatly fallen off of late years; but whether the fishermen are answerable for this, it is difficult to say.

Besides the numerous oyster-beds in shallow waters, there are deep-sea beds both off the English and Irish coasts. Upwards of three hundred vessels, each of about twenty-five tons, and carrying six men, hail from Colchester, Rochester, and Jersey, engaged specially on these deep-sea beds. One is ten or twelve miles off Great Grimsby, and others exist in the English Channel. Most of the owners of the beds of the shallow estuaries have a large capital invested. One company alone spends three hundred pounds a month in wages, besides rent and other expenses, and six hundred a year in watching against poachers. It sends fourteen hundred bushels to a single dealer in London, seven thousand to Kent, and ten thousand to Ostend and Dunkirk.

This gave us some notion of the vast trade carried on in oysters alone. We were told that they sell retail for the sum of twopence each. I wonder people can venture to eat them.

We had a look at Dovercourt, filled with visitors, and with a brand-new aspect, contrasting with venerable Harwich. We also managed to pull up a narrow creek to Felixstowe, which I should describe as consisting of a long row of Swiss-like cottages, with a few more substantial-looking residences perched on the cliffs above.

Our stay at Harwich was short, though we had no longer any fear of not getting round to the Isle of Wight before the equinoctial gales commenced. We sailed early in the morning, papa being anxious to get across the mouth of the Thames, either as far as Ramsgate or Deal, to avoid the risk of being run down by vessels standing up or down the river during the night.

“But would they dare to do it?” asked Dick, when papa made the remark.

“They would not intend to do so; but should the wind fall light, we might not be able to get out of their way. I shall not forget the remark made by a skipper on board a large steamer, when I was on my way to pay a visit to some friends in Edinburgh. We ran stem on into a schooner, which sank immediately; and although I hurried forward I was only in time to see her masts disappear. ‘Serves them right!’ exclaimed the skipper, who was like myself a passenger. ‘Serves them right; they should have kept a brighter lookout!’ The poor fellows managed to scramble on board and to save their lives.”

A short distance further we came off Walton-on-the-Naze, the “Naze” being a nose or promontory, with the sea on one side and a shallow backwater on the other. We had to keep a bright lookout while standing across the mouth of the Thames, having nearly a dozen steamers in sight gliding swiftly along, and sailing vessels of all sizes, from the magnificent Indiaman, or Australian merchant-ship, of a thousand or more tons, down to the little coaster, measuring no more than forty or fifty; while yachts with sails white as snow were darting hither and thither. Besides these, there were not a few barges with yellow or tanned sails, coming out of the numerous estuaries to the north of the river, some even bound round the North Foreland, their deep weather-boards enabling them to beat to windward in a way which, considering their build, at first looks surprising. We agreed that we should not like to go to sea on board one of them, laden almost to the gunwale, so that the water must wash over their decks; but the fact is, they are completely battened down, and are like casks; so that the only place the sea can get into is the little cabin aft, or the forepeak, in which the crew, consisting of a couple of men and a boy, are compelled to live. The wind holding fair, we passed the North Foreland, standing out boldly into the sea; then sighted Broadstairs and Ramsgate. We ran inside of the ill-famed Goodwin Sands, and came to an anchor in the Downs off the low sandy beach of Deal.

The town extends a considerable way along the shore, and a fine pier runs off from it. At the south end is a castle in a good state of repair, although it would be more picturesque if it were a ruin. About a mile further to the south we saw Walmer Castle, where the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports resides. It was here that the Duke of Wellington spent the latter days of his life. We went on shore, and had a good deal of talk with some of those magnificent fellows, the Deal boatmen, who are probably the most daring seamen and skilful pilots of any along the coast of England.

Deal has a thoroughly salt-water smack about it. “Boys and even girls seemed to be born seamen,” as Dick observed; taking their part, if not in navigating the boats, in launching or hauling them up on the beach, and attending to them; while the older part of the community are resting from their labours. We were amused at a scene we witnessed on the beach. Two old men, aided by a big girl and a boy, were engaged in hauling up a lugger by means of a windlass, which they worked round and round with wonderful energy, putting to shame a young fellow who sat on a coil of rope idly smoking his pipe.

We were satisfied with a few hours spent at Deal. When once more under weigh, we passed the South Foreland, towering up high above our heads; then rounding the cliffs on which Dover Castle stands, three hundred and twenty feet above the sea, we stood into the harbour.

To the south of us, sheer out of the water, rose the Shakespeare Cliff, where samphire was wont to grow; while between it and the castle appeared the old town on either side of a steep valley, the heights, as far as we could see them, covered with modern houses, churches, and other public buildings.

On landing we went over the castle, which resembles, in some respects, that of Gibraltar, as the fortifications are of an irregular form, to suit the nature of the ground. Excavated far below in the chalk rock are numerous galleries, from which heavy guns would thunder forth an unmistakeable warning to any foes attempting to enter the harbour, or to flaunt their flags within range. Until a few years ago both the inner and outer harbours were dry at low water but now a fine new harbour has been formed.

Dover, papa reminded us, is one of the original Cinque Ports, so called from their number—five. They consisted, in the time of William the Conqueror, of Dover, Sandwich, Hythe, Romney, and Hastings. To these were afterwards added Winchelsea and Rye. These ports had peculiar privileges given to them, on condition that they should furnish the shipping required for the purposes of state. When ships were wanted, the king issued to each of the ports a summons to provide its quota. In Edward the First’s time, the number they were bound to supply was fifty-seven fully equipped ships. The period of gratuitous service was fifteen days, after which they received payment. The chief officer of the Cinque Ports was called the Lord Warden. It was considered a high dignity, and was long held by the Duke of Wellington.

Many of their privileges have now been abrogated, as the ports have long been relieved of their responsibilities. It would certainly astonish the inhabitants of Winchelsea or Dover if the Queen should inform them that they must send half a dozen ironclads to complete the fleet off Spithead!

Sailing as close as we could under Shakespeare’s Cliff, we passed Folkestone, standing partly in a hollow between two cliffs, and partly up the side of that on the west. Then we rounded the headland of Dungeness; and sailing by Rye and Winchelsea, we passed Hastings, renowned in history, a portion, looking old and venerable, joined to the spic-and-span new town of Saint Leonard’s.

Running past Eastbourne, we arrived off the bold, wild-looking point of Beachy Head. The weather becoming threatening, the wind, which had hitherto been off shore, began to shift, and drew more and more to the westward, the sky having anything but a pleasant appearance. Dark clouds gathered in dense masses on the horizon, and there was every indication of a heavy gale. Although so near the end of our voyage, there appeared a probability of its being continued for several days longer.

Papa having hailed Uncle Tom, it was agreed that we should stand close-hauled on the starboard tack away from the land, and endeavour to fetch Spithead.

We sighted two small places, Seaford and Newhaven, and could make out Brighton, covering a wide extent of ground along the seashore, and reaching the slopes of the hills and downs beyond.

“By standing on we shall have Shoreham under our lee; and we can but run in there, if we find it impossible to beat to the westward against the gale,” observed papa. “It is not exactly the port in which one would choose to be weather-bound, but we may be thankful if we get there.”

The bright revolving light at Beachy Head shone forth astern. We were gradually sinking it lower and lower; at length we lost sight of it altogether. It might be our last night at sea, and I begged papa to let us remain on deck.

He laughed. “You may, as long as you like to keep awake; but you must take care not to topple overboard.”

Dick and I for some time walked the deck, believing that we were keeping watch, and, of course, looking out on every side.

“The wind’s drawing more round to the south’ard,” I heard Truck remark. “If we go about, we shall soon catch sight of the Owers, and one more tack will take us into Saint Helen’s.”

I was very anxious to see the light, because we had seen it before starting to the westward, and it would show us really and truly that we had gone right round England. I continued pacing up and down, in spite of the pitching of our little craft, for I knew if I were to stop for a moment, I should fall asleep. Of course we kept a sharp lookout, not only for the light, but for any vessels which might be running up Channel or beating down it. At last I heard Truck say:

“There’s the light, sir;” and I made out, a little on our starboard bow, the Owers Light.

“Hurrah!” I exclaimed; “we have been right round England!”

“I can’t make it out,” said Dick, in a drowsy voice. “We’ve been sailing over the plain sea all the time, except when we mounted the locks at the Caledonian Canal. I suppose it is all right though.”

Dick could say no more. I had to take him by the shoulders and help him down the companion ladder. So sleepy was he, that he could scarcely pull off his clothes, and would have turned in fully dressed if I had not helped him.

Next morning, when we awoke and turned out on deck, we were in sight of many a well-known scene. Ryde astern, Cowes on our port quarter; while with a fresh breeze, running past Calshot Castle, we stood up the Southampton Water, and our voyage was over.

After breakfast, Uncle Tom, Jack, and Oliver, came on board; and together we thanked God for having preserved us from the dangers, seen and unseen, to which we had been exposed. We had indeed had a pleasant time of it, and very naturally did not think of any of the anxious moments we had occasionally gone through.

Uncle Tom and Jack had to return home at once; and they took Dick with them, to send him to his aunt and uncle.

“The next few days won’t be so pleasant,” he said, making a long face. “However, we shall meet at the end of them; and won’t we spin long yarns to the fellows at school!”

Papa, leaving us on board, went at once to his agents, to whom he had written, requesting them to make inquiries about Nat’s friends. After some time he returned, saying that no information had been received, and that he would take Nat home with us.

Of this we were very glad. It made some amends to us for having to go on shore and quit the pleasant life we had so long been leading on board. We shook hands with Truck and all the crew, and in a short time were seated in the railway-carriage rattling up to London. We have ever since been expecting to hear of some of our little guest’s relatives coming to look for him; but, as yet, no one has appeared; and as papa would never think of turning him adrift, we believe that he will become one of us; and, after he has been some years at school, perhaps go into the navy, for which, strange to say, he has a wonderful fancy.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Young Berringtons"

Chapter One.

The Young Colonists Introduced—Expectant Relatives—In Search of “Old Bolter”—A Dinner in the Bush—Bolter tries to Escape—Encounter Blacks—Bolter brought back—Sandy Macdougal.

“I wonder what sort of fellows these English cousins of ours will turn out?” exclaimed Harry Berrington, as he rode up alongside his elder brother Paul. “Judging by their photographs, which Uncle Frank sent us out last year, I have an idea that they are mighty fine young gentlemen, who will be apt to turn up their noses at us colonial ‘corn-stalks.’”

“Hector and Reginald are good-looking fellows, I should think, and wear fine clothes but beyond that—whether they are dark or fair, have blue eyes and pink cheeks, or whether they can ride, and shoot, swim, and play cricket, or can only dance and sing, or draw, or suchlike girlish things—I have not the slightest notion,” answered Paul. “We shall, however, soon know; for, according to the letter father got yesterday their ship ought to reach Moreton Bay in the course of three or four weeks; and I hope that I may have the chance of going down to Ipswich to meet them.”

“I don’t think you will be so lucky,” observed Harry. “I heard father say that he intended going himself, as he expected poor Aunt Augusta would require a good deal of attention, as she has been accustomed to live luxuriously, and has never done anything for herself. From a remark he made, I suspect that both the boys and girls have been brought up in the same fashion. Although they may get into our ways at last, they won’t like our style of life at all when they first arrive.”

“They must learn to like it, somehow or other,” observed Paul. “Poor Uncle Frank! I really pity him; he has lost nearly all his fortune; and to be obliged, at his time of life, to begin to work hard! And work hard he must, like the rest of us.”

“Yes, indeed; I have heard mother say that they lived in a large house in London, with butlers, footmen, housekeeper, nurses, and all sorts of servants; and had carriages and horses, and saw lots of company,” said Harry.

“They’ll not have much of that out here; they will have to be their own servants, or consider themselves fortunate if they can hire an Irish girl, or get a black gin to do the rough work. We must try and help them, however, as much as we can, until they get accustomed to our ways,” observed Paul. “And Mary, and Janet, and Lizzie will, I am sure, do their best to save them trouble.”

“Of course, we all will, in reality; but I don’t think I shall be able to help laughing when I see the exquisite Mr Hector and his brother Reginald attempting to round up cattle, riding after stray horses, or milking cows. And there are two other boys—Edgar and Albert. I wonder what they will be like; they are about the same ages as Bob and Tommy, and if they are as great pickles they will manage to lead each other into all manner of scrapes; but we shall have rare fun with the girls if they have got any life in them.”

The two speakers were fine, active-looking lads, sons of Captain Hugh Berrington, who had settled in the colony of Queensland a short time before Paul, the eldest, was born. They might have been known as young gentlemen by the tone of their voices rather than by their costume, which consisted of a red serge shirt, loose trousers fastened at the waist with a leathern belt, large boots coming up to their knees, and broad-brimmed cabbage-tree hats. Each carried in his hand a heavy whip with a long thick thong. The elder, in addition, had a brace of pistols in his belt, which weapons were necessary in case of the sudden appearance of any strange natives. They were mounted on strong, active little horses, which evidently got but a small amount of grooming.

The lads had just left their home, which was situated on the banks of the Burnett river. It is worthy of a short description. The house, though built entirely of wood, and on one floor, was a substantial-looking building, containing ten rooms, with a broad verandah running entirely round it. The frame-work was of rough timber, and the walls were composed of slabs, which are boards split out of the iron-bark or blue gum-tree. The roof was covered with shingles, or tiles of wood, split like the slabs and sawn to the required size.

Bound the homestead was a field of Indian corn, an orchard full of fruit-trees of various descriptions, a kitchen-garden supplying all sorts of vegetables, and a smaller space devoted to flowers, most of which would have been highly prized in an English conservatory. There were several out-buildings beyond the cultivated ground, with yards and pens for cattle and sheep.

Altogether, Stratton was considered a very flourishing little homestead, of which the owner was justly proud. The sun had scarcely risen, when, after a hurried breakfast, the two young Berringtons had set out on an expedition in search of “Old Bolter,” one of their horses, well so-called, who—no unusual circumstance—was reported missing. They had a difficult task before them, for Old Bolter was a cunning rogue, and by this time had probably got far away into the bush; but to find him they were determined, as he was wanted for work, and could do twice as much as any other horse when he chose. They were now, as fast as the numerous trees would allow them, cantering forward through a scrub, extending for some distance from the banks of the river. Familiar as was the scenery to them, Paul, who had an eye for the picturesque, could not help remarking the beauty of the rich tropical vegetation amid which they were passing. The sun, now rapidly rising behind their backs, threw a bright glow on the dark-green branches of the huge fig-trees, the feathery leaves of the cabbage and other palms, and here and there, tall pines or red cedars, towering above the mass of foliage, with vines and creepers of many hues hanging to the boughs in wreaths and festoons, or extending to the ground like loose ropes from the rigging of a ship.

They soon got clear of the scrub, for Old Bolter would certainly not be hiding within it, for the best of reasons—not a blade of grass grew on the leaf-covered ground. They now entered the more open country, called forest land, in contradistinction to the scrub. Here, though gum-trees of vast size towered to the sky, they generally stood far apart—their curiously-shaped leaves, with their edges turned upwards, allowing the sun’s rays to penetrate to the grass-covered ground. Paul and Harry now began to look out eagerly for the runaway. There were one or two places in which he had before been found, and these they had settled first to visit. They were gullies, or dry creeks, bordered thickly by trees, beneath the shade of which he could stand during the heat of the day, and, while whisking off the flies with his long tail, meditate at his leisure. Three of these places were visited, but Old Bolter was not there. The water-holes in their neighbourhood were dry, which would account for the absence of the knowing old steed.

“He has gone to Myall Creek, depend upon it,” observed Paul; “we shall find him in the scrub thereabouts.”

Harry agreed that his brother was very likely correct in his surmise, and, the ground being open, they again rode forward. Harry especially delighted in a hard gallop. By getting over the ground at an early hour, they might rest during the heat of the day under the shade of the myall trees—from which the creek took its name—and employ themselves in shaping a few stock whip-handles, which are made from its fragrant wood; they would then recommence their search for Old Bolter. Once having found him, there would be no stopping until they had got him safe back into the paddock. An hour’s hard riding brought them up to Myall Creek, within the dry bed of which they hoped to find Bolter, provided he had not discovered their approach, when to a certainty he would be off to some other place of concealment. They had prudently brought provisions with them, and, having securely hobbled their horses so that they might feed close to them, they sat down beneath the shade of a tree on the edge of the scrub and ate their dinners. They then cut some sticks from the myall trees suited for their purpose, and, while they sat resting in the shade, employed themselves in shaping the wood into the required size with their knives.

“Now,” cried Paul, jumping up, “we must hunt up Old Bolter.”

They quickly caught their steeds, and, unhobbling them, mounted.

“You go round the north side, and I will take the south of the bush,” said Paul. “If you see Bolter, cooey to me, and take care that he does not make off westward, or we shan’t get back to-night—or to-morrow, perhaps.”

“No fear about that. I’ll head him if I catch sight of his ears, and take good care to turn him towards you.”

Harry accordingly rode away to the northward, while Paul directed his course round the southern end of the bush, and then circling round, reached the west side of the creek, in the dry bed of which he hoped to find Bolter. He examined the ground carefully, expecting to find some track of the missing horse, but not a sign could he see. Half an hour or more elapsed, when he heard Harry’s shrill cooey; but, from the faintness of the sound, he knew that his brother must be a long way off. Putting spurs to his horse he galloped forward, expecting every moment to see Bolter dash out of the creek and make for the west. At last he caught sight of Harry, and directly afterwards, from some thick bushes, out sprang Bolter, and, as had been expected, made off towards the west, just midway between the two lads.

“After him!” cried Paul, and turning their horses’ heads they gave them the rein. The animals seemed to know the object of the chase, and were eager as their riders to overtake the truant.

The ground was rough and broken, with here and there trees lying across it, blown down by a whirlwind; but they scarcely stopped Bolter, who seemed to take an especial pleasure in leaping over them, and leading his pursuers along the worst ground he could find. The other animals were, however, quite as eager to come up with Bolter as he was to escape, and exerted themselves to the utmost. Should he once get out of sight, as there appeared every probability of his doing, days might pass before he could again be discovered. They were approaching another scrub, which was, however, sufficiently open to allow the horses to pass through.

“If he once gets in there, our game will be up!” cried Paul. “On, Harry, on! we must head him before he reaches it.”

“Very well to sing out, ‘On, on!’ My beast is doing his best, and Bolter doesn’t intend to be caught,” cried Harry.

That Bolter would escape seemed very likely. He had got within a few yards of the scrub, when he suddenly wheeled round, almost on his haunches, and galloped back the way he had come. Scarcely had he done so, when a black figure started up from behind some bushes, and hurled a long lance at him, but the weapon merely grazed his side, and stuck in the ground.

“Back, back! the blacks! There may be more of them!” cried Paul.

Harry had seen the native, and pulled up as his brother spoke. They were just in time, for a dozen or more black fellows, showing themselves, sprang forward poising their spears ready to hurl at the young horsemen. Old Bolter, fully comprehending the danger which he and his owners were in, instead of going over the bad ground took that to the left, allowing Paul and Harry to ride up close to him on either flank. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes about him, evidently intending to make off in some other direction if he could. The three horses now tore along over the ground, the nimble-footed blacks, with their spears in hand, following them for some distance. At length, however, Paul, looking back, found that they had got well ahead of the natives. It was important not to be overtaken, for they evidently belonged to some hostile tribe who intended mischief. Bolter, who seemed to be aware that there was no longer any danger from the blacks, made two or three attempts to escape; but Paul and Harry reminding him of his duty with their stock whips, he at length made straight as an arrow for the station, over the very course they would have chosen. Nothing stopped him. Across the country he galloped, with the two riders on either side. As they approached the yard they shouted to Sandy Macdougal, the overseer, who, fortunately, was close at hand, to open the gate, and in rushed Old Bolter.

“We had a hard matter to find him, and he would have got away from us after all if a number of black fellows had not tried to spear him,” observed Paul. “We must be on our guard against them, or they will be doing some mischief.”

“You’ve indeed done vera weel to bring the brute back so soon,” said Sandy, as he carefully closed the gate, not to give Bolter another chance of escaping. “It would be wise to send over to Ogilvie to let the police know that there are strange blacks in the neighbourhood. Better to prevent the mischief than punish their puir bodies after it’s committed, and as they attacked you, there’s sufficient reason for warning them to take their departure.”

The lads having unsaddled their horses, turned them into the paddock, and, accompanied by Sandy, repaired to the house. On the way the overseer inquired more particularly about their meeting with the blacks.

“It’s a mercy they didna spear you. Praise the Lord for His goodness, lads; He always watches over those who trust Him. Dinna fail to do that.”

Sandy Macdougal was an old follower of Captain Berrington. He had accompanied him from ship to ship as his coxswain; and when the captain retired from the service, and obtained the allotment of land on which he finally settled in Australia, Sandy, though he might have obtained a pension by serving a year or two longer at sea, insisted on accompanying him. While the captain was going through the arduous work of settling, Sandy was like his right hand. When the old sailor might have set up a farm of his own he declined doing so, preferring to serve his old commander in the capacity of overseer; and most faithfully did he discharge his trust.

Chapter Two.

Journey to meet the Berringtons from England—Mrs Hugh Berrington and her Family—Mr Hayward, the Tutor—Harry Returns—Preparations—The Arrival.

The drays for the intended journey were packed, and the horses put to. The captain stood ready, booted and spurred. Harry, to his great delight, was to accompany his father. Paul would much have liked to go, but not the slightest sign of disappointment did he allow himself to exhibit; indeed, he was justly proud of having the responsibility, with the aid of Sandy, of looking after the family.

The drays were not at all like the cumbersome vehicles which are known under that name in England. They were merely large, strongly-built carts on two wheels, drawn by three, four, or five horses, as the nature of the country might require; though, on a smooth road, one could drag them. Old Bolter might have suspected that he would be wanted when he ran off, for he was put into the heaviest. They were now chiefly loaded with wool and other produce, and with a few articles the travellers required for their journey. On the return journey they would be fitted in a very different way—with canvas tilts to keep out the sun or rain, while in the inside goods were to be packed, easy chairs, or piles of bedding, and cushions for the accommodation of the ladies and young children. Besides the horses for the drays, four others were taken, in case the new arrivals should wish to ride. They were steady animals, not addicted to following Old Bolter’s example. The drays having been sent on ahead, the captain and Harry, wishing the loved ones at Stratton good-bye, mounted their horses, and quickly overtook them. The captain felt no anxiety about the blacks, as Sandy had given notice to the police of their threatened attack on the young Berringtons, and a party had been sent out, under an experienced officer, to drive them away.

Now that her husband was fairly off to meet his brother’s family, Mrs Hugh Berrington began to realise the fact that they were coming, and actively commenced making preparations for their reception. She was a motherly, active, cheerful little woman, who never, by any chance, lost her temper, even under the most vexatious circumstances, and always saw things on the bright side.

Her girls were very like her in many respects—hearty, merry creatures, with plenty of good sense, not only ready to work, but absolutely hating idleness. Mary, who was older than Paul, took somewhat after her father, a tall, handsome girl, though she did not think about the matter; nor did any one else, because they loved her for her good qualities. Janet and Lizzie were very like their mother; and Effie was a fair-haired, blue-eyed little damsel, not yet five years old, though she, like her sisters, could assume a sedate air, and help in household matters in all sorts of ways, besides looking after the pet animals. Rob, who came next to Janet, was a sturdy little chap, courageous as a young lion. No pain could make him cry out, and he could already ride after the cattle with as much boldness as his elder brothers. Tommy, the youngest, it must be acknowledged, was inclined to be a pickle. Effie patronised him, and did her best to keep him out of mischief, and he, in most instances, followed her precepts; though, as yet, he had done very little towards making himself useful, nor had he made any great strides in book-learning.

The captain and Mrs Berrington had felt the difficulty of educating their children, and had resolved to send the elder boys and girls to a school at Sydney or Melbourne, when the captain, while on a journey, happened to stop at a shepherd’s hut towards night to obtain shelter from a storm which was coming on. The hut-keeper was a rough-looking fellow, and the captain fully expected to find the shepherd the same description of person. The sheep having been folded, the shepherd entered the hut. What, then, was Captain Berrington’s surprise to find himself addressed in a tone and manner which showed that the speaker was a gentleman and a person of education, as he proved by his conversation, while the small but well-chosen library on a shelf above his bunk, and a copy of Horace which he took from his pocket, showed that the rough life he led did not prevent him from still indulging in the pleasures of literature.

He had gone through his course at the university, and had intended entering one of the learned professions, when he was obliged to visit Australia for his health. During his absence from home, he heard that every penny of the property he possessed was lost; and unable, after frequent attempts, to obtain employment in the cities, he had, as a last resource, been induced to go into the bush and turn shepherd, hoping ultimately, by the knowledge he would gain, to be able to take some superior situation on an estate. He, however, confessed that he was heartily weary of the life which, it was evident, was rendered doubly disagreeable by the character of his mate, although he uttered no complaint against the man. The term of service for which he had engaged was just about to expire, and Captain Berrington, much pleased with him, invited him, as soon as he should be at liberty, to come to Stratton. In the meantime he made all the inquiries in his power about Mr Hayward, and was satisfied of the truth of the account he gave of himself. Mr Martin Hayward was not only a scholar and a gentleman, but was a fair artist, and possessed considerable musical talent; he was, moreover, a true and enlightened Christian. He had spent about a month at Stratton, when Captain Berrington made him an offer to act as tutor to his children. This he had eagerly accepted, and had faithfully fulfilled his trust, never showing the slightest inclination to resign it. The boys were very fond of him, and, for the few hours they were every day engaged in their studies, they worked most diligently. He also afforded Mrs Berrington considerable help in instructing the girls, so that they were fully as well educated, at all events, as the generality of young ladies.

Mrs Hugh Berrington received a letter from her husband, saying that his brother Frank and family had arrived, including a Miss Emily Saville, the younger sister of Mrs Berrington, and that they proposed setting out directly the ladies should have recovered the effects of the sea-voyage. The letter had been some days coming; no time was to be lost, the party might quickly follow. Mrs Hugh and the girls were busy from morning to night making preparations for the reception of their relatives. Mr Hayward insisted on putting up a hut for himself near that of the overseer, in order that his room might be devoted to their use; and Paul, answering for Harry, agreed to follow his example. Even then it would require pretty close packing to accommodate the two families.

All preparations had been made, and Mrs Hugh Berrington began to wish that her relatives would arrive and terminate the period of suspense.

It was nearly two months since the drays had started, when one evening, just as Paul had returned from stocking the cattle, and was on his way home, with his saddle on his arm, he caught sight of a person on horseback galloping towards him.

“It must be Harry!” he cried. “No—yes—it is him! He’ll bring us news.”

Harry soon came up, and as he threw himself from his steed and shook hands with his brother, exclaimed, “They’ll be here soon after dark, and father sent me on that mother might have supper ready, and be prepared for them.”

“What sort of people are they? How do you like them?” asked Paul.

“As to that, if we take them in the lot, the less said about them the better. Uncle Frank’s a fine fellow, and father seems very glad to have him; but Aunt Augusta—well, you’ll see her when she comes. She wishes herself home again, and so do Evelina and Adela, I suspect. The younger boys are jolly little fellows; but Hector—we shall have to break him in—he’s just what we thought he’d be. Reginald is more likely to take soon to our ways; he’s a manly sort of fellow, and there’s some fun in him. However, you will soon be able to judge for yourself about them all; only there’s one thing—we must not let Mr Hector lord it over us. If he attempts it, we must take the shine out of him.”

Before Harry had told Paul half of what he wanted to know they reached home, when, as may be supposed, the whole household was aroused into a state of the greatest activity.

At last the beds were made, the supper-table was laid, the lamps were lighted, and all was ready. Mrs Berrington and her daughters had sat down, and taken up their work. Two of them had attempted to read, but found that impossible just then. Biddy was watching over the pots and pans in the kitchen. The boys were at the front door, now and then running along the road to listen, when the cracking of whips, the tramp of horses, and the sound of wheels was heard.

“Here they come! here they come!” cried the boys, in chorus.

Paul and Harry lighted their lanterns. “That’s Uncle Frank,” exclaimed the latter, as a tall, gentlemanly-looking man rode up alongside their father.

Mrs Hugh Berrington came out to receive them. Greetings were over by the time the first dray drew up at the door. The captain and Mrs Berrington assisted a lady to descend, and carried her in their arms into the house. Two young ladies were next helped out, who appeared to take very little notice of any one, until Mary and Janet, hurrying forward, kissed them affectionately, and welcomed them to Stratton, when they led them into the sitting-room.

“That’s Aunt Augusta, and those two Evelina and Adela,” whispered Harry. “And here comes Sybil, the youngest; a jolly little bird, isn’t she? Then Gertrude, Edgar, and Albert are with their Aunt Emily in the other dray. I shouldn’t be surprised if Mr Hector were there too, for I don’t see him on horseback; but here comes Reginald—he’ll want to be introduced, or he’ll not speak to you,” and Harry laughed. “Here, Reginald, old fellow, this is my brother Paul, and these are Rob and Tommy,” exclaimed Harry, as a fine-looking lad rode up and, dismounting, shook hands with his cousins.

The second dray now drove up, and Hector, a delicate-looking youth, was the first to get out, stretching himself and yawning as he did so.

A very nice-looking young lady, whom the children called “Aunt Emily,” followed; and then Gertrude, Edgar, and Albert, of whom little could be known, as they did not utter a word, were lifted out.

“Here, lend a hand and help us, you fellows!” said Paul to his cousins, as he and Harry went to assist their father and Mr Berrington, who, with their tutor and Sandy, were engaged in unloading the drays.

Reginald at once came forward, but Hector, without replying, sauntered into the house.

The articles as they were taken out were piled up round the walls of the rooms, leaving but little space to move about. Mr Hayward at once went back to his hut, telling Paul and Harry that he was ready for them, and that there would be a bed for one of his cousins if he wished to come up. It was some time after the ladies had been shown their rooms, before they made their appearance at the supper-table—Mrs Berrington leaning on her husband’s arm, the elder girls following, having changed their travelling dresses for evening costume, such as was not often seen in the bush. Their cousins, who wore their usual plain dress, looked at them with no slight astonishment. Hector came in shortly afterwards, and took his seat without speaking.

“I am afraid that you must be very tired,” remarked Mrs Hugh to her sister-in-law.

“Yes, indeed; I wonder that I have survived it coming over those dreadful mountains—sufficient to shake the nerves of the strongest, and mine are sensitive to a degree,” was the answer.

“A few days of quiet will set you all to rights,” observed the captain. “Your girls do not appear to be the worse for it, though Hector looks somewhat knocked up.”

“Ah, yes! he takes after me,” said Mrs Berrington.

“I’m rather more bored than tired,” observed Hector. “I didn’t imagine that such a country as this was to be found in the Queen’s dominions.”

“It’s the finest country in the world, old fellow,” said Harry, from the other end of the table. “You’ll learn to like it in time. So cheer up, we’ll soon make a man of you.”

Hector turned a disdainful glance towards the speaker.

“Harry, do not let your tongue run loose,” observed his father, though with no very angry glance.

The conversation soon became general, Miss Emily Saville doing her best to make amends for her sister’s silence. She and her nieces expressed themselves delighted with the delicious fruits offered them, and the evening passed by more pleasantly than might have been expected. Reginald accepted his cousins’ invitation to accompany them to their quarters, thus enabling Hector to share his room with Rob and Edgar. It is not necessary to particularise how the rest of the family were stowed away.

Chapter Three.

Early Rising—Milking Cows—How to “Bail-up” a Cow—Vicious Animals—Hector charged, and takes to Flight—Reginald and his Pail upset by a Calf—Tries again, and Succeeds.

“Rouse up, you fellow, and come and learn how to milk cows!” exclaimed Harry, as, the second morning after the arrival of the party, he, just at the break of day, rushed into his cousin Hector’s room. Hector had done nothing the previous day but sit, rod in hand, on the bank of the river, attempting to catch some fish. He now yawned and stretched himself.

“It cannot be time to get up yet—it is scarcely daylight.”

“There’s light enough to milk the cows, and the cool of the morning is the best time,” answered Harry. “Your Aunt Emily and the rest of the girls are there already.”

“I’ll get up presently, when I’ve had a little more sleep,” said Hector, yawning again.

“No, no; you’ve got to learn how to do it, and if you don’t begin now, you never will. You must learn how to do everything, or you cannot become a prosperous settler. I’ll not leave you until I see you up.”

Hector reluctantly, and in no good humour, began to dress. As he intended finishing his toilet after his return, he was soon ready.

“Come along! Sandy, Paul, and Reginald are driving in the cows; though we have a few which won’t come up to ‘the bail,’ as they will soon be taught to do; and it will be some fun to you to see how we manage things.”

“You don’t expect me to milk cows?” said Hector, as they walked along.

“Indeed I do, if you are to have milk for breakfast; it is what young hands like you and the girls are most suited for.”

“I am older than you are,” exclaimed Hector, looking indignantly at Harry.

“Older in years, but younger in this country. Why, my little brother Rob is of more use than you’ll be for months to come, if you don’t look sharp about it.”

“It’s a horrid country, to say the best of it; I wish I hadn’t come out here,” exclaimed Hector.

“It is my country,” answered Harry, “and I’ll not have it abused. It is as fine a country as any in the world, or finer, I believe.”

“You call that rocky range, which took us three days to get over, a fine country!”

“Ah! that’s nothing! you must take the rough with the smooth. I dare say there are quite as many rugged places in England.”

“From what I have seen of it, all I can say is, I intend to leave your beautiful country as soon as papa gets back some of his property. I hope to obtain a commission in the Guards.”

“You’d better try and get a commission in our Black-guards,” answered Harry, laughing. “They are a very useful body of men, and most of their officers are gallant fellows.”

“Bosh!” cried Hector, who felt too indignant to make any other reply.

He, nevertheless, accompanied Harry to the stock-yard, where they found Mary and Janet with their milk-pails, and their two elder cousins and Miss Saville. Within the yard into which the cattle were being driven, on one side, were two strong posts, about five feet high, with a cross-piece on the top and another at the bottom, with a strong rail between them, which could be moved from side to side and fixed by means of a peg. Just behind this, but outside the yard, was a windlass, with a rope passing between the two posts.

“Do you see those posts?” asked Harry; “that’s where we milk our cows.”

As he spoke he patted a cow on the back, and crying, “Bail-up!” she walked quickly up and put her head between the posts, where it was so secured by the rail that she could not withdraw it. Taking one of the pails, and seating himself on a stool close by, he commenced the operation, which, to Hector’s intense astonishment, he performed in a thoroughly efficient manner. Other cows walked up without the slightest trouble, and were milked in the same way by his sisters.

“Now, girls, you had better clear out of the yard!” shouted Paul; “we have two or three somewhat restive animals to deal with.”

Mary and Janet, whose pails were by this time full, followed their brother’s advice, and, accompanied by Miss Saville and their cousins, made their way out of the yard; while Mr Hayward, who summoned Harry and Reginald to his assistance, stood ready at the windlass. Paul took hold of the rope, which was unwound, with a noose at the end of it fixed to a long stick, and approached one of the cows just before driven into the yard. Immediately he attempted to throw the noose over her head she swerved, now on one side, now on the other, taking care never to put her nose to the ground. At last, however, Paul succeeded in throwing the noose over her horns, when he drew it tight by a jerk.

“Haul away!” he shouted; and round went the windlass, the cow, in the meantime, making every effort to free herself, leaping and bounding, throwing up her head and trying to shake off the rope. But all was in vain. Sandy sounded his stock whip at her flanks, now and then giving her a touch to remind her that it was at hand, until gradually she was drawn up to the posts and her head securely fixed, when Sandy approached with the milk-pail.

“I’m not going to trust you yet, my lady,” he said, fastening her hind-legs up on the side on which he was about to take his seat. This done, he began the operation of milking. He had almost drawn as much as he expected to obtain, when the cunning cow, finding that she could not kick over the pail, came down on her side; and Sandy, with difficulty, made his escape from under her with the loss of the contents of his pail.

There were two other cows to be milked, which had been standing by watching attentively the treatment received by their companion. Paul, taking the rope, approached one of them. The creature seemed to have made up her mind not to be milked, and as he drew near she whisked round with wonderful rapidity, now and then making as if she would run at him; but Paul was far too active to be caught. Suddenly her eyes fell on Hector, who had been ashamed to leave the yard, although greatly longing to do so. Putting down her head, with a loud bellow she rushed towards him.

“Run for it! Spring on one side, and then make a bolt for the palings. I’ll help you over!” shouted Harry.

Hector, however, was too much frightened to follow the advice. Instead of facing the cow and watching what she was about to do, he turned round and ran across the slippery yard; before he got far, as might have been expected, down he fell. The next instant the cow would have been upon him, had not Paul, who had been following with the noose, succeeded dexterously in slipping it over her horns, when the windlass being turned rapidly round, she found herself brought up by a violent jerk. In vain she endeavoured to get free. The hide rope which had caught her was strong enough, as Sandy affirmed, “to hold a seventy-four,” and she was quickly, in spite of her bellowings and kickings, hauled up to “the bail;” while Hector, much frightened and excessively angry at his accident, picked himself up, and ran to the paling towards which Harry was beckoning him.

Sandy took care on this occasion not to be caught by the cow, and managed to take all the milk he required. Several others were brought up in the same fashion. Two who had been looking on, seeing that, whatever they might do, they would have to submit at last, walked up quietly and poked their heads into “the bail.”

“I should like to try and milk a cow,” exclaimed Reginald, who felt ambitious to imitate his cousins’ example and make himself useful.

“We have two more heifers to milk, and you shall try; but I don’t think you will succeed at first,” said Paul.

Reginald was determined to make an attempt. As the heifer showed no great inclination to submit to the process—being accompanied by her calf—she was caught by the horns, quickly dragged up to “the bail,” and leg-roped. Here she stood quietly enough while Paul stroked her, patted her back, and scratched her about the ears.

“Now, Reginald!” cried Paul, “get your stool and milk-pail, and try what you can do.” Neither Paul nor his cousin had observed that the calf—only a few weeks old—which had remained on the other side of the yard, had been stamping and pawing the ground, and exhibiting other signs of indignation at seeing its mother made captive.

Reginald, with sleeves tucked up and eager face, commenced trying to milk, but not a drop could he produce. Suddenly, uttering a loud cry, the calf, with head lowered, made a dash across the yard, sending Reginald flying in one direction, his milk-pail and stool in others, to the great amusement of the lookers-on. Reginald picked himself up, not being really hurt; and although he at first looked very frightened, he soon recovered his equanimity.

“Now, Reginald,” said Paul, “you will very likely succeed better this time. Try again.”

Reginald had plenty of spirit, and getting the pail and stool, once more sat himself down; and Paul showing him how to work, he managed to draw milk from the heifer.

“Capital!” cried Paul; “but you had better let me finish—one cannot tell how long she may stay quiet.”

At breakfast Hector and Reginald gave very different versions of the milking business of the morning. Hector described it as “a nasty, disgusting affair;” while Reginald declared “that it was very good fun, and that he was proud of his own performance, in spite of his misadventure.”

Chapter Four.

Pets—A Ramble through the Scrub—Rob acts the Hero—Sees a lurking Black—The Party hurry Homewards—Alarming Intelligence brought by Paul.

As much of the time of the young Berringtons was likely to be taken up by their newly-arrived cousins, it was arranged that they and Mr Hayward should make holiday. As soon, therefore, as Mary and Janet had finished their household duties they invited their cousins to take a walk round the gardens, which they had not yet seen, and along the bank of the river.

“We can show you some pretty views,” said Mary.

“You shall see all our pets,” added Janet.

“Pray take your sunshades, girls,” murmured Mrs Berrington, who had just come out of her room. “Without them you will spoil your complexions to a certainty, and perhaps suffer from a coup-de-soleil. You do not let your daughters go out without them?” she added, turning to her sister-in-law.

“We never think of such a thing,” answered Mrs Hugh; “our hats are lined with pith, and broad-brimmed, and we do not mind a few freckles.”

The young ladies, acting on their mother’s suggestion, took their sunshades, which, it must be confessed, were not altogether useless, although their cousins did very well without them.

They had got a short distance from the house, when Evelina uttered a scream and pointed to a large animal with a long tail, pointed nose, and short arms, which came hopping along at a great rate towards them.

“Oh! what’s that monster?” she exclaimed. “How can we get out of its way?”

“That’s only our tame kangaroo, Jumper,” answered Janet, laughing. “He is a great pet; he has been out with Sandy all the morning, and is now coming to pay his respects to us.”

The kangaroo, which was upwards of five feet high, came bounding along, moving himself by the wonderful muscular power of his long hind-legs, though he had in addition to carry his tail, which he lifted off the ground when moving; this tail, however, assisted him to rest when he reached his young mistresses and waited to receive the piece of bread they had brought to give him. Close behind came an animal on four legs.

“Oh! here comes another horrid creature,” cried Adela. “A wolf! a wolf!”

“No; we have no wolves here. That is our kangaroo dog Bruce. He and Jumper are great friends, though he would run down, and kill any of Jumper’s relatives without the slightest remorse. Here, Bruce, Bruce.”

A magnificent dog, a mixture of a Saint Bernard and greyhound, came up and licked Mary’s and Janet’s hand, and attempted to treat their cousins in the same way. The young ladies, not liking his looks, started back, and it was some time before they could be persuaded to pat him on the head. Although Janet called Jumper and Bruce to accompany them, the latter only obeyed; the former bounded towards the house.

“The rogue has gone to see what he can get in the kitchen; if he can catch Biddy off her guard, he’ll snatch up anything he can find, and be away with it,” observed Mary.

The menagerie was in the flower-garden, where several of their pets which could not be allowed to remain at liberty were confined. Among the prettiest was a flying squirrel, a little animal with beautiful fur, its legs united by a membrane which enables it to float from the treetops to the ground without injury, then to run up the trunk of another, once more to descend, and thus make its way along. Poor little “Fussy!” its habits were nocturnal, and it had been accustomed to roam about at large in the house; but Captain Berrington, fearing that it might disturb his guests, had turned it out of doors to live with several other animals which his children had tamed.

The young ladies had made their way along a path which had been cut through the scrub, close to the banks of the river, that Mary might show her cousins the views she had spoken of. They had been joined by Rob and Edgar, who considered that they could not let them go so far from home without an efficient escort.

“With such valiant guards we may, I think, venture further than we have been accustomed to,” said Mary. “We shall have to stoop now and then to get under the vines, or squeeze ourselves between the trunks of the trees. We have no wild animals to fear, and need only be careful not to tread upon a snake.”

“A snake!” exclaimed Evelina. “Oh, how dreadful! Let’s go home.”

“Oh, come on,” cried Bob, “I’ll clear the road, and kill any snakes which may show their ugly heads.”

Flourishing his hatchet, which he drew from his belt, he proceeded to cut away the vines and any branches which impeded their way.

Their progress was of course slow, but Rob asserted that they would soon come out into a more open spot, when they would be able to walk as fast as they liked. The air beneath the shade of the tall trees was deliciously cool compared to the hot atmosphere of the open ground; and even Evelina acknowledged that it was very pleasant. She had not gone far, however, before she shrieked out to Mary—

“You said there were no savage creatures! Look at this monster; it will kill us all!”

“Why, that’s only an iguana. It has no teeth, and wouldn’t bite you if it had. I’ll try and catch it, and you shall have it for dinner; it makes an excellent stew,” exclaimed Rob, who heard her cry out.

The iguana, a large species of lizard, was, however, far too quick for Rob, and was away out of sight before he got up to the tree on which he had seen it. Edgar manfully kept up with him, but having no weapon except a clasp knife, he could render but little service in clearing the road. Rob was shouting to the girls to “come on,” when suddenly he himself stopped short.

“Edgar, did you see any one?” he asked, in a low voice.

“Yes, a hideous black face; it popped down immediately behind the bushes.”

“We had better not go on, then; for though many of the blacks are friendly hereabouts, yet others who come from a distance are very treacherous.”

Not stopping to hear more, Edgar scampered away to tell the ladies, who, as soon as they heard the alarming intelligence, began to beat a retreat. They were quickly overtaken by Rob, who had not only seen a black man, but a bundle of spears, and was fully satisfied of the danger of remaining longer in the scrub.

Mary was the first to recover herself. “After all, the boys may have mistaken the stump of a tree for a native; or if they did see a black, he may have come with no bad intentions,” she observed; “we need not give up our walk in consequence.”

However, her cousins looked so frightened that she led them directly out of the scrub towards the kitchen, garden, intending to go round under a trellis work, which had a thick hedge on the outside, and at that hour of the day afforded a pleasant shady walk. They were passing along that part which was nearest the open ground when they heard the tramp of a horse’s hoofs galloping at fall speed, and directly afterwards Paul shouting out to Harry—

“Where’s our father?”

“He has gone off with Uncle Frank to Gibson’s station,” answered Harry. “But what’s in the wind?”

“The blacks have shown their ugly faces again, not far off. I caught sight of a mob of them just before I passed Jenkins’s hut, and when stopping to leave a message I could nowhere find him. The blacks have evidently been there, and, I am afraid, have killed him. I did not stop to search longer, but came on to tell father, that he might send over to Ogilvie to set the police after them.”

“I’ll ride Bolter, and get Reginald to come with me,” answered Harry.

“Reginald! He’s no use; he will never keep up with you, and the chances are that he is pitched off before you have galloped a mile. Get Mr Hayward or Sandy to go with you,” said Paul.

“They are both away just now,” answered Harry; “but why can’t you get a fresh horse and go yourself?”

“Look here,” the girls heard Paul say; “one of the black fellows dashed a spear, and gave me this ugly scratch on the side, and I should be foolish to attempt riding so far. I must go in and get mother to doctor it.”

The young ladies, on hearing this, were naturally much alarmed. Mary was about to call to her brothers, but they were already beyond hearing; so she, followed by the rest of the party, hastened to the house that she might break the intelligence to her mother.

Chapter Five.

Paul comes Home wounded—Prepare for an expected Attack—Hector missing—The Boys go in Search of him—Biddy gives the Alarm—Rob and Edgar agree to keep Watch—The Way they do so—Arrival of the Black Police and their Officer.

As soon as Mary arrived at home she told her mother what she had heard; and lint, salve, and bandages were speedily got ready.

Paul’s pale cheek when he arrived showed that he was suffering considerably, though he made light of the wound.

“Oh! it’s nothing!” he said, trying to laugh. “A black fellow’s spear merely grazed my side, though had not Polly swerved at that moment it would have stuck into her neck.”

“It is a mercy, my boy, that it did not strike you in the back,” said Mrs Hugh Berrington, examining the wound, which she thought far more severe than Paul was inclined to suppose it.

“I had been looking after some cattle which had strayed from one of the herdsmen, a new hand,” he said, “when I suddenly found myself close to a mob of strange blacks, the very same, I suspect, Harry and I met with when hunting up Old Bolter. Knowing the imprudence of trusting myself among them, I immediately turned my horse’s head and galloped off, but not until several spears had been hurled at me. I felt one pop through my clothes, but I thought that it had given me only a slight scratch. On reaching Jenkins’s station, wishing to warn him of the vicinity of the black fellows, I looked about everywhere, but could not find him, and therefore came on that information might be sent to the police without delay, in order that they might proceed in search of the strangers and drive them away. Before returning home I found Mr Hayward, who, with Harry, has gone over to Ogilvie to give information of the blacks being in the neighbourhood.”

“But what if they should come here while our husbands are away?” exclaimed Mrs Berrington, trembling with alarm.

“I am here, and this slight hurt won’t prevent me from defending you,” exclaimed Paul, feeling not a little indignant at his aunt’s remark, “and there are Reginald, and Hector, and Sandy, and the other men will be back before long.”

“And we can fight too,” exclaimed Janet. “I know how to fire a pistol, so does Mary.”

“What a fearful state of things!” ejaculated Mrs Berrington.

“Oh, aunt, you’ll soon get accustomed to it,” said Janet, who often spoke very like Harry.

“I hope that we shall not be reduced to such extremities,” said Aunt Emily. “But where are Reginald and Hector?”

“I saw Reginald at our hut; I told him to come on here in case he might be wanted, but as to Hector, I do not know where he is.”

“Suppose he should be fishing by the river, and the blacks should find him. They may kill the poor boy,” exclaimed Mrs Berrington.

Though Paul thought this more than possible, should Hector have gone to any distance, he tried to reassure his aunt, intending to go himself and try and find his cousin.

When, however, he attempted to move, he discovered that he could not do so without great pain and difficulty. He was thankful when Reginald came in, and Rob at the same time making his appearance, he sent the two off in search of Hector, warning them to keep away from any place which might conceal a lurking enemy. He then held a consultation with Mary and Janet, and arranged with them how they might best prepare the house for defence, should the blacks attack it. They all knew that there was not much real danger provided that they were not taken by surprise, as the natives, unaccustomed to the use of fire-arms, were sure to run away if sturdily withstood. He knew he could depend upon his two elder sisters, though he suspected that his cousins would not prove heroines.

The day wore on, the captain and his brother were not expected until late. Reginald and Rob had not returned from their search for Hector, and Sandy, whom they expected, had not yet made his appearance.

The sun set, and darkness came on; the girls agreed to watch in different directions, from whence they could command the approaches to the house. Biddy was naturally stationed at the kitchen end of the house, which looked towards the bush. Poor Mrs Berrington’s alarm became greater and greater.

Mrs Hugh and her daughters were doing their best to keep her from fainting by the due application of sal volatile, though they themselves could scarcely restrain their own fears.

Suddenly a fearful shriek ran through the house; it came from Biddy. Mary and Janet hurried round, shutting the doors opening on the verandah where they had been stationed, and rushed towards her.

“Sure, the nagers are coming! the nagers are coming!” they heard her again and again shriek out. She was, however, at her post at the door, but had thrown her apron over her head. Before closing the door, the courageous girls looked out to ascertain how far off the natives were from the house. There, sure enough, they saw three figures approaching with what looked like long spears in their hands.

“Arrah! come in, me darlin’s, and don’t let the nagers catch ye!” shrieked Biddy.

“What’s all that hullabaloo about?” exclaimed one of the figures, approaching, and Hector, and Reginald, and Rob came up to the door.

Biddy, however, who had stopped her ears as well as hid her face, still fancied that they were blacks, and continued shrieking as loudly as ever.

“Run, Rob, and tell mother and aunt that you have come back safe, while we try and bring this foolish girl to her senses,” said Mary.

It was, however, some minutes before Biddy could be quieted, and assured by the sight of the young masters that it was they whom she had seen, and that no natives had shown themselves.

Reginald then told Mary that they had found Hector fast asleep on the bank, while his fishing-rod was floating in the middle of a water-hole, and that they had spent some time in attempting to recover it. Though the boys had returned safe, and one cause of anxiety was removed, there was still a possibility that the blacks would attack the place, should they have been on the watch, and have discovered that the gentlemen were away.

Paul, however, did not think this likely, as, had they been lurking about, they would certainly have caught the boys, and perhaps have killed them. Poor Mrs Berrington continued bemoaning her hard fate in coming to such a country.

“But, my dear Augusta,” said Mrs Hugh, “no harm has happened to those we love, and we ought not to mistrust God. You and I have gone through numerous trials and troubles, and have been mercifully preserved through them all.”

At length the captain and his brother returned, and, having heard nothing of the blacks, were greatly surprised at the state of agitation into which the family had been thrown. The captain commended Paul for his judgment in sending for the police. Taking their fire-arms with them, they at once went back to let Sandy and the other men know that the blacks had been seen near the house, that they might be on their guard.

“They are not likely to be surprised while Bruce is on the watch,” observed Paul; “he can scent a black a hundred yards off.”

Poor Mrs Berrington was thus again made anxious, fearing that her husband and the captain might be attacked before they got back to the house. At last they made their appearance, reporting that Sandy and the men were on the watch at the stock-yards, but that Harry and Mr Hayward had not yet returned; indeed, the captain believed that they would probably accompany the police, or, at all events, not come back until the morning.

The children were put to bed, and the ladies were at length persuaded to retire to rest. The captain and Mr Berrington arranged to keep watch and watch, so that they might run no risk of being surprised. Paul wanted to join them, but his father insisted that he should remain quiet, lest his wound, trifling though he considered it, might become inflamed. Hector went into his room without offering his services. Mr Berrington looked vexed, but said nothing; possibly he thought that he would go to sleep at his post, and thus be worse than useless.

“I say, Edgar, though we are sent to bed, we are not bound to go to sleep,” exclaimed Rob. “I vote that you and I keep watch at the window, turn and turn about. I have got one of Paul’s pistols, and if any blacks come we will shoot them.”

“But they would have to come fearfully close to do that, and I don’t think I could fire at a man with a spear in his hand, grinning horribly at me out of the dark.”

It is easy to imagine the picture Edgar conjured up.

“That’s the very time I would shoot,” answered Rob; “if I did not, he might hurl the spear and stick it into me.”

“Keep quiet, you fellows,” growled out Hector, who was awakened by their talking, though he did not hear what they said. They were silent till they thought that he was again asleep.

“If you’re afraid I’m not,” said Rob. “I will take the first watch, and I will call you when it’s time for you to look out, and then you can rouse me up if you see anything, and I will be alongside you in a moment.”

Edgar having agreed to this, Rob sat himself down on a stool, with his head just above the window-sill, on which it soon dropped. He was, in reality, fast asleep, though all the time he thought that he was keeping a very bright lookout, and that he saw savages creeping up in the distance, but that he was waiting to give the alarm until they should get somewhat closer. At last he awoke with a most uncomfortable crick in his neck, and found, to his surprise, that the dawn had broken. Hector and Edgar were sleeping soundly, and believing that no blacks would venture near the house by daylight, he wisely crept into his bunk, where he lay until roused by the sound of the gong which summoned the family to prepare for breakfast.

The night had passed without any appearance of the blacks, and the captain, who had searched round the house in every direction, could find no traces of them. He began, indeed, to suspect that Rob must have been mistaken in supposing that he had seen a lurking native in the scrub. He and Mr Berrington, followed by Bruce, after breakfast made a long circuit through the scrub, and visiting the spot Rob described, the captain had reason to change his opinion, for he at length found traces of natives, and the remains of a fire, where they must have encamped that very night. This satisfied him that the precautions he had taken had not been useless, but, as far as he could judge, the blacks had retreated to the westward. The chief anxiety of the family was now about Harry and Mr Hayward, who had not yet returned. Late in the day, however, Rob and Edgar, who were patrolling round and round the house under the idea that they were keeping guard, saw Harry galloping up to them.

“Well, what news?” shouted Rob. “We have been expecting the blacks all day, but they have not come yet. Have you fallen in with them?”

“Yes, indeed we have!” answered Harry, “and had a desperate fight too. We killed some of them, and the rest ran off. Lieutenant Bertram, of the police, believes that they will still remain lurking in the neighbourhood, and has come on with some of his men to be ready to act as a guard to the house should father wish it. We have had some exciting work, let me tell you. It was wonderful the way our black police hunted down their countrymen; but I must not stop, as they will be wanting to know at home what has happened.”

Dismounting, Harry hurried into the house, while his younger brother led his tired steed to the paddock.

Harry had just made his report, and Mrs Hugh was busy in preparing some food for their expected visitors, when Mr Hayward, accompanied by a young officer, rode up to the door, closely followed by a dozen black troopers, in dark blue and red uniforms. Mr Hayward introduced Lieutenant Bertram, who explained his reasons for coming.

Mrs Berrington was profuse in her thanks. “We have had a dreadful fright, Mr Bertram, and I hope that you and your men will remain here until the blacks are driven out of the country. I shall get no rest, night or day.”

“I am afraid, madam, that will not be so easy an operation as you suppose,” answered the lieutenant. “The blacks have an idea that they are the owners of the soil, and that we are intruders, and they are not very willing to decamp. Our business is rather to keep them in order, and prevent them from attacking the whites.”

As Harry explained that they had been a good many hours without eating, supper was immediately placed on the table, while provisions were carried out to the troopers, who sat down in a circle on the grass-plot—it could not be dignified as a lawn—with their horses picketed near them. The ladies went out to see them as they sat in the sunlight, not at all inconvenienced by its glare. They seemed merry, careless fellows, laughing and chattering away in their own curious lingo—a mixture of English and native words.

Mr Bertram said they were all blacks from a distance, composed of two or three different tribes who could not understand each other’s original language. The captain was grieved to find that there was little doubt that his shepherd had been murdered, although his body had not been discovered. The flock had been driven to a station nearer home, where two of the police had been left to watch the hostile natives, although it was not at all likely that they would for the present make another attack.

Poor Mrs Berrington saw, with much regret, the lieutenant and his men take their departure. They were going, he said, to make another thorough search for the hostile natives, and to advise them to remove to a distance from the white men’s stations.

Chapter Six.

Pleasant Rides through the Country—Magnificent Vegetation—Hector stung by a Nettle—A Hurricane—Roof of the Hut blown off.

Some weeks passed away, and the new comers were getting accustomed to bush-life. Even the unimpressible Evelina and Adela began to take an interest in what was going on, though they were still open to the criticism pronounced on them by Harry to Reginald—

“Those girls of yours are very well in their way, but it is a pity they cannot learn to make themselves useful.”

Aunt Emily was, however, delighted with all she saw—the trees, the birds, the animals; and much indeed there was to admire during the rides she and two or three of the girls were accustomed to take, either with Mr Berrington or Paul, Harry or Reginald.

All apprehension of an attack from the blacks had subsided, and they frequently rode to a considerable distance from Stratton. The country beyond the scrub was open, or rather only sprinkled with tall ungainly gum-trees, but there was to be found in many spots other and very beautiful foliage. In some places groves of acacia-trees with yellow blossoms, and in other spots tall coral trees with long pendulous red flowers, looking exactly like strings of coral hanging from the dark foliage. Sometimes they came upon the curiously-shaped bottle tree, which greatly resembles a lemonade bottle placed in the ground. Then, not far off, would be found the grass tree, from the summit of which long pendants projected like enormous blades of grass. Even these trees were of considerable height. Mr Berrington said that during the hot months he always had a supply of the wood, as the smoke arising from it emits not only a very pleasant odour, but is much objected to by the mosquitos, and by burning it in the room those pests of Queensland are always driven out.

One of the most remarkable trees they met with was the bunya-bunya, a species of pine. It towered like a pinnacle above all the other trees, reaching a height of upwards of two hundred feet.

Some of the young trees were peculiarly handsome, throwing out branches all around close to the ground to a distance of many yards, and smaller branches rising in regular gradation to the top, thus forming a perfect cone with so dense a foliage that it was evident no animal could penetrate it. At the top of the older trees grew an enormous cone of fruit, each being the size of a chestnut. From some of these a bare pole shot up nearly a hundred feet above the branches, with this prodigious cone at the summit. Notwithstanding this, the party saw a couple of blacks belonging to a friendly tribe, who occasionally camped near them, climb to the top, whence they threw down the fruit in handfuls. Harry and Reginald filled their pockets with some of it, which they carried home. It was cooked as chestnuts are, but was pronounced more farinaceous and much nicer to eat.

The party frequently took provisions with them, and enjoyed a picnic in some beautiful spot while their horses were hobbled near. On one of these occasions Hector had condescended to accompany them. He and Paul, with Mr Hayward, were walking some little distance from the rest, when Hector, not taking an interest in the conversation of his cousin and the dominie, sauntered away from them. Hector had the habit as he walked along of pulling off the leaves of any shrub or tree he passed, from mere thoughtlessness, not with any idea of examining their shape or character.

“Where’s Hector got to?” suddenly exclaimed Paul.

“There he is,” said Mr Hayward; then he shouted, “Come back, Hector; come back! Don’t touch those shrubs.”

But Hector either did not hear or did not heed the call, and Mr Hayward and Paul set off to run after him. Presently they heard him shriek out, and throw down a large leaf like that of a mallow, which he had plucked from a shrub about fifteen feet in height.

“That’s a nettle tree,” exclaimed Mr Hayward; “poor fellow! he’ll suffer for it.”

They found Hector wringing his hand, and declaring that he had been stung by a snake. He was somewhat consoled when Mr Hayward and Paul assured him that he had only by mistake caught hold of a huge nettle, though he might expect to suffer from its effects for some days to come. He wanted to run off to a stream near which the party had picnicked, to cool his hand in the water.

“That will only make matters worse,” said Paul; “you must keep your hand as dry as possible, for every time you wet it the pain will come on again.”

Poor Hector could scarcely refrain from crying out with pain.

“You must grin and bear it, old fellow,” said Harry, really wishing to console him. “When you get home mother will, I dare say, apply some remedy. We were fortunately warned about catching hold of nettles before we had your experience; but you’ll never do it again.”

All the party enjoyed the ride, except poor Hector, who complained bitterly of the pain he suffered from the stinging-nettle. On their arrival at home, Mrs Hugh applied ammonia and oil. At length he acknowledged that the pain had considerably abated, but during the remainder of the evening he took every opportunity of abusing the country and “its horrible productions.”

Harry, who was always ready to take up the cudgels in favour of his native land, answered, “Why, even you in England have got nettles, and poisonous berries too, and, I am sure, have not got one-tenth part of the fruits and plants which this country can produce. We can grow the sugar-cane, cotton, coffee, rice and tobacco, and Peruvian bark, or what answers as well, and spices of all sorts, while few of our berries are poisonous; and, except those rascally dingos, we have not an animal in the country which can do any harm to man or beast.”

“Oh, yes! it’s a very nice land indeed,” sneered Hector.

“Come, old fellow, you’re shut up, after all,” exclaimed Harry, triumphantly, “and it is time to go to bed. I’m off to our hut. Come along, Reggy; Paul went there an hour ago.”

Family prayers were over. The two lads, wishing their fathers and mothers and all hands good night, set off to their abode.

Mr Hayward and the rest of the inmates of the hut had been some time asleep, when they were awakened by a fearful uproar, like the howling, shrieking, and hissing of a thousand locomotive engines dashing on at full speed—so Reggy described it. They could scarcely hear their own voices as they shouted to know what was happening.

“A storm, lads, and such a one as we don’t often get,” said Mr Hayward, who was dressing as fast as he could. The rest followed his example, for at any moment the roof of their hut might be carried off. As they looked out they saw the tallest trees bending and groaning under the fearful blast. At that moment a huge branch, broken off, was dashed to the ground near them with a tremendous crash, while the whole air was filled with leaves, twigs, and smaller branches.

The thunder, which had been heard at a distance, came near. At first it sounded like a faint cannonading, but now it broke overhead with terrible roars and rattles, as if a pitched battle were raging amid the clouds, drowning all other sounds. In such rapid succession did peal follow peal, that they appeared like one continuous roar.

Black clouds made the night as dark as pitch, until the lightning burst forth and lit up the whole of the surrounding scene. Streams of the electric fluid, running down the stems of the tall trees, went hissing along the ground like fiery serpents. Blast succeeded blast, until suddenly the whole roof of the hut, being lifted together, was carried off, the inmates knew not where; when down came the rain in a sheet of water, rather than drops. The lads were thankful that they had got on their clothes, at all events, and had time to slip into their waterproofs.

“We must go and see what is happening at the house. I only hope the fencing won’t be blown down, or we shall have work enough to-morrow to collect the stock again,” cried Paul.

In spite of the storm, and the danger they ran from falling boughs, they commenced making their way towards the house. Sometimes it was so dark that they could not see a foot before them. Then, in an instant, a bright flash would illumine the whole scene, and they rushed forward again, stopping when darkness came upon them. At length they calculated that they must be close to the house. A flash revealed it to them, but it appeared as if the roof had gone. No one was to be seen. They shouted, but no reply came. They tried to open the door, but it was fastened within. Perhaps those they loved had been crushed by the falling roof. The thought was too dreadful. Paul and Harry shook at the door, and shouted again and again.

Chapter Seven.

The Boys go to assist their Friends—Paul and Harry enter the House through the Roof—Alarm of the Family—Fears of the River rising—Paul sets off to obtain Provisions.

Paul and Harry, who had run on first, kept knocking and knocking at the door, and shouting at the top of their voices, but the creaking of the verandah posts, the rattling of the shingles on the roof, the continuous roar of the thunder, and the howling of the wind among the trees, completely drowned their voices. They ran round to try and find an entrance by one of the windows or back door, but the shutters were all closed. At length Mr Hayward and Reggy came up, but they were not more successful in making the inmates hear when they knocked and shouted at the front door. Harry proposed climbing up and dropping down through the opening in the roof. A large portion of the verandah had been torn away, but the beams remained.

“You forget, Harry,” shouted Paul in his ear, “we may reach the roof, but how shall we get down without the risk of breaking our legs over the fragments which may have fallen in, or the tables and chairs? Stay a moment! There’s a rope in the harness room, and if that has not been blown away I’ll get it.”

Paul recollecting where he had last seen the rope, was able to lay his hand on it, even in the dark. He soon groped his way back.

Harry having proposed the expedition, climbed up first, Paul handing him the rope. He soon reached a rafter, and lowering the rope until he knew that it touched the ground, he fastened it securely, and at once descended, followed by Paul. They had dropped into their own bedroom, which they had given up to Hector; after feeling about, however, they decided he was not there. Neither were Rob nor Edgar. They then groped their way along the passage at the back of the house, to the sitting-room end. During a momentary lull of the storm they thought they heard voices. On opening the door, they presented themselves to the astonished eyes of their family.

Mr Berrington, aided by Mrs Hugh and Miss Saville, was endeavouring to calm the fears of his wife and elder daughters, who were well nigh in hysterics, while Mary and Janet were attending to the children—who, poor little things, were naturally very much frightened. Hector, who had got his hand wet, was crying out that he had been bitten by a scorpion, forgetting how he had been stung by a nettle the previous morning. The captain, meantime, was doing his best to keep the windows closed, with the assistance of Biddy, who was bringing him such pieces of wood as she could find to nail up against them, for they threatened to give way, when the wind would have blown out the only lamp which was burning on the table in the centre of the room.

“Where have you boys come from?” asked their father; “I thought all the doors were shut.”

“So they are,” shouted Paul, “but we came down through the roof.”

“What! were you blown all this way?” asked Mr Berrington, looking up.

“Not exactly,” answered Harry, “we came on our legs.”

“Has your hut been blown down?” asked their father.

“The best part of it, on a night like this—the top has,” answered Harry.

Paul then explained that Mr Hayward and Reggy were all this time waiting outside, not knowing how to get in. The captain would not let them open the door, however, without his assistance, and they all three accordingly repaired to it.

“Are you still there?” shouted Harry.

A voice answered, “Yes.”

“Stand by to close the door again,” said the captain, and slightly opening it, in rushed Reggy and Mr Hayward, when the whole party, pressing hard, once more closed it, though the blast which came in sent several of the articles of furniture rattling down.

“How, in the name of wonder, did you get in?” exclaimed Reggy, when he found Paul and Harry inside.

He could scarcely believe it when they told him how they had managed to find an entrance. The door being secured, they hastened back to the sitting-room. It was no easy matter to carry on a conversation amid the wild uproar, though the captain, accustomed to storms at sea, made himself heard. He could not tell how much of the roof had gone, for, even through a small aperture the rain made its way in torrents. He was thankful that any part remained which could afford them shelter. Paul could give no account of how it fared with Sandy and the men at the stock-yard. Mr Hayward volunteered to go back and ascertain, but the captain would not allow this. “You ran risk enough in coming, and I am thankful that you have escaped,” he said.

Nothing more could now be done until daylight, as the whole house was in darkness, for as soon as the lamp was lighted in any part, except in the sitting-room, it was blown out again by the wind which made its way through the roof. The captain did not express his fears to the rest of the party, with the exception of Mr Hayward and Paul, but his chief anxiety was about the river. On listening at the side of the house nearest to it, they could hear the water rushing along its hitherto dry bed, evidently at headlong speed. Mr Hayward, ever ready to assist, offered to go out and ascertain how high it had risen.

“We may remain here in safety at present, I trust,” said Captain Berrington: “it is still a dozen feet below us, probably more, and unless it should rise much higher, we should only unnecessarily expose the ladies to this tremendous rain and the fearful danger of falling branches were we to quit the house. We must, however, keep a watch upon it and escape in time.”

Several terrific blasts came, which threatened to blow down the house, or tear off the whole roof. The wind, after the last, began to lull, and the rain ceased. The house, with the exception of the sitting-room, was in such a condition that the family were compelled to remain in that apartment. The night wore slowly away, and every one was thankful when daylight at last returned. Sad indeed was the havoc which had been committed by the tempest; but the captain was thankful that none of the family had been injured, and not a word of complaint escaped him.

No time was lost in commencing to repair the damages. While Biddy was trying to get her kitchen in order and light a fire, Janet and Mary, with pails and mops, assisted by their cousins, were busily employed in “swabbing decks,” as their father called it, and hanging up the wet bedding to dry.

The captain and his brother, with Mr Hayward, got the carpenter’s tools, and commenced repairing the roof, while the younger boys collected all the shingles they could find. Paul, Harry, and Reggy started off to the stock-yards, to see how things fared there, and to assist Sandy and the men if necessary. Before going they took a glance at the river. Reggy could scarcely believe that it was the same stream he had seen the day before, as it now went foaming and rushing by, carrying huge trunks of trees and dead cattle in its vortex, while it appeared four times as broad as before.

“We have often had it as high as this in a rainy season, although it has seldom risen so high at other times,” said Paul.

Hector declared that his hand hurt him too much to allow him to do anything, although he at length condescended, when summoned by his sisters, to try and put his own room in order.

As the lads went along, they observed the havoc which had been produced by the storm. Several tall trees had been blown down, others denuded of their branches. The maize was beaten to the ground, the kitchen-garden had suffered greatly, and flower-blossoms had everywhere been torn off, while many of the fruit-trees were destroyed.

“It cannot be helped,” said Paul, “happily, things grow here very rapidly, and in a short time we shall have all to rights again.”

Reginald thought Paul a great philosopher, but he only spoke the truth. They met Sandy coming to ask how the family had fared; he reported more favourably of the stock-yard than Paul had expected. A portion of the roof of some of the buildings had been blown off; but the strong fences intended to resist the charge of a fierce bull or angry heifer had withstood the strongest blasts.

“We ken weel where our weak points are,” observed Sandy; “we will soon get things to rights.”

Every one had enough to do during that and several following days. The buildings were re-roofed, the fallen trees were sawn through and dragged out of the way to be split up or burned. The garden fences were repaired, and everything else put to rights. Meantime the river had fallen almost to its usual level, though the water-holes were united, and it now ran in a regular current. The captain’s chief regret was for his maize crop; nothing could restore that, and he expected to obtain scarcely a quarter of the produce he had looked for. It would be necessary, therefore, to dispatch the drays some hundreds of miles to obtain flour, and this must be done as soon as possible, before the regular rainy season should set in. It would not last long, but during that time many of the creeks would be impassable, and other places might be flooded.

There was so much to be done that Captain Berrington did not wish to go himself, and though Paul was always very useful at home, he determined to send him in charge of the party. Paul would have liked to take either Harry or Reggy, but they now worked so well together that his father was unwilling to separate them, besides which they were able to do a great deal of work, and had in addition to attend some hours in the day to their studies, as Mr Hayward had resumed his duties as tutor, the girls, as well as the boys, regularly attending the school.

Paul could not but feel proud at being so thoroughly trusted by his father, and he hoped to perform his commission well; although he would gladly have had a companion in his long and tedious journey.

The men who accompanied him had been some time in the captain’s employ, and were considered thoroughly trustworthy. He himself felt much more anxious about the family. It was not only possible that the blacks might return and cause them alarm, but he might not obtain flour where he expected to find it. Although they would not in consequence be actually in want of food, it would be a considerable privation to have to go without bread. The captain had also confided to him a project Mr Berrington and he had in view, of forming a new station further up the country. They had not, however, fixed on it; but beyond the ranges to the north-west the captain had heard that a fine region existed, and he proposed forming a party to explore it. He had promised Paul that he should go, and told him that he proposed setting off at the termination of the rainy season. Paul, having bid farewell to his family, accompanied by Harry and Reggy, who were going to see him a few miles on the way, rode after the drays, which had started at daybreak that morning.

The two boys returned towards evening, reporting all well. Paul was much missed; even Hector complained that he had not now a companion to talk to. Although Harry and Reggy were merry fellows, it was generally acknowledged that they were not equal to Paul.

“I trust we shall have him back soon,” said his mother, after he had been gone some time; “although I wish that tidings of him had reached us.”

Chapter Eight.

A Kangaroo Hunt—Chasing Emus—A pack of Dingoes put to Flight.

Reggy had by this time learned to make himself almost as useful as Harry. Their great delight was riding after stray cattle and horses, which afforded them constant occupation.

Occasionally they visited the sheep-stations, to see that all was right, or to give directions to the shepherds.

Sometimes they drove one of the drays carrying provisions and stores, a task which was not so pleasant as galloping over the country. Now and then Hector was persuaded to join them in the former duty, but he would never even attempt to learn to drive a dray.

“If I could manage to get hold of a well-built dogcart from London, I should have no objection to turn out a tandem,” he said, as he contemptuously surveyed the dray.

As the captain was convinced that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” he occasionally allowed all hands who could be spared to go out hunting, the game being kangaroos or emus, when Bruce and the other dogs at the station had an active part to play. Hector, who rode pretty well, had no objection to join in it. Even Rob and Edgar were at times allowed to go out.

The damage caused by the storm having been repaired, about a week after Paul left home a hunting party was organised, the captain and Mr Haward joining it, with all the boys. Sandy, on such occasions, always remained at home, although he had learned to stick to the saddle as well as any man. Hunting was not to his taste; besides which, he considered it his duty to look after the ladies at the house and the cattle at the station.

It was a lovely morning; not a cloud was in the sky. The air was so pure, and so fine a breeze was blowing, that no one felt the heat. The boys were in high spirits as they rode along on their sturdy little horses, with the dogs barking and frisking around them. They had not gone far before a large kangaroo was sighted—an “old man,” as the big kangaroos are called by the settlers. He was employed in plucking the leaves from some shrubs which partly concealed him. So busily engaged was he, that he did not at first notice their approach, but as they got near his quick ear detected the sound of their horses’ feet, and taking one glance at them over his shoulder, he bounded off to seek safety in flight.

The dogs gave chase, the horsemen followed close upon their heels. The kangaroo appeared to move but slowly, and to be making his long bounds with deliberation.

“We shall be up to him in three minutes!” cried Reggy.

“Not so fast as that, by a long way,” answered Harry; “he is now going at double the speed you suppose, and will soon increase it.”

Harry was right. On went the kangaroo towards a creek in which there were two or three deep water-holes, a couple of miles to the northward. Hector and Reginald could not help laughing as they saw the wonderful bounds he made, holding his little front claws close to him, as a man does when running a race, with his knowing head held upright. Sometimes, when passing through high grass, the head and shoulders alone were visible, and the dogs could not be perceived except by the waving grass, while often they could not see the chase; still they kept on in its tracks. At last a large water-hole was reached, the kangaroo leapt into it, and having gained the centre, turned round and watched for the approach of the dogs. Bruce—knowing old fellow—was well aware that the kangaroo would have him at a great disadvantage, and contented himself by standing at the edge and barking, as he knew the animal must in time abandon his present position and again take to flight. All the older dogs imitated Brace’s example; but two young ones, thinking themselves braver than their companions, swam out, expecting to catch the kangaroo by the neck and bring him down. The first which approached was caught in his short arms before the dog could seize his throat, and was held down under the water, the kangaroo looking round all the time with perfect unconcern. In vain the dog struggled: the greater its efforts to free himself, the more rapidly the water entered its mouth.

The second dog attempted to make a diversion in its favour, but the kangaroo managed to give it a blow with the sharp claw of one of its hinder feet, and, with a yelp of pain, it swam back to the shore, leaving a ruddy stain in the water, while the body of the first dog which had been seized floated up deprived of life.

Harry and Reggy, with Mr Hayward, who were leading, now came up, but the kangaroo observing one side of the water-hole unguarded, suddenly, with a few bounds, reached it and made off before the dogs could get round to seize him. Away he went, bounding on as before towards the scrub in which he might have hoped to obtain shelter. The horsemen lost some little time in first getting the dead dog out of the water-hole and by crossing the creek; but they soon recovered their lost ground, as the kangaroo was becoming wearied with his exertions.

A thick scrub was ahead, and directly in front were some large trees. The dogs got almost near enough to catch hold of the tail of the kangaroo, when renewing his exertions, he managed to jump up close to one of the big trees, and to turn round with his back to the trunk. Here he stood at bay, showing, however, not the slightest sign of fear. As the dogs came barking fiercely round it, Reggy, wishing to display his courage, leapt off his horse, and was on the point of running up to the kangaroo when Mr Hayward shouted to him to stop; and he had soon good reason to be thankful that he had done so, for another of the young dogs getting within reach of the kangaroo, it struck out with one of its hind-claws and inflicted a terrible wound on its assailant. The dog, uttering a yelp of pain, endeavoured to crawl away, but before it did so another blow stretched it dead in front of the kangaroo as a warning to its companions.

It seemed cruel, after the animal had so bravely fought for his life, to destroy him; but, as he would probably have killed more of the dogs, Mr Hayward fired and finished his career.

The kangaroo was quickly skinned, his long tail being secured to one of the saddles. The best part of the meat, being wrapped in large leaves, was hung up in the shade, to be carried home on their way back. The remainder was left as a trap to the dingoes, whom it was hoped would remain feasting, and be shot by the party on their return.

The object of the expedition, however, was to hunt emus. Leaving the scrub, they reached some open downs of wide extent. Keeping, by the captain’s directions, on the lee side, they rapidly advanced, with a bright lookout ahead. The emu will run from human beings, especially from blacks. It is not, however, afraid either of horses or drays. It greatly resembles, in size and shape, the ostrich; but its colour is of a uniform brownish-black with feather-like hairs in lieu of feathers, and it has no wings, but its legs being very strong it can run at a rapid rate. As its head reaches seven feet or more from the ground it can obtain a wide view over the plain.

Mr Hayward, who well understood the habits of the bird, rode on in front. At length he made a sign that he saw emus in the distance, when the whole party, as had been arranged, dismounted and led on their horses, keeping them between themselves and the emus. They were thus able to get within a couple of hundred yards, when the wingless birds showed signs of alarm. Mr Hayward gave the signal to mount, and leaping on his horse the rest followed his example, and the emus set off running at a speed calculated to try the mettle of the fleetest horse and the endurance of the dogs. The pack, with loud yelps, bounded after them, followed by the horsemen, whose object was to keep them together.

The emus had no intention of being caught, but they had the wind against them, which somewhat impeded their progress. Two, however, showed signs of flagging, and the dogs got up to them. It would have been better for them had they kept at a respectful distance, for the hindmost emu kicking out struck one of them on the chest, and sent it flying among its companions. The rest of the pack taking warning kept out of reach of the bird’s powerful feet. At length one of the hard-pressed creatures dropped to the ground, where it was speedily despatched by the captain, while Mr Hayward and the boys galloped after the remainder of the flock. Two more were run down and killed in the same manner. The skins were soon taken off and thrown across the horses’ necks. A portion also of the flesh was secured, as Harry, Reggy, and Edgar expressed a strong wish to taste it.

The party then commenced their return home. On reaching the spot where the kangaroo had been killed, they caught sight of a pack of dingoes, to which they gave chase. Bruce and his companions pulled down several of these pests to the settler, and others were shot. Not a particle of kangaroo remained on the ground. The dingoes had been unable to reach the meat hung up among the branches, although, from the appearance of the trampled ground beneath, they had evidently made great efforts to get at it. There were numbers of flies, however, buzzing around, and in a very few hours it would have been uneatable. This was only one of several kangaroo and emu hunts in which the boys took a part. Even Hector acknowledged that there was some fun in the sport, though he should like to have turned out in a red coat and riding-cap.

“With the thermometer at ninety in the shade?” remarked Harry. “I don’t think you would ride out a second time in such a fashion.”

Chapter Nine.

A Black Help for Biddy obtained—Bendigo, her Husband—Products of the Estate—Shooting Excursions—Hector and the Leeches—The Boys awakened by a Laughing Jackass—A Flood in the River.

Things went on quietly enough at the farm, until one day Biddy struck—not for wages, but for help. She could not bear to see the young ladies do the work they were compelled to do, and yet it was more than she could do herself.

The captain inquired whether she would object to a black help.

“Sure not, yer honour, if she kapes a dacent tongue in her mouth,” answered Biddy. So the captain rode out to obtain the assistance Biddy asked for. A short distance away, a small tribe of friendly blacks were encamped; among them was one called Bendigo. He had frequently visited the station, and was ready to make himself generally useful by chopping wood or occasionally assisting the shepherds. He had a wife named Betty, who, if she was not pretty to European notions, was thought to be so by Bendigo, and she was a young, good-natured, merry little woman.

The captain invited the couple to come and take up their abode on the farm. They were to have a hut to themselves. Betty was to help Biddy, and Bendigo was to do any work required of him. The offer was accepted, and Betty was forthwith installed as Biddy’s help. Her costume when she made her appearance was not altogether suited to her new style of life, as it consisted of a man’s old shirt and a piece of grass matting as a petticoat.

The young ladies immediately manufactured for her a robe of blue serge trimmed with red braiding, while Biddy initiated her into the use of soap and water, to which she had hitherto been a stranger. She carefully brushed her hair and combed it out with a horse-comb, none of those in ordinary use being strong enough for the purpose.

Betty was immensely proud of her new costume, and hurried away to exhibit herself to her husband and the other black fellows on the station. Had not Bendigo stopped her she would have gone off to the camp; but he, not without reason, feared that she might have been deprived of her new dress by some of her beloved relatives.

Every morning she appeared at daybreak, and if Biddy overslept herself she was sure to awaken her by loudly knocking at the door of the kitchen in which Biddy slept. They were very good friends, though neither could understand a word the other said. But Betty quickly learned, after a certain sort, Biddy’s language, and, as may be supposed, a very curious lingo was the result. Harry declared that any day Betty might be taken for a black Irish girl.

“Sure we have no naguers in the ould country, Master Harry!” answered Biddy.

Betty soon learned to perform any work she was shown how to do; but she preferred tending the children, and if she saw them running down to the river, or wandering too far from the house, she was after them like a shot, always bringing them back in her arms, sitting down and lecturing them after her own fashion—telling them of a fearful monster which had its abode beneath the water, or of wild men who lay concealed in the scrub ready to carry them off and eat them. Poor Betty had no notion of right or wrong, and, although she did not steal or tell falsehoods, it was from the belief that the white people, who knew everything, would to a certainty find her out. As soon as she had obtained some knowledge of English, Mary and Janet endeavoured to instil into her dark mind some religious ideas. It was long, however, before they were satisfied that she had comprehended the simplest truths.

The family were now anxiously waiting Paul’s return. All the flour in the store-room had been exhausted, but they were not so badly off as they might have been in some regions. The captain had an acre or more planted with the sweet potato—a species of yam, each root weighing from three to four pounds, and sometimes even more. Biddy had learned to cook them properly, when they appeared dry and floury. Though the cousins at first declared that they were too sweet to eat, they acknowledged, however, when dressed under the roast meat, that they were very nice. Then they had bananas, a pleasant, nutritious fruit. The captain, on first coming to the farm, had formed a plantation of these trees, and as they had been well protected they had escaped destruction from the hurricane. The trees were raised from suckers, which grew around the bottom of the parent tree. Within eighteen months from the time the plants had been set out the trees began to bear fruit. This comes out from the centre of the plant, and hangs down in a large bunch, five or six in a bunch.

One great advantage was that there were ripe bananas all the year round, though they were most plentiful in the summer. The trees were upwards of twenty feet in height, with broad green leaves four to six feet in length. There was an avenue composed of them running from one side of the garden to the other, which afforded at all times a delightful shade. The stems contain a quantity of fibrous matter, which makes excellent rope.

“We shall not starve while we have these to subsist on,” observed the captain to his brother. “The people in the south call us ‘Banana-men’; and not a bad name either, for with their aid we could manage to subsist on beef and mutton, even had we no other vegetable productions to depend upon.”

Mary and Janet had nearly two hundred hens in their poultry yard, and by attending carefully to them and not allowing them to stray, they were able to obtain several dozen eggs daily.

Hector and the younger boys frequently went out fishing, but Harry and Reggy preferred shooting. On one occasion Hector volunteered to accompany them.

The boys were feeling somewhat fatigued from their walk, when they reached a large water-hole, which they had not before visited.

“The water looks very refreshing; I intend to have a bath,” said Hector, beginning to undress.

Just then Harry caught sight of a flight of parrots, which had pitched in some trees near at hand. Reginald and he crept near. Firing together they brought down nearly a dozen. They were picking up the birds when they heard Hector cry out. Running back to the water-hole, they saw him almost in the middle.

“Help me! help me!” he shouted.

“Why, if you’ve got thus far, why can’t you wade back again?” asked Harry.

“There are some horrid creatures sticking to me, and I don’t know what they will do,” cried Hector.

Harry and Reggy, caring nothing for the wetting, plunged in, and soon helped Hector back on to dry ground. He had not cried out without reason, for what was their dismay to see twenty or thirty leeches sticking to his body, and several had fixed themselves to their own arms even during the short time they had been in the water. They pulled them off as fast as they could, but found it no easy matter to stop the blood which flowed from some of the spots to which the creatures had fixed themselves.

“I shall bleed to death! I shall bleed to death!” sighed poor Hector.

“I don’t think things will be so bad as that,” said Harry.

The leeches were very small at first, looking somewhat like thick bits of hair, but they rapidly began to swell, and two which stuck on Reggy’s wrist, which he did not observe while assisting his brother, had grown to the size of his little finger. Fortunately the leeches were wiped off poor Hector’s body before they had time to extract much of his blood. Although he declared that he felt very faint he soon recovered, and being attended to by Reggy and Harry, put on his clothes, vowing that it should be the last time he would ever bathe in that detestable country.

“All water-holes have not got leeches in them,” observed Harry. “There are none in those near Stratton, and I would advise you to break that resolution.”

Hector, however, declaring that he felt very ill, insisted on returning home.

“Any news of Paul yet?” asked Harry, as they arrived at home.

“Not a word,” said his father; “if he does not appear to-morrow I intend to ride out and try to discover him.”

Hector, meanwhile, was bitterly complaining to his mother of the sufferings he had endured. “I wish that you’d let me go back to England, or try and get me some gentlemanly post in Sydney or Melbourne,” he said.

“I will ask your father,” was the answer.

The captain, to whom Mr Berrington communicated his son’s request, laughed heartily. “I am sorry for the poor boy. He would find that he had dropped out of the frying-pan into the fire. If he cannot find occupation in the bush, depend upon it he will not in the city. People there do not want fine young gentlemen any more than they do here. Do not let him go, as you will only be throwing your money away, but have patience with him, and by degrees he will get accustomed to our ways, and prove useful at last.”

Mr Berrington told his son “that he would think about the matter,” and Hector used to talk to his cousins of the Government appointment he expected soon to obtain.

The heat had been very great. Not a cloud was in the sky, and not a breath of wind fanned the topmost boughs of the tallest trees. Captain Berrington had determined on starting to discover what had become of Paul. Rob and Edgar were awake before daylight. The whole family intended to be up to see the captain off. The window was left open on account of the heat. Presently, from the wood close at hand, there came forth a wild shriek of merry laughter, which made Hector start up.

“Where in the world did that come from?” he exclaimed.

Rob pointed to the wood.

“What can it be?” asked Hector.

Rob did not answer, amused at his cousin’s astonishment.

Again, another jovial peal of laughter, followed by a self-satisfied chuckle, came from the wood.

“What is it? What is it?” asked the others.

“You would have heard it before, many a time, if you had been awake at this hour,” answered Rob. “That is the settler’s alarum—the laughing jackass.”

“Laughing jackass!” exclaimed Hector. “I never heard that a jackass laughed, and I don’t see one there,” for in his eagerness he had jumped up, and gone to the window.

The dawn, it should have been said, had just broken.

“Wait until we have more light,” said Rob; “perhaps you will then see our friend. I can just make him out. He is not down on the ground, where you are looking for him—he is up in yonder tree.”

“Up in a tree?” exclaimed his cousins, in chorus.

“Yes; he generally lives up there, but he does not indulge in such uproarious laughter until early in the morning. I suppose he laughs at the folly of people lying in bed, and so tries to wake them up.”

Hector and Edgar were more mystified than ever. At last they caught sight of a large brown bird with a big beak, sitting on a bough and nodding its head, and then laughing away with all its might. They could now no longer have any doubt whence the sound proceeded.

Just then Harry, arriving from the hut, came into the room.

“Come along, Harry,” cried Reggy, “you said there would be time for a bathe before breakfast.”

“I’m your man,” said Harry. “Come, be quick, Hector, or we shall be back before you have put the finishing touch to your toilet.”

The two lads hurried down to the river. Except in the water-holes which were joined by a trickling rivulet the whole bed was dry, but the ponds were of sufficient depth to afford a pleasant bath.

The boys were on the point of throwing off their clothes to plunge in, when Harry exclaimed, “Hark! what’s that sound?”

“It is like distant thunder,” answered Reggy.

“It can’t be thunder, there’s not a cloud in the sky,” replied Harry. “It seems to me to be coming right down the river. I don’t like it; I heard just such a sound some years ago, when a great flood came down and rose nearly up to the house. We won’t bathe, but run back and tell father; he’ll judge what it is and what’s best to be done.”

The boys hurried back; but before they had got up to the top of the bank the roaring sound had greatly increased, and Harry was more convinced than before that a heavy flood was approaching.

Chapter Ten.

Alarming Progress of the Flood—The Captain removes his Family to higher ground—The Boys, in their eagerness to save more Property, are cut off by the Water.

Directly on receiving the information brought by Harry and Reggy, Captain Berrington hurried down to the river, followed by Hector, Rob, and Edgar. Presently, as they looked up the dry bed between the high banks, they saw a wall of water moving on towards them, such, on a smaller scale, as might have been beheld by the Egyptians when attempting to cross the Red Sea. But this was high enough to overwhelm any human beings, or horses or cattle, which might have been in its way. The summit hissed and foamed, rising almost to the top of the bank. No streams advanced before it: it was literally a wall of water. On it came, its roar growing louder and louder. In less than a minute after it had been seen it rushed by, filling the whole bed of the river, and sending its surges up those portions of the bank which sloped more gradually.

“Back, back, boys!” shouted the captain.

They had to run as quickly as their legs would carry them to avoid the torrent. Where the ground had just before been perfectly dry there was now a hissing, foaming torrent of yellow water, carrying along branches of trees, and even big trunks. The captain, who had been joined by his brother, watched it anxiously.

“I had hopes that this was merely the result of a thunder-storm up the country,” he observed; “but see, it continues to rise, which shows me that there must be a vast volume of water behind what there is here. We have some cattle feeding on the low land higher up; I trust that White has had the discretion to drive them to the upper ground.”

“I fear some animals have been caught, if not ours,” observed Mr Berrington. “There go the bodies of two heifers. See, here comes a third.”

The captain was silent for a few minutes. “Harry!” he exclaimed, “run and tell Sandy to put the horses in all the drays, and bring them down here.”

“What’s that for?” asked Mr Berrington, as Harry ran off to obey the order.

“The river once came up within three feet of the house. Had it risen a foot higher it would have flooded the whole ground. It may rise two, three, or four feet higher than that. I wish to be prepared for the worst, and to save what property we can, with our wives and children, in case the house should be flooded.”

The captain desired all the party to return with him, and then announced his apprehensions to the ladies. “We will breakfast first, and then pack up the most valuable portion of our property, so that we may decamp if necessary,” he said, calmly. His spirit inspired the rest: even Mrs Berrington, who for a wonder had got up, ate some breakfast. The boys set to with a will.

“You know we may have some work to do, and it’s wise to take in plenty of provender beforehand. We don’t know when we may have time to eat again,” observed Harry, cracking his third egg.

His brothers and cousins followed his example, in spite of the roaring sound which continued outside.

Biddy and Betty were busy packing up the cooking utensils, while the ladies were employed in filling their trunks with their clothes and the most valuable articles they possessed. Poor Mrs Berrington’s state can better be imagined than described. Her sister’s time was much taken up in endeavouring to calm her alarm. The captain again went out. The river, as he feared would be the case, had greatly increased. Still, it might possibly not rise higher than it had done before. He stuck several poles in the ground to mark its progress. The first, then the second and the third, were reached with unexpected rapidity. Already the water was rushing over the opposite bank where the ground was lowest, sweeping everything before it. There was a danger that the scrub being carried away might form a dam lower down, and, if so, create much greater damage than if the river continued open to its mouth.

“I wish the drays would come,” the captain said to his brother. “We must get our wives and girls as soon as possible to the top of the ridge. I thank heaven this did not occur at night, or we might have been washed out of our beds.”

Still Mr Berrington could not believe that the water would come up higher.

“Look there!” said the captain, pointing to the southward among the trees; “it is flooding the whole scrub. In a short time this place will be surrounded.”

As he spoke, two or three kangaroos and several wallabies were seen in the distance making their escape into the open.

“These fellows know there is danger, or they would not be going at that rate,” observed the captain.

As the drays had not arrived, Reggy offered to set off to hurry them on.

“We intend to take you for a morning drive,” exclaimed Mr Berrington to his wife, in as cheerful a voice as he could command.

“But why should we leave the house?” she asked.

“Merely as a matter of precaution,” answered the captain. “It is possible that the water may reach close up to us, and the ground between this and the ridge is lower, so that we should have a difficulty in crossing it should the house be flooded.”

“Here come the drays,” cried Rob, who had been looking out for them. Harry was driving one, Reggy another, and Bendigo a third. Sandy and the men had galloped off to gather in the cattle on the higher ground, and Bendigo and Harry had had a hard matter to put to the horses, which had caused the delay.

“There is no time to be lost now,” whispered the captain to his brother. “We will load the drays as fast as we can. You shall drive your wife and mine, with the young children; the rest of us will follow as soon as we can.”

Without a moment’s delay the drays were loaded. Biddy and Betty, as Harry declared, “worked like troopers.” The trunks and boxes having been put in, their bedding was placed on the top of them. Still there was all the furniture and various articles which it seemed a pity to leave to the mercy of the flood.

“You go on, father,” cried Harry to the captain, “with the girls; Reggy, Hector, and I, with Biddy and the blacks, will soon load up with a few more things and quickly overtake you.”

The captain, who was anxious to place the girls in safety, with a portion of their property, trusting to Harry’s discretion, followed his advice.

“Don’t delay,” he shouted, pointing to the water, which was already overflowing the kitchen-garden, though it had not yet reached the road they were to cross. Hector was ashamed to ask to go with the captain, though he would infinitely rather have done so. He, indeed, exerted himself far more than he had ever been known to do before.

Biddy and Betty were as active as ever, carrying out all sorts of things, some of which might have been left behind, until Harry and Reggy pointed out what was considered of most value. Already the dray was as full as it could hold. Bendigo shouted out that it was time to be off, and jumped on the seat.

“We go now, we go now!” he cried.

Biddy and Betty clung to the hinder part of the dray, struggling in vain to get in.

“Off with you,” exclaimed Harry; “we will follow on foot.”

Bendigo cracked his whip, and his horses dashed forward at such a rate that it was a wonder the dray did not immediately capsize. Harry watched it anxiously as it went down a dip from which there was a gentle rise. Already a stream of water was running through the hollow, but it looked a mere rivulet, not half a foot deep, which could be passed over with a good spring.

“It is a pity we should not get a few more goods,” said Harry; “although I don’t believe the water will reach the house: yet, if it does, everything will be spoiled, if not washed away.”

They hurried through the rooms, picking up whatever they thought most valuable. Even Hector was inspired with a desire to save something, especially several articles belonging to himself. Harry had taken a run into the kitchen, where he discovered some dampers, which Biddy in her alarm had forgotten to remove from the ashes.

“It is a pity to lose these,” said Harry, clapping them into the pockets of his jacket—good capacious ones, as every bushman’s should be. There was, besides, a pot of yams, by this time completely cooked.

“Here, Reggy, stow some of these away,” he cried out. “The chances are that we shall not have too much to eat on the top of the hill there, unless Biddy has been more thoughtful than she appears to have been when she left these. What she could have been about I don’t know!”

So busily were they engaged that they did not hear the increased roar of the waters.

“Come, you fellows, it’s time to be off, I’m sure,” cried Hector, who had been feeling very nervous all the time.

“Just half a minute longer,” answered Harry; “I must lash these things up.”

Hector, however, would not stop, and rushed out of the house. Directly afterwards he came back, looking very pale.

“The water is rushing through the hollow like a mill-sluice!” he exclaimed; “we shall lose our lives if we attempt to cross.”

Harry and Reggy followed him out. He spoke too truly. They were cut off from what was now the mainland by a foaming torrent twelve yards or more in width, which was carrying along fruit-trees, rocks, and palings, whirling them round and round so that it would be impossible to swim across or to wade, even should the depth allow of their doing so. Hector threw down his load and wrung his hands.

“Stay!” cried Harry, “we’ve got a ladder! we may get across by that.”

They all three ran back for it, and attempted to throw it across, but the channel was too wide, and it was almost torn from their grasp. It would have been lost had not Harry fastened a rope to the lower round, by which it was hauled in.

“The ladder may be useful for another purpose,” observed Harry.

They lifted it up and carried it back to the house. The water was by this time rising even faster than before. The maize field, the yam and potato-ground, the orchard and kitchen-garden, were all flooded. Palings and hedges were everywhere giving way before the torrent. A rise of another foot would bring it up to the walls of the house. The floor was somewhat higher, so that it would not damage that much should the flood cease to rise when it got thus far. But would it cease? was the question. If it once began to beat against the walls of the house, would they stand? Reggy proposed climbing up to the roof by means of the ladder.

“That would be a place of very doubtful safety,” said Harry.

They looked up the stream, now extending a quarter of a mile or more on either side of its original bed. The whole country around them seemed flooded, with the exception of the hill to which the drays had gone.

“I am afraid that it will reach the stock-yard,” said Harry, “and it must be close to it already; if so, the cattle will have a poor chance. See, it has already carried away the hen-house, and there go the poor hens, flying away towards the nearest branches they can reach. Unfortunately, I cut the wings of a number only the other day because they would stray, and now they will all be lost.”

“Oh! what shall we do? What shall we do?” exclaimed Hector.

“We are not going to lose our lives if we can help it,” said Harry, who retained his presence of mind.

He was just then watching the piggeries. The torrent struck them, carrying away the palings and letting the inmates loose.

“Foolish beasts!” exclaimed Harry, “instead of swimming towards the shore they are going with their heads down the stream, taking it quite coolly. They might have been on dry ground in five minutes if they had gone in the right direction.”

Notwithstanding Harry’s warning, Hector insisted on getting upon the roof.

“The water would surely not rise much above the floor, and as the house had withstood the hurricane it would not be knocked down by the flood,” he said.

Calling to Reggy to help him, he climbed up and took his seat on the ridge.

“Come up! come up!” he shouted to Harry and Reggy; “you will be safe enough here.”

“You had better come down and get up that tree,” answered Harry, pointing to one which stood on ground of the same level as the house, and but a short distance from it.

Besides its trunk there were the numerous pendants, which had struck down and taken root, so that it was more likely to resist the torrent than any other of the trees near.

Hector, however, was obstinate. He was confident that he was safe, at all events for the present, and thought he should remain so.

“I should grow giddy if I were to climb up into such a tree as that,” he answered; “Reggy, you may go if you like, but I’ll stay here.”

Harry, who carried the ladder, placed it against the tree, which reached sufficiently high to enable them to get hold of one of the lower branches, by which they could hoist themselves higher. Harry, however, had no intention of going up until it became absolutely necessary. Still the water rose. It was now sweeping over the ground on which they stood. Reggy, again entreating Hector to come, rushed up to the tree and mounted the ladder. Just then the captain and Mr Berrington appeared in the distance. The roar of the waters prevented their voices being heard. Their alarm at seeing their boys placed in so perilous a position was, of course, very great. Harry saw them making signs and pointing to the tree.

“They want you to do as I advise,” shouted Harry. “Come down! come down!”

Hector felt the house shake, as a surge beat against it larger than any of its predecessors. He lost confidence in the safety of his position.

“Slip off the roof by the verandah,” shouted Harry.

At length, as he saw Harry still standing below him, not being aware that the water was over his ankles, he slid down.

When Hector discovered that he must jump into the water, he attempted to climb back again. This, however, from his alarm, and from being unaccustomed to climb, was more than he could do, and down he slid, Harry catching him at the bottom.

“Now run for it!” cried the latter, seizing him by the arm, and they made towards the ladder, the water hissing and foaming at their heels.

Chapter Eleven.

The Boys take refuge in a Tree—The House carried away—Destruction of Cattle—A Cow caught in the Boughs—A Night up the Tree—Harry keeps up the Spirit of the Party.

The flood came roaring up, carrying everything in its course on either side of the ground over which the lads were making their way. Hector had begun to cry out when he saw how high the water was.

“It won’t wash us away yet, never fear,” exclaimed Harry, dragging him along. It was almost up to their knees, however, before they reached the ladder.

“You go up first,” said Harry. “Be quick about it; I’ll follow.”

Hector began to climb the ladder much slower than Harry liked, for as he looked round he saw a huge wave, far wider, though not so high as that which first appeared, roaring and leaping as it came down the river. Trees and fences, which had hitherto withstood the flood, gave way before it.

“Quick, quick,” cried Harry, shoving Hector up, “it will be upon us in a few seconds, and may carry the ladder away.”

On it came, surging up against the walls of the house. Reggy caught hold of Hector’s hand and handed him up on the branch.

“We must get higher up than this,” he shouted; “look there! look there!”

Harry again turned round. The house seemed literally to melt away before the flood. The water rose around it, and then, as the wave rushed on, the fragments of the walls and roof were seen floating on mixed with articles of furniture, chairs, tables, and bedsteads. Now the wave surged against the tree. Harry had just time to spring on to the branch, and to secure the ladder by a rope when the lower end was lifted, and it would have been carried away by the flood had it not thus fortunately been secured. The lads watched the various articles as they floated by, hopelessly lost, for in a few minutes they would be driven by the current against the trunks of trees, or the rocks, and would be dashed to pieces.

By climbing out to the end of a branch Harry was able to see where his father and uncle were standing, and to make a signal to them that he and his cousins were safe. This must greatly have relieved the mind of the captain and his brother, though they probably still considered the lads in greater danger than they themselves were inclined to believe that they were.

Several trees had been uprooted and carried along by the torrent, and theirs might share the same fate. Harry returned again to the end of the branch, and found that his father and uncle had gone away to look after the party on the hill.

Harry now proposed that they should get higher up, for the water had already risen several feet above the ground, and might in a short time be up to the branch in which they sat. Higher and higher they got.

“When is it going to stop?” cried Reggy. “Harry, do you think this is such a flood as that which drowned all mankind except Noah’s family?”

“I’m very sure it is not,” answered Harry. “God promised never to send such another, and put His bow in the clouds as a token. I have heard of many such floods in this country, though this, to be sure, is higher than any we have known, and I cannot account for it; but I have not the slightest doubt that it will stop before long, though no doubt it will have done a great deal of damage. That cannot be helped. It might have come on at night, and we might all have been washed away before we knew where we were, or fifty other things might have happened. We have reason to be thankful, as matters might have been worse.”

“I don’t see how that could be,” cried Hector. “To have to take refuge in a tall tree, cut off from all help, without anything to eat or drink, is as bad as one can well conceive.”

“Come, come, don’t grumble; it never makes a person happy, though it is said there are some fellows who are never happy unless they are grumbling, but I don’t believe that.”

“But if the flood does not subside before night, where are we to sleep?” asked Hector.

“Why, up in the boughs, like birds or ’possums, to be sure,” answered Harry. “By-the-bye, we may find a ’possum, and he may serve us for supper.”

“But how can we get a fire to cook him?” inquired Reggy with a slight suspicion that Harry was quizzing his brother.

“Oh, as to that, we must eat him raw; but many a sailor, wrecked on a desert island, has had to live on worse fare,” said Harry.

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish we had never come out to this horrible country. We shall be starved, to a certainty,” moaned Hector; “I’m desperately hungry already.”

“Are you? Poor fellow! then you will have to come to ’possum, or have to eat a tree-lizard, or our friend the laughing jackass, or her eggs, if she happen to have a nest in this tree. We must set off on a voyage of discovery directly.”

“I wonder you can joke, placed in so fearful a position as we are,” said Hector, in an angry tone.

“What would be the use of moaning and sighing, I should like to know?” asked Harry. “I always like to make the best of things. The flood won’t last for ever. It is sure to go down in two or three days or a week at the most, and in the meantime we must make ourselves comfortable where we are.”

“Comfortable, indeed! up a fig-tree with nothing to eat,” groaned Hector.

“Well, well, old fellow, things are not so bad as that. Here’s a bit of damper to stay your appetite until we can catch a ’possum or a laughing jackass for dinner;” and Harry produced one of the dampers which he had stowed away in his pocket.

This somewhat consoled Hector, who had hitherto declared that he could never touch such doughy stuff, although he ate his share eagerly, as did Reggy his.

“It may be a satisfaction for you to know that I have got some more,” said Harry; “but it won’t do to eat them all up at once; we must put ourselves on an allowance, or we may have to starve at last. Now let us see how things are getting along.”

Harry looked out from the leafy covert in which the three lads had ensconced themselves high up among the forks of the huge tree. The flood was still surging on, setting towards the south-east, and spreading farther and farther over the country. He was grieved to see a number of bullocks floating by, showing that the flood must be sweeping over some of the pastures, and have carried them off before they could be driven on to the higher ground. They were in all probability his father’s. Their loss must inevitably be very heavy. Their house and the greater part of their furniture was gone. How many heads of cattle he could not calculate. Other settlers farther down must have suffered in the same degree, perhaps in a still greater.

“We ought to be thankful that the lives of all the family have been saved, and three drays full of property. If father hadn’t been wide awake, they would have been lost too,” said Harry. At last he caught sight of some pigs feeding on the shore. “Well, those fellows have saved themselves, at all events, and I see some hens, too, in those trees; well, matters might be worse, we must acknowledge that.”

Reggy agreed with him, but nothing would comfort Hector; his only remark was that—“It is a horrible, detestable country; if I can once get out of it I won’t come back in a hurry.”

“Three little blackbirds sat in a tree—Singing, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, fiddle-de-dee,” sang Harry. “Now I vote we make a nest for ourselves; as to the water sinking low enough to allow our getting on shore to-night, that’s out of the question. Come, Reggy, help me up with the ladder, we must not let that go; we may find it useful in getting down some day or other, and the rope will help to make our nest.”

They hauled up the ladder and placed it horizontally across the boughs.

“Stay,” cried Harry, “if we get it up into this fork it will serve as a back to our sleeping-place, and the rope passed two or three times backwards and forwards will secure the sides.” Harry had his axe in his belt. “We must cut some boughs to raise the sides, lest we should stray in our sleep and tumble overboard.”

By creeping along one of the boughs they were able to reach some small branches suited to their purpose. These were secured by means of some of the fine vines which hung about the boughs. Harry and Reggy declared the nest they had formed was perfect.

“I vote we have an annual feast here in commemoration of this flood,” said Harry, “and we will invite our friends to join us.”

“It will hold all who come,” growled Hector. “I would rather try to forget so disagreeable an event.”

“There are some fellows who are never satisfied,” said Harry, looking away from Hector.

Harry did his best to keep up his cousins’ spirits and his own by talking away. Their conversation was interrupted by feeling some heavy body strike the tree, and looking down they saw a bullock, which had come down the torrent, driven against some of the lower branches, on which the poor animal was endeavouring to find a foot-hold; it succeeded, and remained fixed in the boughs. Its struggles soon ceased, and it was pretty clear that, overcome by its exertions, it was dead, for its head hung over the boughs into the water.

“No fear of starving,” said Harry; “we may have as much beef-steak as we like.”

“Thank you! I’d rather not eat such horrid stuff,” said Hector.

“As you please,” answered Harry. “The time may come when you will change your tone.”

Night was approaching, the water was evidently rising less rapidly than before, still it was spreading over the country. Here and there hillocks and knolls appeared like islands in the midst of the sea.

“I wish that we had brought a gun with us; we could have made a signal to our friends that we are all safe. My fear is that they will be anxious about us.” Harry did not for a moment think about himself. “Well, old fellows, it’s time to turn in.”

After they had finished their frugal supper of damper and sweet potatoes they arranged themselves for the night.

“Don’t take to walking in your sleep, Hector, and you’ll be all right,” said Harry.

“But what if the tree should give way! I’m certain I felt it shake,” groaned Hector.

“Cling to the boughs like grim death,” answered Harry; “it won’t sink, and we shall be floated to shore somehow or other.”

Chapter Twelve.

Awakened by their Friend the Laughing Jackass—Another Day up the Tree—The Flood subsides—Return to Dry Land—Find the Family encamped—Paul returns.

The darkness of the night contributed to make the position of the three lads even more trying than it had been during the day. Notwithstanding Harry’s assertions, even Reggy could not help fearing that the tree might be carried away. The roar of the waters did not for a moment cease, while the wind howled through the branches, and the occasional lowing of some heifers more fortunate than their companions, and who had landed on some island knoll, reached their ears. The stout tree, however, held firm, and after some hours’ anxious watching they all dropped off to sleep. They were awakened by a loud cheerful cachination close above their heads, and on looking up, what should they see but their friend the laughing jackass, looking very much surprised to find them in such near proximity to its mate’s nest.

“Much obliged to you, old fellow,” said Harry to the bird, which nodded its head in response, and laughed again as if he were going to split his sides.

“That’s a good sign,” observed Harry; “there’s no storm coming, or he would not be so merry. It’s my belief that we shall find the water has dropped considerably.”

Harry was right, for on looking down they saw the unfortunate bullock hanging in the branches considerably above the surface, while the force of the current was evidently much lessened. The water, indeed, at the first glance seemed to be sinking into the earth, but, watching more narrowly, they could detect currents running from all quarters into the main stream, which still went hissing and foaming on as before.

They all felt very thirsty, but none of them were inclined to drink the muddy liquid which flowed by them. At last they could hold out no longer, and Harry, unreeving the rope, descended to the water and brought up a hatful. It did not look nearly as yellow as they had expected, and they were thankful to quench their thirst. The day wore on.

“If no further flood comes down, I really believe that we may be able to get on shore to-night,” said Harry.

“I hope so, indeed,” moaned Hector; “to have to sleep again up among the boughs would be terrible; my back aches fearfully.”

Harry proved to be mistaken, for when darkness returned the water was still too deep to allow of their making their way to the hill where they hoped to find their family, especially as they could not tell what channels and holes might have been formed by the torrent. They had still enough damper and sweet potato to last them for another meal.

They were again awakened by that irrepressible fellow, the laughing jackass, at early dawn, and on looking out from their leafy bower they found that the ground beneath their feet was dry.

“Now let us get down and make the best of our way to the hill, to let our fathers and mothers know we are safe,” he exclaimed. They soon reached the ground. To walk over it, however, was not very easy, as it was thickly covered with slime. Not a vestige of the house remained, nor a fence of any sort. The whole land had been reduced to a perfect wilderness.

“It is ours still, however,” observed Harry, “and will probably prove twice as fruitful as it was before, and won’t require manuring for years to come. I dare say father will think of that, and it will be some consolation to him. Now, let’s move on.”

This was more easily said than done. They attempted to walk steadily, but, instead, went slipping and sliding about, and in some places they could with difficulty make progress. They had not gone far when they caught sight of Mr Hayward. He expressed his delight at seeing them.

“We have indeed been anxious about you, though the captain was satisfied that you were safe,” exclaimed their tutor.

On getting off the ground which had been covered with water, the boys hurried on, and soon reached the hill, on the side of which, under a grove of acacia-trees, they found the family encamped. The tent which had been stowed at the station had been put up for the accommodation of the ladies, while the rest of the party slept either in or under the drays. They had not in reality suffered much hardship, as they were as well off as they would have been in making a journey, with the exception of want of bread.

Mrs Hugh and her daughters were making the best of everything, though it was sad for them to contemplate the fruitful spot amid which their house had stood, now a slimy wilderness.

“Any news of Paul?” asked Harry.

Captain Berrington shook his head. “I am thankful I had not started from home when this occurred; but I must now try and learn what has become of him,” he answered. “Should he have escaped all other dangers, he may have been caught by this flood; and I am indeed very, very anxious.”

Harry told Mr Hayward what his father had said.

“I am ready to start this instant, either alone or with any one whom your father will allow to accompany me,” he said.

“I’ll go!” cried Harry.

“You may be wanted; there is work to do for all hands, though perhaps I can best be spared,” answered Mr Hayward.

Thinking that Bendigo might be useful in learning from any blacks they might meet if Paul’s drays had been seen, he asked whether he would go.

Bendigo replied that he was quite ready. Harry, also, to his great satisfaction got leave to accompany his tutor.

As the horses were quite fresh, and the saddles had been saved, they agreed to start immediately; though they would have to trust to their guns for provisions, except when they could fall in with any sheep-stations, where beef and mutton could be procured.

Everywhere as they rode along were signs of the destruction caused by the flood.

“It must be a lesson to us and others not to build near one of these rivers, liable to such inundations,” said Mr Hayward. “Had not your father possessed cattle and sheep, he would have been ruined; as it is, he has suffered severe loss. But how admirably does he and your mother bear it, as they do the prolonged absence of Paul. It raises them more than ever in my estimation. I hope we shall be fortunate in finding a satisfactory spot for a new location, as he will not be again tempted to build in his old one. I believe if Paul is restored to them safe, they will look upon their losses as trifles.”

This conversation occurred on the second day of their journey. They had just mounted a slight ridge, and before them spread out a wide extent of level land.

“I think I see something very like a dray, with two horsemen near it,” said Harry.

Mr Hayward could not make out the objects which his young companion’s sharp eyes had detected; still they both instinctively increased their speed.

“I’m sure it is a dray, with a man on horseback. The dray is very like ours, and the rider like Paul. Hurrah!” cried Harry, and putting spurs to his horse he dashed forward.

Mr Hayward followed, although not quite as fast, and saw Harry shaking hands with the stranger; and even he was soon convinced that the first of the two was Paul.

After the first greetings were over, and they were once more moving towards Stratton, Paul described how he had been attacked by bush-rangers, whom he had beaten off, and his narrow escape from the flood.

Paul, as may be supposed, was received with joyful welcome by the family.

The first thing to be done was to build a house for the ladies, where they might be secure should another inundation occur. The captain, however, was of opinion that that was not at all likely, as the late one was higher than had ever been known to take place by the oldest colonists. Towards the proposed work all hands devoted the whole of their energies; and hewing, sawing, and carrying of timber went on from morning until night.

In little more than a week, a tolerably substantial house of a size sufficient to hold the ladies of the family was put up, but some days more were required to manufacture bedsteads, chairs, tables, and other articles of furniture. However, within a fortnight the family were once more settled, and a stranger visiting them would not have supposed how a short time before they had been houseless.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Exploring Expedition sets out—Passage over the Mountains—Precaution against the Natives—Witness a Corrobberee—Escape from the Blacks—The Parties separate.

The captain was anxious to commence, without a moment’s delay, his proposed exploring expedition. He intended to form two parties, so as to inspect a large tract of country in a short time.

Naturally, his brother would have taken one, and he the other; but Mr Berrington was so little accustomed to bush-life, that the captain persuaded him to remain at home, and to let Mr Hayward lead the other party.

Hector, who had no great liking for Mr Hayward, begged that he might accompany his uncle.

Sandy would have liked to follow his master, but his duties kept him at home.

“Mr Berrington is a verra gude gentleman, but he kens little about farm-work as yet, and I canna trust him,” he observed.

The captain took the most trustworthy of the men, thus making up his party to four. Paul, Harry, and Reggy accompanied Mr Hayward, and with the addition of Bendigo, who was likely to prove very useful, their party was complete.

They were all well mounted, Paul having Old Bolter to ride. Their equipment was simple in the extreme. They each carried their rifles and pistols, with a good supply of ammunition, small shot and bullets, axes and long knives, a blanket to sleep in at night, and a tin pannikin; while between them they had a kettle for boiling water, a camp oven, two large canvas water-bags, a store of tea, salt and pepper, some flour in a bag, with a thick piece of canvas for kneading it, while sugar and all other luxuries were dispensed with.

Their dresses were red shirts, thick duck trousers, broad-brimmed hats, blucher boots, and leggings, with a strap round the waist to hold the axe and pouch containing matches, knife, and other small articles. Their course was to be towards the west and north-west. The first four or five days they were to travel together, after this they were to separate, the captain keeping a little to the northward of west and then circling round to the southward; and Mr Hayward travelling to the southward of west and circling round to the northward; and then to return towards the spot from whence they had started. They would thus explore a wide extent of country, and would, they hoped, find a suitable spot for forming a fresh location.

The boys were in high spirits, forgetting all their previous troubles. The expedition they were undertaking was exactly what they had often talked about doing alone, without any grown-up person. However, Mr Hayward always made himself so completely one of them that they were glad of his society.

The country they passed over during the first two days they were well acquainted with, and they met with no adventures. The first night they stopped at a hut on their most remote out-station. Beyond this they reached a lofty range, on the opposite side of which their explorations were to commence. As it rose in the distance it appeared to be no formidable barrier, but as they got near, lofty cliffs or precipices, and steep slopes covered with brushwood, seemed to rise out of the plain, such as must present an almost insuperable obstacle to the progress of the horses. Hector declared that no human being could surmount them.

“We must get up somehow or other, and with our horses too,” answered Captain Berrington, laughing.

In a short time they found a dry channel down which a torrent had made its way, and by this they proceeded, still keeping in their saddles. At length, however, they had to dismount to climb a steep slope among rocks and trees. Now they turned to the right, now to the left, now they had to descend a shoulder of the mountain, now to ascend again, the captain carefully marking the way by barking the trees, or, where there were no trees, by piling up fragments of rocks.

The eastern was fortunately the worst side of the range. The descent on the west side down a moderate slope brought them into an undulating park-like plain, covered with grass sprinkled over with the ever-present blue and white gum-trees, while just before them appeared an open patch of green plain, offering a tempting feed to cattle.

Smoke ascending from two or three shepherds’ huts in the distance showed that this part of the country was already occupied. They had, therefore, to proceed until they could reach an unclaimed district. The last night the party were together they camped in a wood on the borders of a river in which, though its course was dry, there were several water-holes within half a mile of each other.

As they had ridden on all day without water for the horses they halted early. The captain, however, would not allow a fire to be lighted until nightfall, lest its smoke might attract the attention of the blacks, who, although they might not venture to attack them, would watch their future movements, and perhaps, if unfriendly, cause them some annoyance.

At night there would be less risk of a fire being seen, unless by any one coming close up to the camp, providing the flames were not allowed to ascend to any great height. The horses, as usual, were hobbled near, and they were sure not to stray away from the good grass and water.

As usual, the captain and Paul, who were the best shots of the party, took their guns to provide supper and breakfast, no difficult task, as parrots, pigeons, and other birds abounded. They brought back an ample supply, with the addition of a wallaby and a bandicoot. The larger portion of the latter animals would serve as a supper for the dogs. The boys had taken off the edge of their appetites with some cold damper, which they had brought in their pouches, and some wild fruit they had met with, but were very glad when the captain allowed them at last to light the pile of sticks they had collected, to put on the kettle, and to begin roasting the game. Harry and Reggy undertook to make some fresh dampers, Paul to attend to the camp oven, while Hector was set to turn the spits. The rest of the party were clearing the ground round the fire, bringing water, looking after the horses, and putting up some slabs of bark to serve as a shelter for the night. All hands were “as busy as bees,” as Harry remarked.

Supper over—the last they expected to take together for some weeks—most of the party prepared for rest. The fire was allowed to smoulder, but no fresh sticks were put on, and they believed that even should any natives be in the neighbourhood they would not have discovered the camp.

Harry proposed, before turning in, taking a bath in another water-hole, a short distance down the bed of the river, as they did not quite like the idea of bathing in the one from which they were to fill their kettle and water-bottles the next morning. The sun had only just disappeared, though darkness was rapidly coming on. However, there was the moon which would enable them to see their way. They could not possibly lose it by returning along the bank of the river; but as the scrub was tolerably open and the ground hard, they settled to make their way through it instead of trudging over the soft sand in the bed of the stream.

They had got near the water-hole when they saw a number of small lights moving among the trunks of the trees, now appearing, now disappearing.

“Why, those must be fire-flies,” cried Reggy.

“They are far too red and bright for that,” whispered Paul; “don’t speak above your breath. The lights come from the fire-sticks carried by natives, they always move about with them by night, and they are gathering round the water-hole. See! there are others coming from an opposite direction, they are either going to have a corrobberee or a fight, perhaps both; we must take care not to be discovered. They are so intent on what they are about, however, that they are not likely to observe us.”

“I should like to see what they are going to do,” said Reggy. “We need not retreat, I suppose?”

“Oh, no! let us stop,” said Harry. “They will not find us out if we keep quiet.”

“We had better be off,” remarked Hector, somewhat alarmed; “they may knock us all on the head.”

“No, no,” replied Harry, “we have our arms, and we are not going to run away from a few blacks; I vote we stay and see what is going forward.”

Paul consented, though he felt it would be more prudent to return to the camp and warn their friends of the neighbourhood of the natives.

Concealed by some low bushes they remained where they were, and could see all that was going forward. Suddenly all was dark, but the sound of the natives’ voices showed that they were still near where they had first been seen. Presently bright flames burst up from the ground—a fire had been lighted, but no one could be seen.

“They are between us and the fire,” whispered Paul.

“I hope they are not coming this way,” said Hector.

“No fear of that,” answered Harry.

A minute elapsed, when Hector uttered an exclamation in a voice so loud that it was a wonder it did not betray them.

“Oh, look there! look there! what can those horrid things be?”

As he spoke, at the opposite side of the fire there appeared what looked exactly like a band of dancing skeletons leaping and twisting in the most grotesque fashion. At the same time wild shrieks, cries, and shouts rose from a hundred voices, intended to represent singing, accompanied by the rattling of musical instruments, and the slapping of their parchment-like skins by the older natives rose in the night air. Now all the legs on one side would go up, now those on the other, now the arms would be thrown above the grinning skulls, now they would be placed akimbo, now they would sink close to the ground with bended knees, now spring up into the air. Indeed, they assumed in succession every possible attitude, all moving together as if pulled by one string. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished from sight.

Reggy was on the point of crying out when Paul put his hand on his mouth.

“Can those be real skeletons?” inquired Hector.

“Oh, dear, no!” whispered Paul; “they are merely blacks who have painted their bodies in that curious fashion. They are holding one of their corrobberees. They will keep it up all night, and little rest we shall get while they are howling and shrieking in this fashion.”

The boys, however, remained some time watching the strange, weird scene. It would be difficult to describe the various antics performed by the savages. So amused were the lads that they forgot how time passed; but Paul at length suggested that they should find their way back. It was no easy matter to do so through the thick wood, although they were assisted in steering their course by the noise behind them. At last they reached the bank of the river, when they were able to make better progress. They found the captain and the rest of the party very anxious about them. The noise of the natives had reached the camp, and it was feared that they might have fallen into their hands. Bendigo advised that they should start before daybreak.

“Black fellow sleep then; no come after us,” he said.

The captain resolved to follow Bendigo’s advice, but not to separate until they had proceeded some little way farther westward; so that the blacks, when they should discover their trail, would be influenced by the number of persons forming the party, and not venture to follow them.

A strict watch was, of course, kept during the night. Paul, his brother, and cousins, notwithstanding the noise, slept like tops. At the hour proposed the horses were caught and the party mounted.

The explorers crossed the bed of the river some way to the north, at a distance from the blacks’ camp, and, as the ground was level, were able to make good progress. At noon they stopped at a water-hole, which, though very muddy, enabled them to give a draught to their horses; but, unless it could be filtered, they felt no inclination to drink it themselves, their water-bottles being full. A fire was lighted, and some pigeons and other birds shot and cooked.

The two parties now separated, the captain pointing out the course Mr Hayward was to take, while he struck more to the northward. What adventures might they not encounter before they again met!

Chapter Fourteen.

Stop at a Shepherd’s Hut—Sufferings from want of Water—Mr Hayward taken ill—Return to the Hut—The young Explorers proceed alone.

The captain’s party was soon lost sight of. The boys rode on in high spirits. In spite of the heat the air felt pure and bracing. The scenery for miles, however, was unvarying—everywhere the same gigantic gum-trees were to be seen; but vast as were their limbs, they afforded but little shade. Some were scathed and leafless, from others hung in tatters long strips of bark, giving them a peculiar, ragged appearance. In the evening they reached the hut of a shepherd. On account of the blacks there were two hut-keepers, sturdy fellows, well-armed. They said that further west there were no other white men, and as they themselves had never been more than a few miles from their hut in that direction they knew nothing of the country, but that there was a water-hole at the extreme limit of the station in the direction the explorers were proceeding. It was full, the shepherd said, when he was last there, but he could give them no other information. He and his mate would be very happy to accommodate them for the night; but Mr Hayward, after surveying the interior of the hut, replied that he and his party would not incommode them, but would be content to sleep round their own camp fire, under a neighbouring tree. Tea, damper, and mutton were, however, plentifully supplied by their hosts.

Roused next morning by a laughing jackass, who had conveniently perched himself on a bough overhead, they took breakfast in the hut with the shepherd, and set off at the time he drove out his flock to pasture.

“I am very much afraid we shall be disappointed after all,” said Paul, as they approached the water-hole.

“Why?” asked Reggy.

“Because I see no cockatoos, laughing jackasses, or other birds flying about. If there were water they would be there.”

Paul’s fears were realised—there was not a drop of water in the hole.

“Patience,” cried Paul; “we shall probably fall in with another before night.”

The poor horses, however, suffered more than their riders, as they had still some water in their canvas bottles. They rested for a time in the shade under the trees round the water-hole, and then again rode on. They were now in a perfectly new country. They kept their eyes about them on every side to discover such a region as they were in search of. They passed through a country which might have suited their purpose, but there was a great drawback—the want of water. That was absolutely necessary for either a sheep or cattle station. They rode on and on, their horses began to droop their heads; all that could be done was to moisten the poor animals’ lips with a little water from the bottles.

“What would I not give for a large, juicy water-melon?” exclaimed Harry.

“Don’t talk about such a thing,” said Reggy; “still I shouldn’t mind a few bunches of grapes.”

“They are sour enough now,” observed Paul; “but cheer up, the trees look thicker, and we shall come on water soon, or I am very much mistaken.”

Mr Hayward had spoken but little during the day. The boys observed that he was not in his usual spirits; though he did not complain, he was evidently ill. As the day advanced he grew worse, and Paul would have proposed stopping had they found water, but it would be out of the question to camp without it. Bendigo had never been in this part of the country, as he belonged to a tribe which inhabited a region to the east, until the white man came and drove them farther into the interior. The signs of water, however, should there be any in the neighbourhood, were not likely to escape his observation. He frequently stood up in his stirrups to look about him, but each time shook his head, observing, “No water here.”

For several hours the poor horses had not tasted a drop, while they themselves had had barely sufficient to wet their lips. They were more likely to find it by going straight on than by turning either to the right hand or to the left. So on they went.

The day was drawing to a close, not a sign of water appeared, when suddenly Bendigo shouted, “Dare, dare!” and pointed to some trees which could be just seen in the horizon.

They pushed on, but on reaching the trees, the hollow in which water once had been was dry. A chorus of groans escaped the explorers. “On, on!” cried Paul.

“We must not despair, we can hold out a few hours longer.”

The moon got up, and, relieved from the heat of the sun, the explorers were better able to endure the want of water. Mile after mile they went on, their weary horses, however, moving but slowly. At length Paul cried out, “My beast seems to fancy that water is near; I feel him tugging at the rein.”

“So does mine,” said Harry.

Bruce gave a bark, signifying his satisfaction, and dashed on. A silver spot appeared ahead, lighted by the beams of the moon, which had now risen high in the sky. The horses galloped on, Bruce dashed forward, Mr Hayward seemed to revive. They reached a large water-hole! It was necessary to keep back the horses, however, lest they should rush in and stir up the mud. Paul and Harry dismounted, and while Bendigo took charge of their horses, they, unstrapping their pannikins, hurried down the bank. It was no easy matter to fill them, as they had to go down the bank, and then to wade through the mud to get to the water, which looked so bright at a distance.

“Take care that there are no leeches,” said Mr Hayward.

Paul had a piece of linen through which he strained the water from one pannikin to another, then handed it to Harry, who carried it to their tutor before he would touch any himself. Reggy was next served, then Harry, and Paul drank last. How delicious the liquid tasted.

“I could drink a dozen pannikins full,” said Harry, as he drained off a second.

“So could I—two dozen, for that matter,” said Reggy.

Paul had, therefore, no sinecure in filling the pannikins. Bruce had in the meantime quenched his thirst.

At last, as Harry said, “having taken off the edge of their thirst,” Bendigo and the horses might now drink. The steeds were then hobbled, and preparations made for camping.

Bendigo said that he did not think any black fellows were in the neighbourhood, as he could discover no traces of them near the edges of the water-hole. None of the rest of the party could have pronounced an opinion on the subject.

The moon shone brightly over the ground, the fire was lighted, and damper and tea quickly made, while some birds which they had shot in the morning, and had been carried hung to their saddles, were speedily cooked.

During the night Mr Hayward grew so much worse that Paul thought he was going to die. To advance, with the risk of not finding water the next day, would be madness. Paul suggested that they should go back to the hut, and leave him with the shepherd, while they went forward to meet the captain, who would otherwise become alarmed at not seeing them.

Mr Hayward agreed to this, though he expressed a hope that he might sufficiently recover to be able to accompanying them. “We will wait here a day, however, and see how I am. After a short rest I may be strong enough to go forward.”

During the day Paul and Harry shot several birds and pigeons, three ducks and a couple of wallabies. While Reginald sat by Mr Hayward, Bendigo wandered about in search of fruits and roots, which none but a black would have discovered. When well boiled the latter served instead of potatoes, while the wild fruits were very refreshing. They had thus an abundant and varied fare.

Mr Hayward did not appear to get better. They had come away without medicines, no one dreaming of being ill; still Paul hoped that their tutor would be sufficiently recovered to continue the journey the following morning: but when the time came, it was evident that he was not in a fit state to run the risk of having no good water to drink. They determined therefore to go back together, though two days would thus be lost. By starting at sunrise they made good progress during the cooler hours. Having filled their water-bottles they had enough to last them during the day, and to wet the lips of the horses and Bruce.

It was not until nightfall that they got back to the shepherd’s hut. The men promised to take every possible care of Mr Hayward, who, though not much worse, was certainly not better. He assured his young companions that he should recover in the course of a few days. “At all events, do not fail to come and look for me on your return,” he said, smiling. “I should not like to be left here longer than is necessary.”

They remained only during the night, and again starting before the sun rose they reached the water-hole where they had before camped by nightfall.

It was satisfactory to find no traces of blacks. Bendigo now assumed a great air of importance. Paul and Harry agreed that he fancied himself the leader of the party. “Let him do so,” said Paul, “it may make him more careful. He will consider himself responsible should we meet with any misfortune.”

Travelling through a new country, hitherto untrod by the foot of a white man, is no doubt very interesting in theory, but it becomes dreadfully wearisome in practice. To go on hour after hour with huge gum-trees on every side, the only change being the sight of a kangaroo, a wallaby, a bandicoot, or a jolly little paddy-melon hopping away.

Chapter Fifteen.

The Explorers run short of Powder—Scanty Fare—Camped at Night—Continue Journey—Bendigo obtains Honey.

Two days had passed away; the young explorers made good progress. They now discovered, what caused them some anxiety, that they were running short of ammunition. Without it they would have a difficulty in obtaining food, although Bendigo and Bruce might help them. It was absolutely necessary to retain sufficient powder to protect themselves should they encounter any hostile blacks. Paul insisted that they should not fire another shot, except to kill a kangaroo or emu; at the same time, he did not wish to confess to Bendigo the small amount of ammunition they possessed. They had thus been for some time on short commons, and were beginning to feel the effects of scanty fare. Bendigo trapped several creatures, now and then catching a ’possum in its hole, or an iguana. Occasionally he found eggs where they themselves would not have discovered them. Had they been able to preserve the animals they caught they might have subsisted very well; but after a few hours, even though the meat was cooked, it became uneatable, and they were obliged to give it to Bendigo or Bruce, who were not so particular.

They had been very unsuccessful all day, and had made a long march, when they encamped somewhat earlier than usual near a water-hole. They were fully aware of the risk they ran when selecting such a spot of a visit from the blacks; but they hoped, by keeping a good watch, not to be surprised by them. They knew that their chief danger would arise should they not be prepared; for when the natives see white men on their guard, they will seldom venture to attack them. The fire had been lighted, but, excepting a ’possum and a few small eggs, and a little damper, they had nothing to eat. They had, however, a good supply of tea, the most welcome of beverages, the only one which can be taken with impunity under all circumstances.

An hour or more after dark was spent in talking over the prospects of their journey. In three or four days more they hoped to meet the captain’s party.

Bendigo and Paul, accompanied by Bruce, having made a circuit of the camp, to be sure that no natives were lurking near, the whole party lay down to rest.

For the first time during their expedition, the following morning they started without breakfast, except a draught of cold water.

“I hope we shall find something during the day,” said Harry. “This sort of work doesn’t tend to keep up a fellow’s spirits, and we shall be inclined to give a less favourable report of the country than it deserves.”

As they rode along they carefully observed the character of the trees and soil over which they were passing. The grass was thicker and greener than they had anywhere seen it. Of course they kept an anxious lookout for game. They caught sight of kangaroos, wallabies, and other small animals in considerable numbers, but were unable to catch them, or even get near enough to shoot one.

Reggy now began to cry out bitterly for food.

“People told us that this land, was one flowing with milk and honey; we have had none of either since we started on this expedition,” he exclaimed.

Just as he said this they observed Bendigo watching something in the air, and, urging on his horse, he started off ahead of them towards a large tree, beyond which they caught sight of the glitter of water. Near it were some trees with wide-spreading boughs, intertwined by numbers of the never-failing vine. Here was just the place they wanted.

Bendigo, knowing that they would camp there, dismounted, and hobbled his horse. They then saw him narrowly examining a tall gum-tree, up to which he had ridden. It must have been a hundred feet in height before any branches were reached.

“If he sees anything up there it will be of little use,” observed Reggy, “for I am sure he will never get it.”

“Stay a minute,” answered Harry; “the black knows what he is about.”

Bendigo, without explaining his object, cut some long vines; he then rapidly plaited, from the grass growing near, a rough basket, which he fastened to his belt. Taking the vines, he now twisted them in the form of a hoop round the tree, leaving sufficient space to admit his own body between the trunk and the hoop; holding the hoop in both hands, he jerked the side furthest from himself upwards. He then cut with his hatchet a notch for his feet, and then gave another jerk, and cut another notch, and thus up he went until he reached the branch.

The boys had never seen their black companion perform this feat before, and felt no little fear that he might slip down. It was wonderful with what rapidity he went up, evidently feeling himself perfectly secure. In a few minutes he returned, having cut a large comb of honey out of a hole high up in the tree, the owners of which were seen hovering about their rifled abode. Having descended, he handed his prize to Paul, who, placing it on a slip of bark, which served as a dish, served it on leaves to his companions, with whom he shared it.

Without waiting to be complimented for his performance, of which he seemed to think nothing, the black again started off, and ascended another tree, towards which his quick eye had detected some bees flying.

The young explorers, who had eaten nothing for some hours, set to with a will, and quickly devoured the first comb, wax and all, being ready for the second, which Bendigo soon brought them. He again came back with a third, which, however, they could not attack, so he ate the greater portion himself, giving the remainder to Bruce, who gobbled it up with evident satisfaction.

“Plenty of food now,” said Bendigo, as he led his companions from tree to tree, some of which were oaks, and others honeysuckles. Wherever there was a hole in the trunk it was occupied by a colony of bees. The insect which makes this honey is exactly like a common house-fly in appearance, the combs being generally small and the wax quite black. The cells into which the comb is divided are two or three times larger than those of the English bee, and are roundish and irregular in shape, but the honey is very good, being sweet, and having besides a slight pleasantly acid taste. As these bees possessed no sting, they could be robbed with impunity of the result of their industry. Since that time English bees have swarmed in prodigious numbers over the country, and now afford ample food to whites and blacks alike.

“While we can get this honey there is no fear of starving,” observed Paul.

Chapter Sixteen.

A Suitable Spot for a Station found—Encamp on a Hill—Blacks discovered to be in the Neighbourhood—Preparations for Defence—Attacked by the Natives—Ammunition exhausted.

The young explorers had been upwards of two days travelling through a splendid country, subsisting chiefly on honey, though they might have revelled in abundance had they ventured to use their guns, when they came in sight of a river of veritable running water, bright and clear. In the distance, moreover, were a range of hills of no great elevation, but rising precipitously apparently out of the plain. Not without some difficulty they found a ford, by which they crossed the river. It ran south for some distance, then circled round in front of the hills, and then again struck off south and east. They galloped forward, eager to ascertain the character of the hills, for much depended on their being precipitous or not. Paul surveyed the country with a delighted eye.

“If cattle cannot get over these hills, we have found such a situation as we might look for over hundreds of miles and not find,” he exclaimed; “they form a fence along one side and a half of the run, and the river, which appears to be impassable, except in a few places, will serve for another side and a half, or more, so that there will be but one outlet for cattle.”

“Excellent!” cried Harry. “Father will be as pleased as you are, if it turns out as we hope.”

As they approached the hills they discovered, to their intense satisfaction, that they were as precipitous as they had expected. Cliffs from fifty to a hundred feet extended along the whole length of the range, with here and there dark impassable gullies, having steep sides, up which no cattle could climb. Down them ran streams of various sizes, all concentrating in the river through which they had passed.

“No fear of drought here!” exclaimed Paul. “It is worth all the trouble we have gone through to find it.”

Returning to the river, they rode along, tracing it as far up as the range, which extended a considerable way to the southward, and would serve as a fence to their station. The country on the other side, further to the south, was more thickly wooded, and consequently afforded less pasture. There was a risk, to be sure, that the river might overflow, but they could find no traces of a flood. All would depend on the place where it took its rise; if in the range above them, there was no fear, but if it had a long course on the opposite side of the range, a sudden downpour of rain might swell its waters before they had time to escape through their natural channel. That important point would be ascertained when their father arrived. They had, it should be said, notched the trees as they came along, so that he was not likely to cross their track.

“In case there is a chance of the country being flooded, I think we might build our house on yonder knoll, close under the hill, with the river bending round it,” observed Paul; “it is a beautiful spot, and we should get a fine view from it over the whole district. I vote that we camp there to-night, and set up a flag-staff, so that our father may see it miles off; for I feel sure he will not pass to the west of this range without first examining the country where we now are.”

Paul’s proposal was at once adopted. The trees on the knoll, though growing pretty thickly, were of no great height, and it would be easy to cut a flag-staff long enough to rise above them.

“Old Bolter” was hobbled as usual, and the young explorers, having ascertained that the river was nowhere fordable in the neighbourhood of the knoll, nor up to the point where it came out of the hills, the rest of the horses were turned loose, as there was no fear of their bolting.

As they hoped their journey westward was now terminated, they ventured to shoot as many parrots and pigeons as would serve them for an ample meal. This done, they lighted their fire, leaving Reggy to cook the birds, while Paul, Harry, and Bendigo went down to the scrub on the bank of the river to cut a pine suitable for a flag-staff. The soft wood yielded easily to their axes, and in a few minutes it lay on the ground. To lop off the branches and bark it occupied but a short time, and then, all three placing it on their shoulders, they carried it up the hill.

“But what are we to do for a flag?” asked Reggy.

“We must fasten our handkerchiefs and my spare shirt together. A strong breeze will be required, to be sure, to blow it out; but, depend upon it, our father will guess what it means at any distance,” answered Paul.

The flag was made, and lashed on with some strips of hide taken from the last kangaroo they had shot, as they had no halyards with which to hoist it. The pole was lashed to the trunk of another tree. When it was up, it was seen to tower above all those on the knoll. They enjoyed a better meal than they had had for many a day, and drank success to their new station—for they already considered it their own—in pannikins of tea.

While daylight lasted they kept a lookout for the captain and his party; but their friends did not appear. As far as they could ascertain, no white man had ever before set foot in that region, and very proud they felt at being the discoverers of so fine a country. Below them they could just distinguish their horses feeding quietly, and they felt sure that the animals would not stray far from the camp.

Near the top of the knoll, on the steepest side, just behind their camp, was a huge rock, like an excrescence, although the rest of the elevation was almost smooth. As the glare of their fire fell on it at nightfall, it looked like the ruins of an ancient castle perched on the hillside.

“I vote we call this ‘Castle Hill;’ it will be a good name for our station,” said Harry.

Paul and Reggy tried to find another name, but could not improve on Harry’s suggestion. At length, as they were all pretty well tired with their day’s work, they lay down by the fireside, wrapped in their blankets, Bruce keeping watch.

Two or three times during the night Paul was awakened by hearing the dog utter a low growling bark. On each occasion Bendigo started up, and looked out, but did not like to go far in the dark by himself. Paul asked him if he thought any one was near.

“Me see in morning,” was the only answer he could obtain; and the black crouched down again, as if going to sleep.

Paul, confident that Bruce—who was evidently on the alert—would arouse him should danger be near, again fell asleep. He did not awake Harry and Reggy, who slept on, notwithstanding Bruce’s barking and his conversation with Bendigo. The black roused up Paul at daybreak.

“Stay here; me go look round. Black fellows near, I tinkee.”

Harry and Reggy soon got up, and shook themselves—the only dressing operation they had to perform.

“I vote we go down and have a bathe,” exclaimed Harry.

“You had better not,” said Paul. “Bendigo suspects that natives have been near us during the night; and I believe that such was the cause of Bruce’s barking. We must look to our arms, at all events, in case they should prove unfriendly. Not to lose time, let us light the fire and cook breakfast.”

They all, accordingly set about doing so. As the light increased, Paul climbed to the rock which has been spoken of, to look out for the horses; for he naturally feared that, if the blacks had been in the neighbourhood, they might have driven them away or speared them.

As he cast his eye over the plain he could nowhere see the animals. They might, of course, have got round to the other side of the knoll, but still their non-appearance made him anxious. A shout from Harry, announcing breakfast, called him back to the camp. Bendigo had not yet returned. It was not necessary to wait for him. The young explorers made a hearty meal—Bruce coming in for his share—to prepare them for the work to be done, whatever that might be.

They had just finished breakfast, having laid aside a share for the black, when he was seen coming up the hill, stealing among the bushes. He shook his head, as he sat down and gobbled up his breakfast.

“Black fellows here—no good—come again; horses gone too,” and he pointed to the north-east, the only outlet to the region, except by a ford over the river.

“We must go after the horses at once, then,” exclaimed Harry.

“No, I certainly would not,” answered Paul; “our best plan will be to remain where we are until we can learn what the blacks are about. Should they attack us, we could not have a better place for defence than the one we occupy. If we find that they have driven off the horses, we might follow and try to recover them; but if not, I again say we should remain where we are.”

Reggy thought Paul’s plan the best, and Harry soon saw its wisdom. Bendigo also approved of it, and said that he would set out again and try to discover the whereabouts of the black fellows.

“There appear to be a good many birds on the knoll. We shall probably find some ’possums and other animals, so that we shall not want for food if we can catch them; but we must not throw a shot away,” observed Paul. “We shall want our powder to keep the blacks in check.”

Bendigo told them not to be anxious about food, as he could obtain as much for them as they could require. Having taken a survey round from the top of the rock, he glided down the knoll, keeping among the bushes so as not to be seen by any enemies who might be on the watch.

Although the three lads kept looking round on every side, they could nowhere discover him. Harry suggested that they should fortify their rock with small trees and boughs, which they could easily cut down, and which would keep off the spears of the natives.

“A very good idea,” said Paul; and they all three set to work, trusting to Bruce to give them timely notice should strangers approach. They chose only small trees, which quickly yielded to their axes, and they were thus soon enabled to form a breastwork on the only accessible side of the rock. Although it was not capable of withstanding a determined rush of the enemy, yet as long as their ammunition lasted the blacks were not likely to come to close quarters.

They had made some progress in the work, when Bruce suddenly rushed partly down the hill, uttering a loud bark. The lads instantly sprang behind the breastwork, ready for action; but directly afterwards Bruce came back, wagging his tail, and, almost following him, Bendigo appeared.

“Black fellows all about,” he said, looking approvingly at the fortification, the object of which he at once understood. He told them that they need not expect an attack for some time, though he was certain that the black fellows would surround them should they venture down into the plain on foot.

“But how are we to get back our horses?” asked Reggy; “and if we do not get them back, how are we to return home?”

Bendigo said that he hoped to recover them, as they were not very far off.

“If he does not, we must make up our minds to trudge back on foot. It will be a long journey, but he will not let us want for food,” said Harry.

Bendigo, faithful to his promise, again left them, and soon returned, bringing a ’possum and several combs of honey. He also filled their water-bottles; so that they had sufficient provisions to stand a siege of some hours, at all events. He had gone on a second expedition, when he was seen hurrying back up the hill.

“Black fellows come!” he exclaimed, as he sprang behind the breastwork.

The boys got their rifles ready.

“We must not fire unless the natives show a determination to attack us,” observed Paul; “their blood will then be on their own heads if they do so. We must get Bendigo to tell them that we wish to be at peace; and that if they will bring back our horses we will part on friendly terms.”

Paul explained to Bendigo what he wished. The black laughed, as if he did not consider there would be any use in attempting to come to terms with his countrymen but merely patted his rifle, as though he considered that it contained the best argument they could employ.

They waited for some minutes.

“I don’t think the blacks are coming at all,” said Harry.

“Bruce seems of a different opinion,” answered Paul.

The dog was stretching out his neck, and slowly creeping forward; presently he gave a loud bark, and then bounded back into the fort. At the same instant the side of the hill below them appeared covered with black forms, who kept flitting in and out among the trees, making their way upwards. Bendigo shouted to them, but they only replied with loud and derisive cries and shrieks. They had evidently made up their minds to destroy the white men. Flourishing their spears, they leaped from behind their cover, and came springing up the hill.

“Must not we fire?” asked Harry.

“Wait; they may even yet think better of it,” answered Paul.

A flight of spears came rattling against the breast-work; but, fortunately, from the distance at which they were hurled, they either flew over or fell against their fortification.

In return, the four rifles cracked at the same moment. So well were they aimed, that the same number of their assailants fell, and rolled over down the hill, the rest scampering back, in evident alarm, to seek for the nearest shelter.

The little garrison immediately reloaded. Though so many of the natives had been killed or wounded, they quickly regained their courage; and, having received a lesson, took care as they advanced not to expose themselves. It was some time before Paul again gave the order to fire. His bullet alone struck an enemy; the others glanced off against the trees. They all speedily reloaded, and were ready once more to fire before the blacks threw their spears, which flew against the rock, without wounding any of them, although they all had narrow escapes—Paul’s hat was pierced, a spear grazed Harry’s shoulder, and another flew close to Reggy’s ear. Notwithstanding this, they took good aim, wounding two of the blacks, who—as they had done before—rushed down the hill.

“Reload! quick! quick!” cried Paul.

They all fired at the retreating enemy.

In the excitement of the moment Paul had forgotten the necessity of husbanding their ammunition. On examining their powder, they found that they had not two rounds apiece left.

In spite of the loss of their companions—two, if not three, of whom had been killed outright—the blacks, after a short time, began again to mount the hill. Bendigo, without waiting for orders, fired, being instinctively followed by Harry and Reggy. Not one of the shots, however, took effect; and, with shouts and shrieks, the blacks came on.

Chapter Seventeen.

Their Condition appears desperate—The Captain and his Party to the Rescue—Return to Stratton—The younger Children lost in the Scrub.

“Harry and Reggy, we must sell our lives dearly,” exclaimed Paul, as he prepared for a last desperate struggle with the blacks, who were infuriated at the loss of so many of their companions. The fact that they had not taken to flight showed that they were a fierce and warlike tribe, very different from most of those found in the southern parts of Australia. Harry had climbed to the higher part of the rock to take a look round. “Hurrah!” he cried, “I see some horsemen coming across from the north-east, and driving some horses before them. They must be ours, and the people must be our father’s party.”

Paul and Reggy echoed Harry’s shout. “We must not give in, whatever we do,” said Paul, “we have our pistols loaded, and we must drive back the black fellows with them. Don’t either of you miss your aim. We must not fire until they are close upon us. As soon as they come near enough I’ll give their chief, if they’ve got one, the contents of my rifle, and that will, perhaps, check them.”

Harry had still kept his post at the top of the rock, and taking off his jacket he waved it, pointing to the flag which flew just above them, while he shouted with all his might, forgetting, in the excitement, that the horsemen were too far off to hear him. His action, however, attracted the attention of the blacks, and they, looking round, discovered the horsemen. They immediately halted, and began jabbering away in loud voices. It was evident that they were alarmed at the sight of the strangers.

If three lads and a black had been able to hold them in check for so long a time, what chance would they have when encountered by a party of well-armed men on horseback?

Such, probably, was the tenor of their remarks to each other. Notwithstanding this their chief endeavoured to lead them up the hill, apparently hoping to capture the fort before the arrival of the horsemen. He was flourishing his spear and shouting to his companions to come on, when he got within range of Paul’s rifle.

“It is his own fault,” said Paul, taking aim. His bullet struck the right shoulder of the savage, who went spinning round down the hill, and was soon in the midst of his followers, who now took to flight helter-skelter, and were soon lost to sight among the trees.

Bendigo proposed sallying out and killing some more of them, but Paul ordered him to remain quiet.

“We will hold our position until the white men come up,” he said. “Harry, do you think they are our father’s party?”

“No doubt about it,” answered Harry.

The defenders again raised a loud shout. This time they were heard, and, the captain leading, they were all soon mounting the hill. All that had occurred was briefly told. The captain had observed the beautiful run from the hill, and, fortunately turning back, had descended, and found the only entrance which existed. He had seen the flag in the distance, and guessing by whom it was hoisted, was making his way towards it.

He at once saw the necessity of teaching the blacks a lesson, and the horses he had recovered being saddled, the whole party set off in pursuit. The blacks, however, had got the start of them, and swam the river, having left their wives and children on the other side.

“I trust they have received a lesson they will not easily forget, and that when we come here, as I hope to do, they will not venture to attack us,” said the captain.

Paul and Harry were delighted at hearing that their father had resolved to apply for the run. As no one else was likely to have made a claim for it, there was every probability that it would be granted to him. They were much surprised at the altered appearance and manners of Hector, whose cheek was well browned, and who looked infinitely more manly and fit for work than he had done before. He seemed in good spirits and greatly to have enjoyed the trip. Indeed, as they sat round the camp fire that evening, not a grumble did he mutter.

The captain was, of course, grieved to hear of Mr Hayward’s illness, though he hoped that they should find him perfectly recovered on their return. The next morning Bendigo went out to ascertain whether the blacks had taken their departure, while the captain and his party rode round the proposed run to notch the trees and make other marks for identifying it. The whole day was thus occupied, and on their return Bendigo met them with the satisfactory intelligence that the blacks had gone off to a distance, carrying their dead with them. It was a sign that they did not intend to come back.

The following morning, after a good night’s rest, the whole party commenced their journey homewards. The captain, having been very sparing of his ammunition had sufficient to enable them to obtain food, though, during two or three days they were somewhat hard put to it for water. The hole in which they found the dead cattle contained a sufficient supply for the horses and Bruce, but none of the rest of the party, except Bendigo, felt inclined to taste it.

They found Mr Hayward quite recovered. The shepherds had treated him with all the attention they possibly could. The captain had warned his party not to speak of the new run in the presence of the shepherds, lest they might mention it to their employers, and create some dispute.

Stopping on Sunday to rest, they travelled on for the remainder of the week, performing nearly thirty miles a day, the horses all the time obtaining no other food than the grass they could pick up, and often having to go several hours without water; still they and their riders got back to Stratton in very good condition.

The captain had, without loss of time, to go to Brisbane to obtain legal possession of his new run. As soon as possible after his return, he intended to set out with his flocks, herds, and his family for the site of the new station.

The children, in consequence of the out-door life they led, had got into somewhat erratic ways. Miss Saville had done her best to teach the younger girls, as well as Tommy and Albert, but even they were apt to break loose and to rebel against her authority, as well as that of their elder sisters.

The season of wild fruit had come round, and raspberries were especially plentiful. Rob and Edgar determined that they must go off to the scrub to obtain a supply for preserving, and Tommy and Albert insisted on accompanying them.

“I go too,” said Effie; “if we cannot reach the fruit high up, we can pick that growing near the ground as fast as you can.”

Without asking leave they all set off, having first provided themselves with large baskets which Rob and Edgar had been busy in manufacturing.

They would certainly not have been allowed to go without Betty, but she was watching over little Sybil, who was unwell, and was not aware that they had set out. They went along to the westward on the edge of the scrub which the flood had not reached—indeed, its traces had even disappeared from the surface which it had covered. They were somewhat disappointed at first in not finding fruit in the abundance they had expected, and so they went on and on until they reached a part of the scrub sufficiently open to enable them to penetrate into it. Here Rob and Edgar thought that they could without difficulty procure plenty of fruit. They were soon hard at work picking away with great delight.

“Keep together,” cried Rob, “or we may chance to lose ourselves.”

“No fear,” answered Effie, “we will look where you go.”

Edgar said the same. Rob felt very proud of being the leader of so large a party, but in his eagerness to pick a quantity of fruit, he did not watch over them as carefully as he should have done. On and on they went, Rob making a remark every now and then to those near him. Presently he heard Tommy shriek out, “A snake, a snake!” and throwing down his basket, he ran off towards the more open part of the scrub.

“Come back!” cried Rob. “It is only a paddy-melon, and won’t hurt you or any one else.”

Tommy, however, would not stop.

“Come along, Edgar, and catch the child,” cried Rob, forgetting Effie and Albert, whom he had not seen for some minutes.

It was some time before Tommy could be overtaken.

“You stupid monkey!” cried Rob, when he caught him; “there are no snakes here to do you any harm.”

Tommy, however, was not easily persuaded, and still asserted that he had seen the head of a big snake. At length they got him to come back and pick up his basket.

“Hulloa! Where are Effie and Albert?” asked Rob. “We left them close here, I am sure.”

They looked about in every direction; they shouted, but no answer came.

“This is provoking!” cried Rob. “I expected those children to keep close to us; see how obstinate they are! I’ll make them remember this when we catch them.”

Rob became very anxious when, after hunting about for some time, he could find neither his little sister nor his cousin. How they could have got out of hearing seemed incredible. Rob, though very clever in his own opinion, was in a serious difficulty. While he fancied that he was going west, he had turned east; and thinking that he was just getting out of the scrub, he found himself, to his surprise, close to the river.

His first exclamation was, “Dear me! how could we have got over to the other side?” Then, after due reflection, he recollected that was impossible; he must have gone in an opposite way to what he had supposed.

Darkness came on. Tommy began to cry, and Edgar felt very much inclined to join him. “Poor Albert! poor Effie! Where can they have gone?” They were a long way from home, they knew; but they dreaded going back without their little brother and sister. Indeed, in the dark they would be unable to find their way, for they had no notion of steering themselves by the stars. The fruit, though very fit for making jelly, was full of seeds, and not satisfying; but they had no other food, so at last they sat down and ate enough to allay the cravings of hunger.

The alarm at Stratton became very great when the children did not return. No one knew in what direction they had gone, but the baskets they had made had disappeared; consequently, it was supposed that they had set off on an expedition to pick fruit. At that hour it was impossible to see their trail; even Betty could not do it. However, Mr Hayward, accompanied by the boys and Bruce, at once started in search of the missing children. They made their way along the edge of the scrub, and penetrated into it whenever they could find an opening, cooing at the top of their voices, and shouting loudly, “Rob, Tommy, Effie, Albert! answer! Where are you?”

No answer came.

“I trust that the black fellows have not got hold of them,” said Mr Hayward.

“We must pursue, and get them back,” cried Harry. “Savage as the natives are, they would not dare to injure them.”

Mr Hayward did not reply; he might have known more of the natives than Harry did.

At length, having gone some distance, they heard a faint cooey in reply to theirs.

“Hurrah! That must be Rob’s voice,” exclaimed Harry; “though where it came from I cannot tell. I will cooey again.”

Harry gave another loud cooey; again a distant answer was heard.

“Why, that must be behind us,” said Harry; “it comes from the edge of the scrub.”

They had by this time made their way into the interior. Bruce, on hearing the second cooey, pricked up his ears and bounded forward. They turned back, guided by Rob’s voice, and casting the light of their lanterns about, they at length saw Rob standing up, with Tommy and Edgar lying down near him.

“Oh, I am so thankful you have come!” exclaimed Rob. “Have you found Effie and Albert?”

The question alarmed Mr Hayward and the other boys.

“No; what has become of them?” asked Harry.

“We lost sight of them all of a sudden, and though we hunted about, we have not seen them since; and then we could not find our way home in the dark.”

Mr Hayward saw that there was no use in scolding poor Rob, who was already dreadfully alarmed, and fully conscious that he was to blame for the loss of the two children. Tommy and Edgar, who had dropped off soundly asleep from fatigue, were now awakened.

“I will continue the search for the other children,” said Mr Hayward, turning to the boys; “but the rest had better return with Rob and the little ones. If I do not soon come back with the children, follow in this direction in the morning with Bendigo and Betty, who will assist in tracing them out better than we can. Do not alarm your mothers more than is necessary, and assure them that I have little doubt but that we shall find the truants. I will take Bruce with me.”

“Go, good dog—go!” said Harry, patting him on the head.

Bruce understood his duty, and without hesitation accompanied Mr Hayward; while Harry and Reggy, taking charge of the children, made their way back to Stratton with the rest of the party, the younger ones every now and then sobbing as they thought of their carelessness in losing sight of Effie and Albert.

It is needless to describe the alarm which the disappearance of the two children caused their mothers and sisters. The elder boys were eager to set off again at once, but were persuaded to wait until daylight; when, accompanied by the two blacks, they immediately started off to commence a search for the lost children.

Chapter Eighteen.

The Children recovered—Journey into the Interior—Arrival at Castle Hill—Station established—House attacked by Natives—Conclusion.

Poor Mrs Berrington’s anxiety produced a succession of fainting fits; she therefore required the constant attention of her sister and Mrs Hugh, who was herself much alarmed at the disappearance of the children. As soon as the girls had performed the necessary duties of the morning, they all set out in the direction taken by their brothers, carrying with them a supply of food, as the party, which had started early in the morning, had gone away without breakfast.

It was noon before the girls heard the cooeys uttered by the searching-party, which proved that the children had not yet been discovered.

Hurrying along, they at last came in sight of Reggy, who was at the very edge of the scrub.

“Have you seen anything of them?” asked Mary. “Nothing: nor of Mr Hayward either,” was the unsatisfactory answer.

Poor Mary’s heart sank. She dearly loved little Effie, and his sisters in their way were very fond of Albert; besides, they believed that it would be the death of their mother if he were lost.

Reggy gave notice to the rest of the party, when they were within hail, that the ladies had arrived with some provisions; and although they all declared that they were too anxious to be hungry, they not unwillingly partook of the food the thoughtful girls had brought with them.

Once more they resumed their search; but as hour after hour went by, and neither the children nor Mr Hayward were found, the anxiety of the searching-party became almost unbearable. To abandon the search was not to be thought of. Bendigo and Betty had not hitherto discovered the trail, for in so thick a wood, it was no easy matter, even for them.

At length they shouted out, “We have the trail! we have the trail!” and, like two beagles, off they set, with their noses close to the ground.

The excitement of the party may be supposed. The boys managed to follow as quickly as they could, though their clothes were nearly torn from their backs. The rest of the party remained outside the scrub, keeping up a communication with those within. The day, however, was wearing on, and no sign of the children had yet been seen. The sun’s rays, as he sank towards the west, were glancing almost horizontally through the trees, when a bark was heard. Paul gave a loud cooey. It was answered, and greatly to their joy they saw Mr Hayward coming along with the children in his arms. The blacks had only just before discovered him seated on the ground, and feeding them with some pigeon which he had shot and some wild fruit he had collected.

Mary took Effie in her arms, Paul carried Albert on his shoulders, thus relieving Mr Hayward, who was pretty well worn out. He had gone on all the previous night, and greater part of that morning, keeping up with Bruce, who had been running before him, until he was nearly exhausted. Suddenly Bruce, with a loud bark, bounded forward, and to his great joy he discovered the children, who had evidently cried themselves to sleep. On being awakened by the dog, the first thing they did was to ask for food, which it had taken some time to obtain.

It was late at night before they got back, when they found Captain Berrington, and the anxiety which the news he had received on his arrival had caused was soon brought to an end. He had secured the run, and wished immediately to set out to take possession of it. He expected the drays soon to arrive with the various stores and provisions he had purchased. The elder ladies, Mrs Berrington especially, looked forward with some alarm to this journey; although Mrs Hugh did not express her feelings. Aunt Emily and the girls were, however, in good spirits, and expected to enjoy it.

At last the preparations were completed. Three drays, each drawn by four horses, to carry the ladies and children, were covered over and fitted up internally as comfortably as circumstances would allow. The other drays, laden with stores, were to be drawn by oxen. Reggy and Hector rode on horseback, as they would assist in the arduous task of driving the cattle. The captain, Mr Berrington, and Mr Hayward drove the three drays, while Paul and Sandy—with the assistance of three shepherds and hut-keepers—took charge of the sheep. There were three spare saddle-horses that the young ladies might ride whenever they wished. Thus arranged, they started early in the morning.

When the party moved forward, they had the appearance of a large tribe migrating. The long line of drays, with the herds of cattle, the drove of horses and flocks of sheep, with their numerous attendants, some mounted, others on foot; the oxen lowing, the sheep bleating, the shouts of the drivers, and the stockmen’s whips sounding above all. The huge drays were each dragged by twelve bullocks, the two polers and leaders being steady old stagers, as were those immediately in front of the polers.

Thus they moved forward, resting only on Sunday. The most difficult part of their journey was surmounting the range, when even Mrs Berrington preferred climbing up on foot to remaining in the dray. The bright fresh air, and the necessity of exerting herself, seemed to do her good; and by the time she reached the top, though somewhat fatigued, she appeared a different person, being not a little proud of her performance. Even the warmest admirers of the country, however, had to confess that there was a great sameness in the scenery, and many of the rivers and creeks they crossed had no water in them.

An ample supply of water was carried in the drays for the use of the travellers; but often the horses, cattle, and sheep suffered greatly from having to go a long way before a stream or a water-hole could be reached.

The gentlemen’s guns amply supplied the larder, so that it was necessary only occasionally to kill a sheep, or one of the oxen.

“There’s ‘Castle Hill,’ mother!” cried Harry, riding up to the dray in which Mrs Hugh and some of the girls were seated—pointing as he spoke to the knoll which he and his companions had so bravely defended against the blacks, and which could be seen below the range bounding the plain on the west.

The whole party pushed forward, and by evening were encamped at the foot of the knoll. Every one was delighted with the situation, while they felt sure the climate was superior to that of Stratton, although the soil might not produce the tropical fruits which flourished nearer the coast. No time was lost in preparing the ground on which to build the house. To level this sufficiently for the purpose required two or three days’ hard work, but everybody set to with a will. The house was to face south, overlooking a long stretch of the river, and a boundless plain beyond, with a view of the picturesque hill on the right.

We must not describe the house building, every one being engaged in it, except the men absolutely required to herd the cattle and sheep, and that was comparatively an easy task. Only one outlet required watching, and the animals were not inclined to stray from the rich pasture on which they found themselves. The blacks and dingoes had of course to be looked after; but Bendigo reported that there were none of the former in the neighbourhood, although it was impossible to say at what time they might appear.

The house, when completed, was far larger than Stratton, and easily held the two families; while, according to the captain’s design, wings could be put up on either side for the accommodation of any fresh comers.

Stock-yards and cattle-pens had then to be formed, the latter close to the river, where the sheep, before shearing, could be washed, a very important process.

The station being a large one, the gentlemen were often on horseback from morning until night, going round to the different runs. The huts were put up in various directions for the accommodation of the stockmen and shepherds; in some instances in imitation of Castle Hill, or with small gardens near them, very unusual, it must be owned, in that part of Australia.

On an Australian farm work never ceases, but at certain seasons there is less than at other times, and on these occasions pleasant excursions were made on horseback in various directions by the younger members of the family.

A party had been formed to visit a waterfall farther off than they had yet ridden. Paul, Harry, and Reginald escorted Mary, Lizzie and Gertrude, while Miss Saville, Janet, and Adela remained at home. Mr Hayward had gone out emu shooting, while the captain and Mr Berrington had started off to visit a station at some distance. Janet and Adela were seated at their work in the verandah in front of the house, when Albert, who was playing in the shade near them, exclaimed, “See! what can those black things be floating in the river?”

“They must be fish,” said Effie.

“Fish! No, they are round and black.”

Janet looked out. She, too, could distinguish some black objects. The captain’s spy-glass hung in the hall. Getting it she saw at once that the black objects were the heads of natives. They quickly came to the shore and began crawling along towards the house. There were a considerable number, armed with spears and clubs. In another minute they would have landed and have escaped her observation, had not it been drawn to them by Albert’s exclamation. They could be coming with no good intent. All the gentlemen were away. To obtain assistance in time was impossible. The blacks might attack and pillage the house, and be off again, before any of the party could return. Sandy, and perhaps another man might be in the stock-yard near the hill, but how to summon them in time was the question.

Janet called Rob, who, with Edgar, was in the carpenter’s shop at the back of the house.

Rob at once volunteered to go down and try and find Sandy. She charged him to be careful to keep out of the view of the savages. The first thing to be done was to shut the doors and windows. Adela and Edgar at once began to do so, while Janet hurried in to tell her mother, and aunt, and Miss Saville. The latter immediately assisted in preparing the house for defence.

Though the savages, if they intended an attack, might ultimately force their way in, it would take some time to tear down the shutters, which were secured by strong bars. The ladies were looking out eagerly for the return of Rob with Sandy. Scarcely had all the doors and windows been made fast, than the natives appeared hurrying up the hill with their spears and clubs in hand.

“What arms have we got?” asked Miss Saville. “We must use them and fight to the last, sooner than yield.”

They found two rifles and three brace of pistols.

“Can you load them?” inquired Miss Saville.

“I have seen my brothers very often do so, and mamma can, but we will not call her until it is necessary, she is attending to Aunt Augusta, who is in a dreadful state of alarm.”

“But where is the powder?”

“Here is a powder flask,” cried Edgar, “but, dear me! there’s nothing in it.”

In vain they searched about. No one could tell where the captain kept the powder. It was in a safe place, that they knew, and he was certain to have a store in the house, probably in some spot from whence he could easily remove it in case of fire.

“The blacks have evidently been watching the house, and have seen all the gentlemen go away,” observed Miss Saville. “If we could fire a few shots at them, they would fancy that some of our friends have returned, and would probably take to flight.”

They hunted round and round; even Mrs Hugh could not tell where the powder was to be found. Not a moment was to be lost, and already the blacks were almost at the top of the hill. Up they came, about a hundred of them. Probably they were those who had attacked Paul and had been so signally defeated. They had now come to revenge themselves in a terrible way. The girls could hear them approaching. They halted for an instant on finding the doors and windows closed, and were consulting together. They were evidently disappointed, having expected to surprise the house. At any moment a fire might be opened on them. Finding, however, that they were allowed to remain with impunity in front of the house, a party of them rushed up to the door and began battering away with their clubs, hoping to break it open. In addition to the bars, the girls had placed the dining-room table and the heaviest articles of furniture they could find against it.

“If they break in we must run for refuge to mamma’s room, and barricade the door as well as we can. We may delay them, at all events. Oh! if we had but a charge of powder, one single shot might frighten the savages.”

All this time the search was continued for powder, but with the same want of success. Already the door was giving way. It was strong and heavy, being formed of thick slabs fastened to cross-pieces. First one slab was broken and beaten in, then another, and the blacks began to thrust through the hole with their spears.

“We must fly!” cried Miss Saville, taking Effie and Sybil. “Do, Janet, do, Adela—come, come; do not venture to remain here longer. Run, Edgar and Albert! the savages will kill you if you remain.”

“I will show them the muzzle of this rifle; it may keep them in check for a few moments longer,” exclaimed Janet. Taking the weapon, she thrust it through the gap made by the blacks’ clubs.

It had the effect Janet expected. Once more they retreated, but finding that no shot was fired, the savages again came on. Blow after blow resounded on the door, the splinters flew about, when with a loud crash the door gave way. Two or three savages were on the point of springing in, when a rifle-shot was heard, and one of them fell; the next instant Janet, who was the last to leave the spot, saw Mr Hayward spring forward and with the butt of his rifle strike down two more. What was her alarm, however, to find that instead of flying, the rest were attacking him with their clubs, the blows of which he could with difficulty parry. Still he bravely kept his post in the verandah, preventing the blacks from again stepping on to it.

Several minutes he waged the unequal fight, keeping the blacks at bay. Already he had been struck more than once; his strength must fail at last. Some savages farther off, finding that the clubs of those in front were of no avail, rushed forward with their spears, and in another instant they would have pierced the white man, when a couple of shots laid two of them low. The shots were followed by the appearance of Rob, Sandy, and Jock Andrews, one of the men, who furiously threw themselves on the savages, Rob firing his pistol at the head of one of them. The blacks, not knowing how many white men might be following, took to flight and rushed down the hill, allowing Mr Hayward and the rest time to reload. Janet, from behind the fragments of the door, handed out the two rifles, which Sandy and his companion loaded and as quickly discharged at the flying enemy, whom they then pursued down the hill, uttering loud shouts, in which they were joined by Bruce’s fierce bark, he having at that instant been attracted to the spot.

The blacks made straight for the river, into which they plunged and swam across, without even looking behind them; nor did they stop on landing, but made direct for the “bush.” To follow them would have been useless with so small a party.

Mr Hayward was anxious to get back, to ascertain if any of the ladies had been injured, and to repair the damage caused by the savages before the return of the party on horseback. There was some risk that the savages might fall in with the latter.

Brave little Rob offered to gallop off to warn them. Jock Andrews begged that he might go with Master Rob. There were still two horses in the paddock, though not very good ones. They were quickly caught and saddled, and Rob and his attendant set off. They had to cross by the ford some way down the river, in which direction the riding-party was coming. They would have to make a wide circuit, so as not to fall in with the blacks.

Rob and Jock rode on as fast as their sorry steeds would allow, looking out for the savages, who might, they feared, be on the watch for the riding-party, to revenge themselves for the defeat they had suffered. They had gone some distance, when Jock exclaimed—

“There they are, Master Rob, there they are!”

“What, the blacks!” cried Rob. “We must keep clear of them, and gallop on.”

“No, sir, the captain and the ladies,” answered Jock, who, standing up in his stirrups, could obtain a wider view than his young companion.

“Hurrah!” cried Rob, and he dashed on to meet the party.

“What has happened, my lad?” exclaimed the captain in a tone of alarm, on seeing him approach.

Rob briefly explained what had happened.

“Thank heaven that they have escaped,” said the captain. “We nearly fell in with the blacks, but seeing a mob of them in the distance, I thought it prudent to make a circuit, and so avoided them, or I don’t know what would have been the consequences.”

The captain was, of course, anxious to reach home. The remainder of the distance was performed at a gallop. They found Mrs Berrington greatly recovered, and Mrs Hugh as calm as ever. Janet and Adela received their meed of praise. They had proved themselves true heroines, for had it not been for their courage and presence of mind—in all human probability the whole family would have been destroyed by the savage blacks.

Paul and Harry immediately volunteered to ride off and obtain the assistance of the police, lest the blacks—as it was probable they would do—might return.

While the lads were gone, the captain and his brother, with Mr Hayward, the rest of the boys, and the men, employed themselves in repairing the door and further fortifying the house. Their labour was rendered unnecessary, however, by the arrival of a strong party of police, led by Paul and Harry, who had fortunately found them nearer than they had expected.

Chase was immediately made after the blacks, who were overtaken and severely punished for their unprovoked attack on Castle Hill Farm. Several were made prisoners, and the captain begged not only that their lives might be spared, but treated them so kindly that when set at liberty they expressed their regret at having attempted to injure so good a man, and promised that they and their tribe would henceforth be friends with the whites. Some of them indeed came back, and, under Mr Hayward’s instruction, became so far civilised as to make themselves very useful, and two or three of their number imbibed the truths of Christianity.

Hector, greatly to his delight, obtained a commission as an officer in the police force; but he was very glad, after the experience of a year, to return to the farm, where, wonderful to relate, he ultimately became very useful. Captain Berrington and his family worked steadily on, and were rewarded for their industry by the success of most of their undertakings. They, of course, experienced the vicissitudes of settlers in general; but, though they occasionally lost many of their cattle and sheep, their flocks and herds increased, and were soon scattered far and wide over the surrounding country.

Putting their trust in God, and applying themselves diligently to the task they had undertaken, they were, on the whole, as successful as they could desire, and their cousins from England had every reason to be thankful that they had come out from the old country to become settlers in Australia.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Young Llanero"

Chapter One.

The home of my childhood in South America—My father’s history—Sent to school in England—Life at school—Summoned back to America—Voyage with my uncle to Jamaica—Sail for Venezuela—Chased by a Spanish man-of-war—Cross the bar of the Magdalena River—Driven on shore by a storm—Boat nearly wrecked—Our night encampment—Repair boat—A deer shot—Disturbed by Goahira indians—Flight—Pursued—Reach the port of Cervanos—Meet Tim Molloy—His delight at seeing us—Hospitably received by the Commandant, but very inhospitably by the mosquitoes.

I should like to draw a picture, though I may succeed but imperfectly, of the grand scenery amid which I passed my childhood’s days.

Far in the west rose upwards in the intense blue sky the snow-capped peaks of the Cordilleras, or Andes, of South America, with range beyond range of lofty mountains intervening, the more distant rugged and barren, the nearer clothed to their summits with trees, glittering cascades leaping down their side? from rock to rock; while here and there could be seen the openings of deep glens, at the bottom of which copious streams came rushing forth, forming the headwaters of the mighty Orinoco. Palms and other tropical trees surrounded our house, which stood on a slightly elevated plateau, below which appeared a shining lake of considerable dimensions fed by the mountain-streams, its waters finding an outlet at one end, and from whence they flowed in a more gentle current towards the western branch of the great river. Far to the east and north extended a vast plain, in some parts covered with dense forests, in others presenting an arid desert; while beyond were to be found the wide-stretching llaños of Venezuela, bordered on the south by the Orinoco.

The region I have described will be seen marked on the map, in the more northern part of the South American continent. It is, indeed, a grand country, abounding in valuable trees of various descriptions, and wild animals and game of all sorts—jaguars, pumas, tapirs, and peccaries; reptiles innumerable—alligators, anacondas, rattlesnakes; and birds of various species, from the majestic condor and towering eagle down to the diminutive humming-bird. But as I shall have to describe all sorts of curious adventures, in which they and other animals played conspicuous parts, I will not further particularise them at present.

As I was born in the country, it may be concluded that my father and mother resided there. To my father, Barry Desmond, might have been applied those touching lines of the poet Campbell:—

“There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;

For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.

But the day-star attracted his eyes’ sad devotion,

For it rose o’er his own native isle of the ocean,

Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,

He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.”

When a very young man,—scarcely eighteen years of age,—being a friend of Thomas Addis Emmett and Lord Edward Fitzgerald (though his family were firm Protestants), and carried away by mistaken patriotism, he had been induced to take a part in the lamentable Irish rebellion of 1798, which stained their beloved country with blood, and left her in a far more deplorable condition than she had previously been. Young as he was, my father had been actively engaged in the various skirmishes and battles which occurred between the insurgent forces and the royal troops. He was present at Arklow, Ross, and Vinegar-hill, where he was wounded; and had it not been for the resolute courage of a devoted follower, Tim Molloy, he would have fallen into the hands of the victors. Carried off the field of battle, he was concealed for many weeks in a mud hut by the faithful Tim; who, when a price was set on his head, went forth nightly to obtain provisions, and finally assisted him to reach the coast. He there, accompanied by Tim, embarked on board a vessel bound for the West Indies; but unable to remain with safety in any of the English islands, after long wanderings they landed on the shores of Venezuela, then belonging to the Spaniards. Tim, fearing that should his beloved master remain at any of their ports the Spanish authorities might deliver him up to the English Government, urged him to push farther inland. At length they reached the region I have described, where their wanderings were over; for my father here found a fellow-exile, Mr Denis Concannan, who had some years before arrived in the country and married the daughter of a Spanish hidalgo of considerable wealth. He was cordially received by Mr Concannan and his wife, who had several sons and daughters,—one of whom, in the course of time, became my father’s wife and my mother.

His friends at home, to whom he at length divulged the place of his retreat, might probably have obtained a pardon for him on the plea of his youth, but, though still entertaining a warm affection for his native land, he had become much attached to the country of his adoption, which my mother also was unwilling to leave. My uncles, moreover, had been sent to England for their education, where one of them continued to reside; and my family thus kept up communication with the old country.

When I was old enough to go to school, my father determined to send me also to the care of my Uncle Denis. As we had always spoken English in our family, I did not feel myself completely a stranger in a strange land; and brought up among English boys, I imbibed their ideas and assumed their manners, and was, indeed, more of an Englishman than an Irishman, and certainly more of either than of a Spaniard.

I need not mention any of the incidents of my school-life. They were much like those other boys meet with,—nothing extraordinary. I made a good many friends, and fought two or three battles. One was on the occasion of Tom Rudge, a big fellow, calling me an Irish rebel, and saying that my father had been hanged. I gave him the lie direct, and replied that if he had been shot he would have died the death of a gentleman, which was more than Rudge himself was; but that he had neither been shot nor hanged, for he was alive and well, and that I hoped to see him again before many years were over. I thereon planted my fist between Rudge’s eyes, which drew fire from them, and left them both swollen and blackened. We then set to, and I was getting the best of it, driving my antagonist backwards, when one of the ushers appeared, and seizing hold of me carried me up to the doctor. I pleaded that I had been grossly insulted. He replied that it was my duty to forgive insult, and asked what Tom Rudge had said to me. I told him.

“I thought that you were an orphan,” he observed, “the son of Mr Concannan’s sister, and that your father was dead.”

“Mr Concannan is my uncle, sir,” I replied; “but my father is alive and well, I hope, in South America.”

The expression of surprise which passed over the master’s countenance made me fear that I had said something imprudent.

“If your father were dead, that would only have aggravated Rudge’s fault,” he said. “I do not excuse him; I will see what he has to say for himself.”

Rudge was sent for, and appeared with his two black eyes. The doctor looked at him sternly, and reprimanded him for the language he had made use of. “He has been punished, I see,” he observed, “and I will therefore remit the flogging he deserves, and which you, Master Desmond, are liable to for fighting. Now, shake hands, and remember that the next time you take to your fists I shall be compelled to punish you both.”

We shook hands as directed, and were sent back to the playground; and neither did Rudge nor any one else again make any reflection on my family. How he had found out that my father had been engaged in the Irish rebellion I could not discover. He after this, for some time, fought very shy of me, though from that day forth he gave up bullying, and we became very good friends. Indeed, by the wise management of the head-master, our school was really a very happy one, though fights occasionally took place in spite of the punishment which we knew would be inflicted were we discovered infringing its laws.

I had been there rather more than four years, and was now nearly sixteen years of age, when one day the doctor sent for me.

“I am sorry that I am going to lose you, Desmond,” he said. “I have just received a letter from your uncle, desiring me to send you up to town immediately, as he wishes you to accompany him to South America, for which country he purposes forthwith setting out. I feel it my duty to advise you as to your future conduct. The native inhabitants have, I understand, for some years been engaged in a fearful struggle with the Spaniards to become independent of the mother-country; and by the last advices I see that it still continues. You may very probably be tempted to take part with the insurgents; but I would urge you to remain neutral. I do not enter into the point as to whether people have a right to fight for their independence—and from what I know of the Spaniards I fear their rule of their American provinces has been a most tyrannical and unjust one; but I do know that those who draw the sword are liable to perish by the sword, and I should be very sorry to hear that such has been your fate.”

“I am much obliged to you, sir, for your kind wishes,” I answered, and I felt the blood mantling my brow as I spoke; “but I cannot promise to sit at home among the women and children when those I love are hazarding their lives on the field of battle. I have heard enough of the way the Spaniards have treated the inhabitants of Venezuela and New Granada to make my heart burn with indignation and a desire to emancipate the country my father has adopted from the cruel yoke pressing on it; and if I am called on to fight in the cause, I cannot refuse through fear of risking my life.”

The doctor smiled, looking on me still as a boy.

“I suspect, Desmond, that the reason you have been sent for is, that you may assist in protecting your mother and sisters should the older members of your family be engaged elsewhere. Such I gather from the tenor of your uncle’s letter. However, remember what I have said, I beg of you; and may a blessing accompany you wherever you go, as assuredly my prayers will follow you.”

I heartily thanked the kind doctor; and that very day—having said good-bye to my school-fellows, including Rudge, who all heartily expressed their hopes that I should not get shot, or be swallowed by an anaconda, or eaten by a jaguar, and who regarded me with some little jealousy on hearing that I was going to a country where I should meet with all sorts of adventures—I set off for London.

My uncle, I found, had already engaged a passage on board a vessel bound for Jamaica, whence he intended proceeding to the coast of Venezuela. I had but little time to get an outfit, for two days afterwards we were dropping down the Thames on board the good ship Betsy, bound out to Kingston in Jamaica, to bring back a cargo of sugar. Next morning, when I awoke, I could scarcely believe my senses. It seemed but an hour since I had been at school, and I at first expected to hear the morning-bell ring to call the boys up.

I quickly dressed and went on deck, when I found that we were already at sea, and under all sail doubling the North Foreland. But I remembered enough of my former voyage to be perfectly at home; and I felt as happy as a bird let out of a cage, as it spreads its wings and soars into the free air.

I told Uncle Denis what the doctor had said. He looked rather grave. “I must leave you to be guided by your father,” he said at length. “Perhaps by the time we reach home the Spaniards may have been driven out of the country, and the blessings of peace secured. We shall know more about the matter when we get there.” And he dropped the subject.

On the voyage, however, when it was calm, Uncle Denis gave me instruction in the use of firearms. We aimed at bottles thrown overboard as marks, and sometimes had a target rigged out at the end of a studdingsail-boom; so I soon became a good shot, both with rifle and pistol.

“Now, Barry,” said my uncle, “let us try what we can do with the sword.” And producing some sword-sticks, he made me take one. Somewhat to my surprise I found that he was an expert swordsman. He quickly initiated me into the mysteries of attack and defence, which gave us plenty of occupation, as it was seldom so rough that we could not practise with our weapons; and many of the other passengers followed our example. I did not, however, altogether forget my books, and employed myself in studying Spanish grammatically. Altogether, we had a pleasant voyage, and arrived safely at Port Royal.

Leaving the ship, we took up our abode at Kingston, which I thought a remarkably hot and unpleasant place.

My uncle laughed at my complaints of the heat. “You’ll find your native land much hotter, my boy,” he observed. “You’ve been so long getting cooled down in England that you forget what heat is.”

I suppose that I had done so; though my father’s house being on elevated ground, the atmosphere round it was much cooler than in the low plains.

We had to wait for some time till my uncle could secure a passage on board a schooner, the Flying Fish, Captain Longswill, bound for the coast of Venezuela. She was a fast, rakish craft, carrying four long guns, and a parti-coloured crew of determined-looking fellows. Soon after we got on board, she made sail out of the harbour and stood away for her destination.

“You should know how to load and work a gun,” said my Uncle Denis to me, after we had got clear of the land; “you may some day have to use one in earnest.”

I, of course, was perfectly ready to be instructed; and the captain directing three of the crew to assist us, we cast the gun loose, loaded it, and fired it off. This we did several times, Uncle Denis desiring me to watch carefully how each movement was made. I worked away with him till my arms and back ached. By that time I began to feel myself an accomplished gunner. We then ran in the gun and secured it.

We performed the same operation the next day, the whole crew being also exercised at the guns. We then took a turn at rifle-shooting and sword-exercise.

The Flying Fish had a full and valuable cargo of merchandise which was worth protecting; and as pirates at that time swarmed in those seas, it was important to be able to beat them off, though few would have dared to attack so stout a vessel as our schooner.

We were frequently becalmed, but in about a week we sighted the lofty summits of the eastern range of the mighty Cordilleras, which sweeps round along the northern coast of that portion of South America. As we drew nearer, the view was indeed grand and sublime, some of the mountains being of so great a height as to be at all times covered with snow; while their bases, adorned with the finest trees and shrubs, are clothed with perpetual verdure. We were expecting to get in close enough the next day to land part of our cargo, when a perfect calm came on, and the sun went down in a blaze of glory, shedding a golden hue over the sky, reflected in the glass-like ocean.

The next morning, as I was about to turn out, I heard several persons come into the cabin, and found that they were taking down the arms arranged against the after bulkhead. My uncle was placing a brace of pistols in his belt and girding on a sword.

On my asking what was the matter. “You’ll know presently,” he answered. “Arm yourself as I have done;” and he hurried from the cabin.

I quickly dressed, and doing as he directed me, followed him on deck. I there found the guns cast loose, and the crew at their quarters; and on looking out astern I saw a large vessel, a man-of-war corvette, under all sail, standing towards us. The wind was scarcely strong enough to blow out her canvas, while we were still becalmed, but she was apparently bringing up the breeze with her; while between us and her were two large boats full of men, approaching evidently with the intention of boarding us. The headmost fired a shot at the schooner—to try the range, I suppose—but it fell short.

“What can that vessel want with us?” I asked of my uncle. “We are not now at war with any country, and she looks too large a ship to be a pirate.”

“She is a Spanish man-of-war,” he answered. “She takes us to belong to the Republicans, and, though we have shown English colours, wishes to overhaul us.”

“But if the Spaniards were to come on board, what harm could they do us?” I asked.

“They might find articles they would object to among the cargo; and the captain has no wish to have the vessel searched,” he answered.

Uncle Denis was perfectly composed, and seemed to take the matter as nothing unusual. I felt as I had never felt before, for I fully expected before many minutes were over to be engaged in a desperate fight.

The schooner had all her sails set, though at present they were useless; but on looking over the side I observed cat’s-paws playing on the surface of the ocean. Now they appeared, now they vanished, but as yet we had not felt the slightest breath of wind. Presently, however, I saw the dog-vane rise and flutter slightly; again it drooped.

The corvette meantime was stealing up, and the boats were getting nearer and nearer. A shot from the headmost one could now have reached us, but she appeared to be waiting for the other to get up with her. Captain Longswill every now and then took a glance astern to watch them. Suddenly, in a cheery voice, he ordered the crew to trim sails, and our canvas bulging out slightly, the schooner began to glide slowly through the water. Just then I saw a puff of smoke issue from one of the boats, and a shot came ricochetting over the water, passing close to our quarter. The captain laughed. “You’re a little too late, my boys,” he observed; “you should have pulled harder than you did if you wished to get up with us.”

The shot now came flying towards us as fast as the Spaniards could load their guns, but they all either dropped into the water astern or went whizzing by on either side. Though a gun had been slewed round and pointed through one of the after-ports, we had not fired a shot. “We might probably knock the boat to pieces, but there is no object in so doing if we can escape them with our heels,” observed Uncle Denis. “You see, Barry, we are peaceably disposed, though we don’t wish to be interfered with.”

I now suspected, what I afterwards found to be the case, that the Flying Fish had arms and stores on board for the insurgents, which she was to land at any port in their possession, or else at a part of the coast where some of their troops could collect to receive them. The difficulty was to ascertain the places in the hands of the republicans, for they might have possession of a town one day, and it might be taken from them the next.

I was perfectly ready to fight, but I had no special wish to do so if it could be avoided; and I was therefore glad to see our sails fill out with the steady breeze, and to find that we were dropping the boats astern. The corvette was still coming on, but she no longer gained on us; and the wind still further increasing, we found that the Flying Fish was much the faster craft. We were compelled, however, to haul our wind and stand off the coast; and soon after noon had run the corvette out of sight.

This adventure delayed us. After standing off for some days, we hove to, keeping a sharp look-out. The next morning, having a good breeze, we again stood in towards the coast. No sail like the corvette appearing, we stood on till we reached the mouth of the magnificent river Magdalena, inferior only in size to the Orinoco and Amazon on that part of the continent. After forming numerous lakes, it empties itself, by three mouths, into the Caribbean Sea. Off one of these mouths we brought up, my uncle proposing to land with our property, and ascertain the places held by the Republicans at which the Flying Fish could safely discharge her cargo. We were afterwards to ascend the stream as far as it was navigable, a voyage which would occupy us some weeks. The spot where we were to leave the river was about three days’ journey by land from Santa Fé de Bogotà, the capital of the province of New Granada. After the boat had put us on shore, she was to return to the schooner with the information we could obtain.

Wishing good-bye to our friends, who gave us three cheers, we shoved off; the captain crying out, “Be smart, my lads, and be back as soon as possible; I don’t quite like the look of the weather.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” was the answer; and we pulled away towards the passage, which led into one of the large lakes through which the river Magdalena passes.

There was some sea on the bar, but not sufficient to make us hesitate to attempt it. On we pulled, the water foaming and leaping up. As we approached the more dangerous part, I saw my uncle looking astern at a large roller roaring up after us. “Pull for your lives, my lads!” he shouted. The men gave way, and though the water rushed over the quarter and half-filled the boat, the stern lifted, and shooting forward, in another minute we were on the calm surface of the lake.

We pulled up, keeping towards its western shore. It was fringed with a broad belt of mangrove-trees standing on numberless branching roots which extended far into the water. So dense and tall were these trees that the view beyond them was completely shut out, while not a spot of dry ground appeared which would have afforded us a landing-place had we wished to get on shore. The scenery, indeed, was altogether unattractive and gloomy,—very different from that which I had expected to see.

We had not gone far when the weather, as the captain had predicted, suddenly changed. Dark clouds chased each other at a rapid rate across the hitherto blue sky; the wind came in fitful gusts, increasing every instant; and the water, before so calm, rose in foaming waves with extraordinary suddenness,—the cause of which, my uncle observed, was the shallowness of the lake. Still we continued our course, hoping to get to the village of Cervanos, where we could procure a bongo, or native canoe, in which we could perform our voyage of eight hundred miles up the Magdalena; and where also, should it, as we hoped, be in the hands of the Republicans, we might obtain the information we required to send back to the schooner. The fury of the wind, which, now shifting, blew partly across and partly down the lake, made it impossible for us to proceed in the direction we desired; and an opening among the mangrove-trees, which my uncle hoped might prove the mouth of a stream, appearing, he steered towards it.

Scarcely had we got the boat’s head round when the gale came down upon us with redoubled fury, and sent her flying along with only two oars out at a furious speed. A small palm-branch which, floating by, my uncle picked up, was almost blown out of his hands as he held it in the air. We were fortunately right in conjecturing that we were entering the mouth of a stream; so we went on some distance with unabated speed, when a crash was heard, and the water came rushing into the boat. We had run against a sunken log or projecting root. Still we ran on, while the man in the bows attempted to stop the leak with his jacket and the boat’s sail, and my uncle and I bailed as fast we could with our hats. Every moment we expected the boat to fill; but presently we saw a narrow opening, through which we rushed, with only space sufficient for the oars on each side to avoid the roots of the mangrove-trees, while the dense foliage formed a wall of verdure high above our heads.

We had no provisions with us, and we could not tell whether the region into which we were penetrating was inhabited by hostile Indians or wild beasts and venomous serpents. After going some way, however, the stream widened, and at the same time became shallower; and the mangrove-trees ceasing, we found ourselves in the midst of a dense forest. Looking out anxiously on both sides, we observed a bank which would afford us a small space on which to land; so pulling up to it, we hurriedly sprang on shore. In spite of all our efforts, the boat was nearly half-full of water.

Our first care was to land our baggage, and especially to keep our guns and ammunition dry. We then, having piled our property together, by our united efforts hauled up the boat, and the extent of the damage she had received was soon discovered. A hole had been made through a plank, a portion of which had also been ripped off. It was a wonder the boat had not filled and gone down. We had no tools—not even a marling-spike to serve as a hammer—with which to repair her. The crew took the matter very coolly, only observing that they wished they had some grog and grub.

“I will try what I can do for you in the way of getting provisions,” said my uncle, “and I hope to be able to shoot some birds, or an animal of some sort; but in the meantime we must endeavour to repair the boat. We can draw some nails from the seats, where they are of less consequence; and we must cut some canvas out of the sail, if we can find no plank to fasten over the hole.”

Encouraged by my uncle, the men set to work to draw some nails out of the stern-sheets with their knives; and we then managed to turn the boat over. The canvas alone, it was evident, would not keep the water out of the boat, even though backed by a piece of one of the bottom boards which was broken off. My uncle, however, after examining the trees in the neighbourhood, found a large one with a smooth bark; in this he made a hole with one of the men’s knives, and immediately a thick white liquid issued from it. Sending for the piece of canvas, he allowed the liquid to flow over it till it had formed a thick, hard cake.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “stick that plaster over the hole, and nail the board tightly over it. I will answer for it that no water gets through, whatever it may do round the edges.”

The plan succeeded; but still, only the most foolhardy would have attempted to recross the bar in so unseaworthy a boat; indeed, with our baggage on board, it was very doubtful whether we could accomplish the rest of our voyage in her.

We had been so busily engaged in endeavouring to repair our boat, that night came suddenly down on us before we were aware of its approach, and we had no time to make preparations for encamping. Fortunately, however, we had a tinder-box and matches; but it was difficult to collect fuel in the dark, and we were afraid, when groping about, that we might put our hands on a venomous snake, as we knew that such creatures usually abound in the forests on level ground near the water. I could not help recollecting the tales I had heard in my childhood from my good nurse Josefa; and I thought it more than probable that a jaguar or puma might attack us while asleep, or an alligator come out of the stream and make his supper off one of us, or that an anaconda might come crawling by and swallow the whole party at a gulp. Still, it was important that we should have a fire; and my uncle suggested that we should kindle a small one, the light from which would enable us to obtain fuel with greater ease. We followed his advice, and in a short time had collected dried branches sufficient, as we hoped, to keep the fire burning during the night.

The men then began to cry out for something to eat, when Uncle Denis remembered that he had a tin of biscuits and a case of wine, which he had brought for emergencies. We had a tin cup and a small breaker; but the men, supposing that they would not be long absent from the schooner, had neglected to fill it with water, while that in the stream, as the tide was then rising, was brackish. They continued grumbling for some time, till Uncle Denis produced the biscuits and a bottle of wine, which he divided among them and ourselves. Our scanty supper being finished, the men threw themselves down by the side of the fire, hoping that the smoke would keep off the mosquitoes, which swarmed round us in myriads.

“Hallo, my lads!” observed Uncle Denis; “you take things too easily. We must set a watch, or our fire will go out, and by the morning some one among us may have lost the number of his mess.”

This hint aroused them, and they agreed that we should each keep watch for two hours at a time, and draw lots who should keep the first watch. The lot fell upon me. So, while the rest of the party lay down, I stuck a brace of pistols in my belt, took a fowling-piece in my hand, and prepared to do the duty of a sentry.

The scene to me was strange and novel. The dark forest towering above our heads, the flickering flames casting an uncertain light on the giant trunks, and the tracery of sepos or twisting vines, which interlaced the branches and hung down in festoons and ropelike lines to the ground, along which they ran, often assuming the appearance of huge serpents; indeed, more than once, as I paced up and down, I could not help fancying that an anaconda, or boa-constrictor, or rattlesnake was creeping towards us. In the centre of the small open space was the fire, with my companions sleeping round it; near them the pile of baggage and the overturned boat; while the dark stream flowed by with a murmuring sound. Beyond, though we were sheltered from the wind, I could see the lofty summits of the trees waving in the gale, which howled amid their branches, making them rattle and creak; while from the depths of the forest came strange unearthly cries. At first they seemed almost supernatural, and a feeling of awe, somewhat allied to alarm, crept over me; till I recollected that they were probably produced by howling monkeys and other wild animals.

I kept, as may be supposed, a very sharp look-out, with my eyes constantly turned to one side or the other, generally towards the forest. Every now and then I threw a few sticks on the fire, to keep up a bright blaze, so that I might not be caught unawares. Still, every moment I half expected to see a jaguar or serpent, or perhaps a band of wild Indians, creeping amid the trees towards us. All the time the detestable mosquitoes were buzzing about my head, effectually preventing me from going to sleep; and I wondered how my companions could contrive to do so.

At length, at the end of two hours, my uncle awoke, and told me to lie down. He was to take the next watch. I wrapped my face in a handkerchief, and in spite of my apprehensions was soon fast asleep.

When morning broke, the gale was still blowing as hard as ever, as we saw by the way the tree-tops moved. We were unable, therefore, to continue our voyage. We could not help also feeling some anxiety about the fate of the schooner; till the men observed that, as the wind was off the shore, she would probably have run out to sea, or might have remained safely at anchor.

Matters were now growing unpleasant, if not serious. My uncle told me that he was more apprehensive of an attack from Indians than from wild beasts, as a large and savage tribe—the Goahiras—inhabited the whole region bordering the coast; and should any wandering party discover us, and suppose that we were Republicans, they would certainly attack us and put us to death, as they had been induced to side with the Spaniards. We accordingly launched our boat, but found the water leak in so rapidly that it was evident it would not do to put the baggage on board till the last moment. As we had no more nails, we could not expect effectually to stop the leak.

We had now exhausted all the biscuits, and were again very hungry. Uncle Denis and I accordingly took our fowling-pieces and endeavoured to make our way through the forest, in the hope of shooting some birds or monkeys—indeed, any creature with flesh on its bones would have been welcome. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we could advance even a few steps, in consequence of the numberless creepers. Now and then we caught a glimpse of gay-plumaged birds amid the few openings between the branches; but to shoot them was impossible, and we heard the monkeys chattering, and nuts and broken twigs came rattling down on our heads as the nimble creatures leaped from tree to tree.

We dared not venture far into the forest, for fear of losing our way; besides which, it was necessary to proceed very cautiously, lest we should be surprised by a jaguar or tread on any venomous serpent. We neither of us at that time, it must be remembered, had any experience of tropical forests, or we might have been more successful.

At length we were making our way back to the river, when just as we got in sight of it we heard a rustling among the foliage. My uncle signed to me to stop, and I fully expected to see a jaguar springing towards us. He advanced cautiously a few paces; then stopped a moment, and fired. At the same instant I saw a good-sized deer, which had been going towards the water to drink. The animal made one spring, and then fell over dead. With an exulting shout of satisfaction my uncle dashed forward, and I followed him; while the men, hearing our voices, came running up, and quickly bore the deer to our camp.

While Uncle Denis and I relighted our fire, which had gone out, the men skinned and cut up the animal, and we soon had some slices roasting on forked sticks.

“If we had had some nails, this deer-skin would have assisted famously to patch up our boat,” observed one of the men.

“Though we have no nails, we may secure it under her bottom with ropes, and perhaps it will answer as well,” said my uncle.

His suggestion was acted on; and again hauling up the boat, we covered the hairy side of the skin thickly with mud, and then lashed it to the bows, bringing one end up above water. On once more launching the boat, we found that the plan succeeded beyond our expectations, but little water leaking in.

Our patience was still to be tried: as yet the gale gave no signs of abating. As we had a good supply of food, we had no cause to complain, except on account of the delay. No one expected us at Cervanos, and the captain of the schooner knew well that his boat could not cross the bar. Our principal cause of anxiety was, that the Goahira Indians might discover us, and perhaps commence an attack before we had time to let them know that we were English. Uncle Denis thought it prudent, therefore, to reload the boat, that we might be ready to shove off at a moment’s notice. We accordingly prepared everything for a start; but as the wind was still violent, there was but little chance of our getting away that evening. We therefore, before dark, collected a good supply of fuel, so that we had enough to maintain a blazing fire during the hours of darkness.

As on the previous night, we kept vigilant watch. The earlier watches were kept by the men, and my uncle and I agreed to take those of the morning. I was to succeed him. When he called me, I got up and examined the priming of my pistols, and, taking my gun in my hand, began to pace up and down. My uncle, instead of lying down, joined me.

“I will keep you company, Barry,” he said; “though the bright fire we have had may have scared away the jaguars, it may have attracted the notice of the Indians, and perhaps at daylight they may be coming this way to ascertain its cause. The wind appears to have gone down considerably, and we shall be wiser to shove off as soon as we have light to see our way, without waiting for breakfast. I will put some steaks to roast and we can eat them in the boat.”

I replied that I thought his suggestion a good one; and while he was occupied as he proposed, I kept marching up and down. Some time had passed, when I fancied that I heard a rustling noise among some thick bushes near me. I cocked my gun, ready to fire, and pointed it in the direction from whence the sound I had heard proceeded. Uncle Denis, seeing this, came forward, and we stood for some time watching the spot; but as nothing appeared, we thought that we must be mistaken. Still, at every turn I took an inquisitive look in that direction; and before long I again heard the sound. I stepped back and told my uncle.

“If a jaguar or puma were there, the creature would come forward. I suspect that some Indians are watching us; and if so, depend on it they will have sent to collect their companions to attack us,” answered my uncle. “I will rouse up the men, and the sooner we get on board the better.”

He on this shook each seaman, and in a low voice told them to collect the few things remaining on shore, and creep quietly down to the boat; directing me to retire in the same direction. The men obeyed him, and I followed, glancing round every now and then at the suspected point. They had got out the oars, and I was in the act of stepping on board, when a fearful yell rent the air. At the same moment a number of half-naked savages, armed with bows and spears, tall feathers ornamenting their heads, and the skins of wild beasts floating from their shoulders, dashed out of the forest. My uncle took the helm, and the seamen gave way with might and main. The current was strong, and the savages had some distance to traverse before they could reach the margin of the stream. As they saw us escaping, they let fly a shower of arrows; but from the uncertain light—for the dawn was only just breaking—their aim was, fortunately, bad; and by the time they reached the edge of the water we had got some way down the stream. We did not relax our exertions, for they might possibly follow us along the banks, and, as the river took two or three turns, cut us off at some narrow part. Their arrows, my uncle afterwards told me, he believed were poisoned. The Indians shot another flight, several of which dropped unpleasantly close astern of us; but they now saw that we were beyond their reach, though their fierce shouts and cries still followed us.

The wind had by this time completely fallen. We made rapid way down the stream, happily escaping any sunken logs, and once more saw the broad surface of the lake extended before us. Still, there was no time to be lost, as the Indians might possibly have canoes concealed along the banks, and might follow us; though, unless they had the agility of monkeys, there was little probability of their making their way among the mangrove-trees.

“If they do come, we must try and keep them at bay,” observed my uncle. “None of them appear to have firearms, and our guns will tell upon them before they can get us within reach of their arrows.”

The men, having no wish to fight where nothing was to be gained, pulled away as fast as they could lay their backs to the oars; and we soon shot through the narrow opening, and rounding the extreme point of the bay into which the stream emptied itself, we steered for the village for which we were bound. We had a long pull before us; but fortunately the deer-skin kept the water out very well, and we had only occasionally to bail to keep her clear. I could not refrain from giving a glance astern every now and then, to ascertain if the Indians were coming; but we saw nothing more of them.

We had brought away a supply of the cooked venison, and after rowing some distance the oars were laid in, and we turned to to breakfast. My uncle served out a cup of wine to each of the men; it was the only liquid we had, as the water of the lake was salt. We would gladly have exchanged the wine for a cup of tea or even fresh water, as the rays of the sun, striking down from a cloudless sky, made us suffer greatly from thirst; the men, especially, who had to row, felt the want of water.

We at length, some time past noon, came in sight of the village, which stood close to the edge of the lake. Part of it consisted of Indian huts, scattered about without much order. At the further end, on slightly elevated ground, was a sort of fortification, surrounded by a mud wall, with loopholes for musketry, high palisades, and a chevaux-de-frise; while above it floated the Republican flag. We saw sentries posted at each angle, who were evidently keeping a sharp look-out.

We steered for a landing-place under the fort. Just before we reached it, a large native boat, which had apparently come down the stream, had arrived, and the passengers were landing from her. Among them was a middle-aged man; from his complexion, even when I saw him at a distance, I guessed that he was a European. He stopped when he saw our boat touch the shore, and came slowly forward, eyeing us narrowly. The peculiarity of his features and costume, and the thick stick he carried in his hand, showed unmistakably that he was an Irishman. He now stopped, and looked first at my uncle and then at me; then, giving a flourish of his shillelagh and two or three wild leaps, he shouted, “Erin-go-bragh!—shure it’s the young masther and Misther Denis themselves, and no other,” and came bounding towards us.

I at once recognised my father’s faithful follower, Tim Molloy; who, in spite of his age, had lost none of his youthful spirits or activity.

“Shure, it’s wonderful, isn’t it, Misther Denis, that I should fall in with you the very moment I had come, expecting to have to wait many a month, maybe, before my old eyes would be gladdened with the sight of you,” he exclaimed, after we had got on shore. “And as the look of the place isn’t altogether over-pleasant, shure you’ll be willing to start away again up the river, without spending any time down here?”

Uncle Denis said he should be ready to commence our voyage the following day but one, as he hoped by that time to have got through some business he had to transact at Cervanos; on hearing which Tim expressed his satisfaction.

We immediately, as may be supposed, made inquiries about all at home.

“As to health, the masther, and misthress, and the childher, are all mighty well,” replied Tim; “and Misthress Nora is as bright and blooming as a May morning in the ‘old country,’ and as tall almost as you, Masther Barry—not a young lady in the land to equal her. And Masther Gerald is as fine a boy as you can set eyes on for his age in any part of the country: he can handle a rifle or paddle a canoe as well as any Indian. And the rest, who were mere babies when you went away, are now grown into fine, hearty childher. But, to tell you the truth, I would rather see the masther wear a more cheerful countenance than he does. He’s throubled about the times, which are unquiet enough, it must be owned; though we have never yet had a visit from the Spanish troops, it’s more than we can say when they may be upon us.”

Tim gave us much more information about the state of affairs at home than I need here repeat, and answered numerous questions which Uncle Denis put to him, after we had reached our quarters. We found about a hundred and fifty soldiers garrisoning the fort, the commandant of which received us very civilly, and offered us a room in the house he inhabited; while Tim took charge of our baggage, and saw it safely stowed away. Uncle Denis wished to have the boat properly repaired before she returned, although the crew declared that she was quite fit to make the passage back to the schooner.

As soon as my uncle had gained the information he required, and had written his despatches to the captain, they put off, with such provisions as we were able to obtain for them,—having also filled their breaker with water. Whether they got back we could not ascertain; but I know that the schooner landed her cargo, which was much wanted by the patriots. It was not till long after this that I again heard of Captain Longswill, when he rendered me an essential service, as I shall narrate in due course.

Tim lost no time in seeking a boat and crew, and making other preparations for our long river-voyage.

We spent the evening with the commandant, who gave us many interesting accounts of the war which had long been raging in the country. On the whole, the patriots had been successful, though the forces of the King of Spain were better drilled, and were well supplied with arms and ammunition. The Spaniards had also made an alliance with numerous Indian tribes; and by spreading among them false reports regarding the objects of the patriots, the Goahira Indians, whose territory was at no great distance from Cervanos, had been induced to side with the Royalists. Several severe encounters had already taken place between them and the patriots, and it was expected that they would before long attack the fort itself. Our friend the commandant described them as a peculiarly savage and warlike race, possessing more than the usual intelligence of the native tribes, and able to bring several thousand men into the field.

“I hope that they may not be induced to attack Cervanos,” observed my uncle; “though I doubt not that your soldiers would fight bravely, it is but a small place to resist so powerful a force.”

“We shall give a good account of them if they venture to come,” answered the commandant gaily; “we fear neither them nor any troops the Spaniards can bring against us. We have scouts out in all directions to give due notice of their approach, and are not likely to be taken by surprise. Some of the scouts are Indians, others Sambos or whites; but we depend most on the Indians, who know the habits of their people, and are likely to bring us the most correct intelligence of their movements.”

After further conversation we retired to our room—I cannot say to our couches; for, with the utmost wish to be hospitable, the commandant could supply us with neither bedsteads nor bedding. Our saddles, which were to be used in our overland journey, served us for pillows; and some horse-cloths and cloaks answered the purpose of mattresses and coverlets. Notwithstanding this, we should have slept soundly enough had it not been for the mosquitoes, which hummed round our ears all night, darting down and running their trunks into every spot they could find exposed. It was a severe lesson, and reminded us that we must obtain mosquito-curtains to surround out beds at night, or we should be eaten up before we had performed half our voyage.

Chapter Two.

Alligator or shark—A shooting expedition—We witness the death of a scout—Make our escape—Preparations for our voyage up the river—Night—Aroused by an attack on the Fort—Indians enter it—Escape to the boat—Followed by the doctor—Voyage across the lakes—Camp on the shore of the lake—The doctor shoots an alligator—Pursued by Indians—Enter the Magdalena—Beautiful scenery—Magnificent trees—Gay flowers—Gorgeous plumage of birds—The doctor catches an alligator—Voyage continued—Mountains in sight—A tempest at night—End of voyage—We part with the doctor.

As soon as morning came I got up and sauntered out into the fort. The sentries were at their posts, but no one else was astir. Both within and without the fort a perfect silence reigned, broken only now and then by the cries of water-fowl as they rose from the bank, or the screaming of parrots as they flew out of the neighbouring forest, from whence also proceeded the suppressed chattering of a tribe of monkeys.

I was on my way to the gate, intending to go to the landing-place and take a bath, when a stranger approached me. He wore a large broad-brimmed straw hat with a Republican cockade, a short tunic of blue and white striped cotton, light blue trousers, jack-boots with immense spurs; a long French dragoon sword with brass basket-hilt fastened to his waist-belt was dangling at his side, while a powder-horn was slung over his shoulders, and he carried in his hand an enormous old French silver-mounted gun. His hair was light, and so would have been his complexion, had it not been burned red by exposure to the hot sun of the tropics. His beard was carefully trimmed to a point. I may further say that he had prominent black eyes, an aquiline nose of considerable dimensions, a mouth not very small, a long face with a sharp chin; while I judged by his features that he was German. Such, I found, was the case, when he addressed me, and introduced himself as Dr Rudolph Stutterheim.

After wishing me good-morning, he inquired where I was going. I told him.

“Then you will be gobbled up by either one alligator or one shark,” he replied; “for though the water is brackish, the alligators come down here to pick up any morsels they can find, and the sharks come for the same purpose.”

I thanked him for his warning, but still felt rather doubtful if he was right. To convince me, he procured two pieces of offal, which he carried at the end of his stick, and accompanied me down to the landing-place, a rough stone pier which projected into the lake. Taking a piece, he jerked it some distance into the water, when in an instant a huge pair of jaws with rows of sharp teeth rose above the surface and snapped it up. He then took the other piece and threw it in an opposite direction, when just as it reached the water another pair of jaws, the lower part of silvery-whiteness, rose above the water, and the meat was gone.

“You see, my young friend, you can have your choice,” he said; “but I don’t think you will wish just now to bathe in this place.”

I assured him I did not; and he having lighted a big meerschaum pipe which he drew from his pocket, we returned to the fort. I inquired whether he was the surgeon of the forces stationed there.

“Such an occupation would not suit my fancy,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders; “though, while I am here, I willingly cooper up those who require my services. I am a traveller and naturalist, desirous of seeing the country and the strange creatures it contains, and in search of adventures, which I may perhaps some day narrate for the enlightenment of the world.”

I, of course, replied that I hoped he would do so, as I should like to read the work of one who had rendered me so essential a service; and I added that I felt deeply grateful to him, as he had certainly saved my life by preventing me from venturing into the water.

“It was at no great cost to myself,” he answered; “but I should have grieved to see one so young swallowed by a saurian, and who is, at all events, capable of becoming food for powder, if for nothing else—eh? What do you say, my young friend?”

Somewhat uncertain whether or not the doctor was quizzing me, I replied that I hoped I might some day become fit for a better fate than he suggested.

“Yet such has been the lot of many a fine man with a head on his shoulders, who has run it into a quarrel not his own,” he observed. “I know what war is—a horrible, detestable affair at the best. Take my advice: Have nothing to do with it. Both parties now striving for the mastery are savages. You will find that out before long—though do not tell the commandant what I say, or he may chance to order me out to be shot, as a traitor to the cause of liberty. Bah!—there is only liberty where good laws exist, which all obey! Here, the only laws obeyed are those administered at the point of the bayonet. But don’t repeat this,” he added, putting his finger to his lips and turning away.

After parting from the doctor, I returned to the house of the commandant, whom, with my uncle, I found at breakfast. I at once made inquiries about my friend of the morning.

“He is a wonderful man—a genius, a philosopher, a professor of astrology, a magician,” answered the commandant, shrugging his shoulders. “More I cannot say; he is a wonder—a mystery; but he understands the art of brewing punch to perfection, and that is something in his favour.”

I had not long taken my seat when Dr Stutterheim appeared at the door.

“What! still at breakfast, gentlemen!” he exclaimed, with a look of surprise.

“You must have been up early, to have had the advantage of us,” observed the commandant.

“Except in the matter of obtaining an appetite, I cannot acknowledge that such is the case,” said the doctor, advancing farther into the room towards a vacant chair.

“Sit down, then,” said the commandant, “and satisfy your hunger, my friend.”

“Ten thousand thanks,” answered the doctor, gliding into the chair. “As in duty bound, I willingly obey your orders;” and he forthwith began shovelling scraped salt beef, fried eggs, and plantains, of which our breakfast was composed, at a rapid rate into his capacious mouth, adding half a basketful of tropical fruits, and washing the whole down with a bowl of thick chocolate. “I follow the advice of a great philosopher, who insists that no men can be considered wise who fail when they have an opportunity early in the day to lay in a store of provision, lest they should be unable to secure a further supply,” he observed.

Turning to my uncle, he inquired whether he purposed remaining any length of time at Cervanos; and on hearing that he did not intend to start till the following morning, invited me to accompany him on a shooting excursion along the shores of the lake.

“I go for two reasons,” he said: “to increase my knowledge of the natural history of the country, and likewise to fill my pot. Señor commandante, I shall have the honour of presenting you with the result of our sport.”

I was naturally eager to accept the invitation of my new friend, and my uncle making no objections, I agreed to accompany him.

After smoking his meerschaum for the best part of an hour, he declared himself ready to start. When I went to get my gun, Tim said that he would go too—not that he distrusted the doctor, but that, as I was unaccustomed to sporting in that region, he might assist me. I might by chance be pounced upon by a jaguar, or, should I venture into the water in search of wild-fowl, be carried off by an alligator.

We at once set out with our guns and game-bags, accompanied by the doctor’s dog, Jumbo, who was almost as curious-looking as was his master—a perfect nondescript; but the doctor boasted that he had not his equal, was afraid of neither quadruped nor biped, and would face a jaguar, a bear, or a tamanoir (the large ant-eater), while he would stand to his point till he died of starvation, provided the bird chose to stay and be pointed at. We were now to try his powers.

We had intended to go along the bank of the lake, for the sake of more easily finding our way back; but the ground was so marshy that we were compelled to strike inland.

We were tolerably successful, having before long killed seven large birds of the plover species, two ground doves of a beautiful plumage, three parrots, and a monkey, which the doctor said he preferred to any members of the feathered tribe.

We were making our way through the forest, when between the trunks of the tall trees I saw Tim, who was some distance ahead, turn round and make a sign to us. It seemed to me that he intended to signify that we should go back; but instead of doing so, the doctor advanced, treading very cautiously, and making Jumbo follow at his heels. Tim put his finger to his lips to indicate that we must keep silence, while he pointed ahead. In front of us was a thick, low mass of wood, over a portion of which we could look, our heads being concealed by the branches above it; and we soon saw what had caused his anxiety.

At some distance, in an open spot of uneven ground, with their backs turned towards us, were a party of Indians armed with bows and arrows; while farther on, at a distance of thirty yards or so, was a single Indian bound by his arms to the trunk of a tree, and in front of him several Indian squaws, their eyes intently fixed on his countenance. I felt my blood freeze in my veins as I observed what was about to take place; for of their intentions there could be no doubt,—they were on the point of putting to death the unfortunate man bound to the tree. To interfere would have been madness; it was a question, indeed, whether we could retreat without being discovered. Still, we stood, rivetted to the spot. Tim made signs that he knew the man, and whispered in my ear that he was one of the Indian spies who had been sent out from the fort to gain intelligence, and had now fallen into the hands of the Goahiras.

Not a sound did he utter, but with Indian stoicism prepared to meet his fate. All hope of escape must have deserted him. The Indians stood watching him to see if he would show any sign of fear, while the squaws advanced closer and closer, shrieking, and jeering, and making hideous faces, to induce him to speak. At length three of the Indians stepped before the rest; and in an instant one shot his arrow, which went quivering into the breast of the victim. Still the man did not utter a cry. After waiting a minute, another shot an arrow, which also pierced the body of the unhappy wretch. After a third shot, I saw that he was still alive. The first Indians now retired to the main body, when I heard a groan escape from the scout’s tortured frame, on which the squaws set up a loud jeering laugh.

The doctor, who had with difficulty been able to keep back Jumbo, now began carefully to retreat, beckoning to Tim and me to do likewise. It was the best opportunity, while the savages were engaged in their butchery. Still, I much regretted that we had not boldly rushed forward and endeavoured to save the man’s life. We might, by surprising the Indians, have succeeded, as they would probably have fancied that we were followed by a larger party, and have taken to flight.

We continued our course without speaking, carefully endeavouring to make no noise, and as rapidly and cautiously as possible. The doctor led the way, taking huge strides over the ground; I followed, and Tim brought up the rear. Not for an instant did he stop to say a word, even after we had got to a considerable distance, and our voices could not possibly have been heard by the foe. I had great difficulty in keeping up with him at the rate he went; but not till we got within sight of the fort did he slacken his pace and allow me to come up with him.

I then told him that I wished we had tried to save the scout.

“We should probably have had our scalps hanging at the end of their spears long ere this, had we made the attempt,” he answered; “you’ve run a narrow chance a second time this day of losing your life, young gentleman, and you should be thankful. It is as well, however, that we caught sight of the Indians; depend on it, they are in force at no great distance, and we may expect an attack from them before many days are over—perhaps before many hours are past—and we must lose no time in warning the commandant.”

On entering the fort, the commandant, who happened to be near the gate, and saw our game-bags full, greeted us warmly, and invited the doctor to dinner.

“Very happy to do myself that honour,” he answered. “And perhaps, señor commandante, you will allow me to present you with these birds, some of which it may be as well to cook forthwith; and in the meantime I will relate to you our adventures, and you can form your own conclusion.”

The doctor then described our having seen the scout shot by the Indians, and expressed his belief that the place would be attacked ere long. The commandant took the information very coolly. He prided himself, I observed, on his dignified behaviour on all occasions; for though he had joined the Republicans, he could still boast that the bluest of blue blood of the ancient hidalgoes of Castille flowed in his veins.

“Care shall be taken that the sentries keep their eyes open,” he replied; “and we will be prepared for the savages.”

The news we brought very soon spread through the fort, and I observed that the sentries were doubled; but otherwise the people occupied themselves as before, in smoking, gambling, and cock-fighting, which seemed especially to interest all classes. My uncle listened attentively to the account I gave him.

“Possibly the enemy may not approach the fort for several days, and we shall lose the opportunity of assisting to defend it, for I cannot possibly delay beyond to-morrow,” he remarked. “I hope, however, that our friends will be successful.”

My uncle had made arrangements, I found, for starting at daybreak the next morning, and Tim was busily employed in getting the bongo—the boat we had engaged—ready for the voyage, and having our luggage conveyed on board. Finding that we were really about to start, the doctor asked leave to accompany us a part of the distance, observing that he liked good society, and that he hoped by his agreeable conversation to repay us for our kindness.

Tim had procured some mosquito-curtains, which we were to take with us on our voyage, when we should require them even more than at Cervanos. We accordingly lay down within them at an early hour. It was pleasant to hear our abominable tormentors of the previous night humming about outside, and trying in vain to get at us; but we had to be very quick in closing the opening, or a host would otherwise have made their way in, in spite of us.

Having wished my uncle good-night, and ascertained that not a living mosquito was inside the curtain, I closed my eyes, and was in another instant asleep. Tim was to call us half-an-hour before daybreak, that we might take some chocolate before starting.

I had been asleep for some time, when I was awakened by the report of a musket, rapidly followed by several others; and the next instant the air was rent by the most terrific shrieks and yells, which seemed to come from all directions round the fort, while the voices of the officers shouting out their orders, and the tramp of the soldiers, were heard as they rushed to the ramparts.

“What can be the matter?” I exclaimed, as I crept from under my mosquito-curtain.

“The fort has been attacked, and I much fear that the sentries have been surprised,” answered my uncle, who had at the same instant jumped up, and was hurriedly putting on his clothes. I followed his example; and we were thus engaged when Tim burst into the room.

“Quick, quick, Masther Concannan!—quick, Masther Barry, dear! and just come along with me,” he exclaimed. “There’s not a moment to be lost; the Indians are getting the best of it, and climbing over the walls in thousands, like so many imps, and the soldiers, do all they can, can’t stop them.”

“We must go and assist our friends,” cried my uncle, buckling on his sword and seizing his rifle.

“Oh, Masther Denis, now don’t,” exclaimed Tim; “you’ll be kilt entirely if you do that same. Come with me now; it’s all up with the garrison, but we may have still time to get on board the boat and shove off into the lake. It’s wiser to live and fight another day than get knocked on the head by an Indian tomahawk; and that’s sure to be the lot of one and all of us if we stop.”

Tim wrung his hands and leaped about in his agitation while speaking; and then, apparently doubting whether his arguments would prevail with my uncle, he seized my arm with one hand, while he picked up my gun and various other articles with the other, and dragged me along, determined at all events to try and save my life, though he might not induce my uncle to make his escape.

The din had by this time greatly increased; the roar of the heavy guns, the rattle of musketry, and the clashing of steel, were heard amid the shrieks and shouts of the combatants. At first the reports of firearms gave me hope that the garrison were driving back their assailants; but suddenly the sound of the musketry ceased. Looking back, I was thankful to see my uncle following, carrying his portmanteau on his shoulder and my carpet-bag in his hand.

Tim took the way to the part of the fortifications nearest the landing-place. We quickly scrambled over the intrenchments, and my uncle, throwing his burdens to us, speedily followed. It was the only spot not assailed by the Indians; for what reason I could not tell, as they might have got in with little more difficulty than we had found in getting out. The triumphant yells of the Indians and the shrieks of the hapless garrison sounding in our ears, showed us too plainly what would have been the consequence of delay. We rushed down to the landing-place, and reached it just at the moment when the terrified crew of the bongo were shoving off, intending to leave us to our fate. Tim, springing forward, seized the gunwale of the boat and hauled her back, tumbling me in with an energy which almost sent me over on the other side.

“Jump in, Masther Denis, jump in; here come a whole host of Indians,” he exclaimed, “and they’ll be after scalping every mother’s son of us if we stop a moment longer.”

My uncle sprang into the boat, and Tim, following, was giving her a shove off, when, as I gazed through the darkness, I saw a number of figures brandishing their tomahawks, and rushing towards us. In front of them came a person evidently flying for his life.

“Stop, my friends, stop,” he cried out, “or the fellows at my heels will have me scalped!”

I recognised the voice of Dr Stutterheim. He sprang after us; but his foot failing to reach the boat, heavily laden as he was with his gun and various articles, he fell into the water. Tim, however, leant over the bows and caught his hand before he sank: and my uncle and I assisting, we hauled him with all his traps on board, while the crew were paddling with might and main to escape from his pursuers, who in another minute would have been up with us. The doctor was too much exhausted to speak, and threw himself down in the bottom of the boat.

Before the Indians had time to stop and draw their bows, we were some distance from the shore; but that another minute’s delay would have been fatal, was proved by the flight of arrows which followed us. Our black, brown, and swarthy rowers, however, did not cease their exertions till we had got far enough off to be invisible from the shore.

My uncle now gave the crew orders to cease paddling, that he might judge from the sounds what was taking place in the fort. Musketry shots were still heard, and the roar from several heavy guns proved that the garrison were still holding out in some part of the fort—the war-whoops of the Indians, which continually rent the air, giving us hopes that though fighting desperately they had not succeeded in mastering the place. My uncle expressed his regret that he had come away so suddenly, and feared that he should be accused of cowardice in not having afforded more assistance to his friends.

“Set your mind at rest on that score,” observed the doctor; “had you remained, you would now have been numbered with the dead. Depend on it, the garrison have retreated to the citadel, and are there holding out; but as no reinforcements are likely to appear, they must ultimately yield and be cut to pieces—which is sure to be their fate, as no one in this war thinks of asking or giving quarter. We may, then, congratulate ourselves on our escape.

“This is the third time, young gentleman, in as many days, that you have run the risk of losing your life,” he observed, turning to me.

I acknowledged that he was right, and felt that I ought to return thanks to Heaven for my having been so mercifully preserved.

Still, my uncle wished to go back, but the crew positively refused to obey him—Tim and the doctor siding with them.

“Let us be wise, Mr Concannan,” observed the latter; “it is useless running our noses into danger when it can be avoided. And even if we were to go back, we could not save the lives of the commandant and the garrison. Let us console ourselves with the reflection that, should they be killed, they have died doing their duty.”

At length my uncle yielded to the doctor’s advice, and directed the crew to paddle on towards the upper part of the lake. As there were several narrow passages to be passed, leading from one lake into another, it was important that we should get through them before the Indians could reach the shore, whence they could pick us off with their arrows. It was satisfactory to know that they had no canoes in which to follow us, else our chances of escape would have been small indeed.

It was still dark when we reached the first passage. Not a word was spoken, and we hoped, even if our enemies were on the shore, that we should get through without being perceived. Still, I could not help keeping an anxious watch on the banks, expecting every instant to see a party of Indians start out from behind the trees and send a flight of arrows after us.

I breathed more freely when, emerging from the channel, we were once more making our way across a broad expanse. Here daylight burst on us. There would probably be less risk in passing the next channel, as the Indians would not have had time to get so far from Cervanos; but it was possible that a party might have been despatched, before the attack was made, to prevent any boats going up or down. Still, as our four guns would hold in check a strong party armed only with bows and arrows, we had not much cause to fear.

The crew laid in their paddles to breakfast, that they might paddle with greater vigour through the channel; and we at the same time took our morning meal, washing it down with some water from the lake, which was here perfectly fresh. While I was dipping my cup in the water, a long dark snout darted towards it; and I had barely time to withdraw my hand, letting the cup slip, when a pair of hideous jaws closed on it. They were those of a monstrous alligator. A blow from a paddle and the shouts of the men made the brute disappear; but I took good care not again to put my hand overboard while the boat was motionless. Several others rose a few feet from us, though none came so near the boat as the first had done; and as soon as the men began to move their paddles, the monsters, who are arrant cowards, kept their distance.

A short time after this we entered the channel leading to a yet more southern lake. We eagerly peered among the trees on both sides, but no Indians could be seen, so we had reason to hope that we had completely distanced them. Among the numberless shrubs which adorned the shores were wild plantains and fig-trees, decked with flowers of brilliant and beautiful colours, which grew on the creepers, festooning the boughs, and often hanging down in long lines into the water. Birds of all sorts, and of magnificent plumage, flew amid the branches, or stood on the fallen trunks floating near the margin—beautiful milk-white herons, scarlet spoonbills, flamingoes, and various other water-fowl.

We were paddling on, when I caught sight of several figures moving among the trees. “Are those Indians?” I exclaimed, getting my gun ready to fire should they prove to be enemies.

“Save your powdher, Masther Barry,” answered Tim; “shure they’re only monkeys. We shall hear them howling loud enough at night-time; you might then fancy that they were a whole troop of Indians coming down to scalp us.”

The animals at which we were looking were of considerable size, with a reddish tinge on their rough hair. The Spaniards called them “monas coloradas;” but they are generally known as howling monkeys. We saw many more among the trees as we paddled forward.

Having performed a long distance before night approached, it was considered that we might with safety land and sleep on shore, our bongo affording us no room to stretch our legs. We accordingly landed at the end of a canal through which we had been passing; and a space was quickly cleared for an encampment. Having the channel on one side and the lake on the other, we had only two sides to guard. A fire was soon lighted, and Tim set to work to cook our supper; while we put up our mosquito-curtains, and collected some dry leaves to form our couches.

The mosquito-curtains, I should say, were supported on four short poles stuck in the ground, on which rested four others, so that the whole arrangement looked like a long narrow box covered with fine muslin. Without these contrivances it is utterly impossible to sleep with any degree of comfort on the banks of the Magdalena, or indeed of most of the rivers in that part of the country. There is only one opening, through which the person must creep, and then close it tightly on the inside.

To prevent surprise, we agreed to keep a vigilant watch. The first turn fell to me. I wondered that anybody could go to sleep with the terrific noises which came out of the forest. The howling monkeys were the most vociferous—now uttering loud groans, now yells of laughter and other strange sounds, truly making night hideous. Nearer at hand I could hear the alligators snapping their jaws as they caught some unfortunate fish or wild-fowl; while their snorts, as they chased each other, came from all sides. I kept my eye on the bank, for I had heard that the savage creatures often climb out of the water, and carry away the first person they can find. The doctor’s dog seemed to be well aware of this; for he crouched down close to the fire, with one of his eyes always open, either at the water, or towards the forest, from whence a jaguar might spring and carry him off.

I soon got accustomed to the sounds of the howling monkeys, the cries of the night-birds, and any other noises which came out of the forest; but I never could feel comfortable while I heard that horrible snapping and crunching made by the alligators. While on the watch, there was no chance of becoming drowsy, for the mosquitoes all the time made the most determined assaults on my face, and I had to keep my handkerchief constantly on the move to prevent them from settling. Fortunately, they cannot bite till then; but when once they have settled, it is better to allow them to suck their fill, for otherwise the inflammation is far worse.

The doctor was to follow me; so, after two hours, I called him, and remarked on the number of alligators I had heard near us.

“To-morrow morning we will put a stop to the snapping of some of them,” he answered. “I shall awake before dawn, as I always do, and will call you, if you wish to exercise your skill on some of them.”

I begged that he would do so; and having placed my gun safely under the curtains, I crept in and closed them. Two or three mosquitoes had managed to follow me; but the light from the fire streaming through enabled me to catch them and kill them, and in a few moments I was fast asleep.

I felt unwilling to get up when I heard the doctor’s voice, till I remembered that we were to make war on the alligators. The feeling of utter detestation with which those creatures are regarded is not surprising, when it is recollected what a scourge they are to the people inhabiting the banks of the rivers and lakes of that part of the country. I was soon on foot; and having loaded my gun with ball, I accompanied the doctor to a little creek which ran at no great distance from the camp. Jumbo went with us. He knew exactly what to do. First he went to the shore of the lake and barked several times; then ran along, barking occasionally, till he reached the entrance of the creek, along the bank of which he ran. Soon after he barked several long snouts appeared above the surface; but Jumbo was wide-awake, never for a moment withdrawing his eyes from the water, so that should an alligator make a dash at him he might bound off out of harm’s way.

After some time we saw a huge monster appear, who quickly put the other alligators to flight, and then came swimming up the creek towards Jumbo. The dog barked, and then bounded off close to where the doctor and I lay hid. Once more Jumbo showed his nose among the weeds; when the alligator, opening his immense jaws, made a dash at him. At the same moment the doctor, starting up, fired down the creature’s throat, and stopped him in mid career. His head and shoulders rose above the surface, and then he rolled over dead. I shouted with satisfaction, and Jumbo barked his approval.

“We have not yet finished our sport,” said the doctor; “we must kill half-a-dozen before breakfast. Go, good Jumbo, and entice a few more up here.”

Jumbo understood his master, and was proceeding to execute his orders, when we heard my uncle’s voice shouting to us to return, in tones which showed that he had good reason for doing so. Making our way through the tangled forest, we soon reached the camp, where we found every one astir, our mosquito-curtains and sleeping-rugs packed up, and the men busy loading the boat.

“Jump on board, and I’ll tell you all about it afterwards,” said my uncle.

We obeyed him, Jumbo leaping in after us; when the men, shoving the boat off with their poles, began to paddle rapidly across the lake.

“I will now tell you the reason why I was in a hurry to be off,” said my uncle. “One of our crew, Choco, a quick-witted fellow, going to the further end of yonder point, observed a canoe with several Indians in her coming along the canal. As soon as they saw him, they paddled back at a rapid rate; but he was convinced that the canoe was one of several in pursuit of us, and that the Indians have gone back to summon their companions, believing that they will find us sitting at breakfast. He may have been mistaken; but discretion is the better part of valour, and though we might beat them off, it would be unwise to run the risk of a fight when it can be avoided.”

“You are a wise man, Mr Concannan,” observed the doctor. “Why should people spend their lives in fighting, when they would be so much happier living at peace with each other? It appears to me that the world is full of great fools, and that they are its rulers.”

“I hope you don’t include us in the category?” said my uncle. “If one set of people will attack another, what are the peaceably disposed to do?”

“They must fight to defend themselves, I own,” answered the doctor; “and that proves to me that the fools rule the world, for they compel the wise, who must of necessity love peace, to go to war. The world will never be at rest till not only the great majority, but the whole have become wise; and as I never expect to see that, I believe it will continue to the end the same troublous, unhappy world it is.”

The doctor, I thought, took matters very coolly.

I very frequently looked out astern, expecting to see a fleet of canoes full of Indian warriors emerging from the canal; but as none appeared, I began to suppose that Señor Choco had made a mistake.

We had still another narrow passage or canal to pass through before we could enter the main branch of the river; and the doctor urged the men to make good speed across the lake, as he was excessively hungry, and wanted his breakfast. He amused us in the meantime by recounting some of his adventures with alligators. He had the most unbounded antipathy towards the monsters; which arose, he said, from once seeing a poor girl, who was stooping down to fill her pitcher with water at a river’s brink, seized by one of them. The horrible saurian, darting out of the water and grasping her arm, dragged her off before he could go to her rescue. He fired, but his bullet glanced off the scaly head of the creature, which in an instant carried the unfortunate female, who was shrieking loudly, under the surface. “There lay her pitcher on the river’s brink,” said the doctor; “but she whom I had just before seen full of health and strength, and singing gleefully, was nowhere visible. I thereupon vowed vengeance against the whole race, and have never lost an opportunity of slaughtering them.”

The alligators and jaguars, the doctor told us, are mortal enemies. The latter wages perpetual war against the former. Whenever a jaguar can find an alligator asleep on a hot sand-bank, it attacks the saurian under the tail, which, being soft and fat, is the most vulnerable part; and such is the alligator’s alarm, that it will scarcely move or make the slightest resistance. If, however, it gets its enemy into the water, its more peculiar element, then the tables are turned, and the jaguar is in most instances drowned and devoured. The jaguar being well aware of its inferiority to the saurian in the proper element of the latter, when it has to cross a river it sets up a tremendous howl on the bank previous to entering the water, in the hope of scaring the alligator to a distance.

The native villages on the banks of a river in which alligators abound are guarded by strong palisades, to prevent the monsters from creeping on shore; which they will frequently do when pressed by hunger, and will carry off any persons or animals they may encounter. An alligator has been known to dash into the midst of a crowd collected on the shore and carry off a strong man, in spite of every effort made to rescue the poor fellow. Scarcely a year passes in the neighbourhood of places frequented by them without two or three women being thus destroyed. The doctor mentioned a remarkable instance of intrepidity and presence of mind exhibited by a young girl, who, on going to the margin of the river to fetch water, felt one of her hands suddenly seized in the jaws of a huge alligator. Knowing that death must be her inevitable fate should she not find means to rescue herself, she plunged her fingers into the eyes of the animal with such violence that the pain compelled it to let her go; though not, however, till it had bitten off the lower part of her arm. Notwithstanding the enormous quantity of blood which flowed from the fearful wound, the girl struck out, swimming with the hand that still remained to her, and happily reached the shore, where her friends received her; and her wound being bound up and the flow of blood stopped, she ultimately recovered.

Alligators swim rapidly against the strongest current; and when they reach the shore they dart forward with the quickness of an arrow towards the object at which they aim, when excited either by rage or hunger. Under ordinary circumstances the creature moves with the slowness of a salamander; but it frequently runs,—when it makes a rustling noise, which proceeds from the rubbing of the scales of its skin one against another. In this movement it bends its back and appears higher on its legs than when at rest. Though it generally moves in a straight line, it can change its direction, both in the water and on shore.

“Jumbo, there, hates alligators as much as I do,” continued the doctor. “He was once very nearly caught by one; but he knows the ways of the hateful creatures. I was crossing a river in a canoe, when he unwisely took to the water. I had reached the shore, when I saw a huge alligator swimming towards him. Jumbo saw it too, and made way down the stream, the alligator following and rapidly gaining on him. In an instant I thought my poor dog would be in the creature’s jaws, when Jumbo suddenly turned and made way up the stream. It took the alligator a considerable time to come about, and before it was able to dart forward towards its expected prey Jumbo had safely reached the shore.”

The doctor declared that the female alligator, at the period of hatching her eggs, devours all her young ones which do not run into the river; the immediate use of their legs being the only means of saving their lives.

“I cannot fancy such monsters having any maternal affection,” I exclaimed.

These and similar anecdotes occupied the time we took in crossing the lake. We now entered the last channel, which was to conduct us into the Magdalena. Lofty trees grew on both sides of the channel, among which we saw numerous large green parrots and several kinds of monkeys, the howling species being the most numerous. There were also some large birds which stood looking at us, and which the doctor called “vultures of the lake.” They had long, red, and very strong legs, with their backs and breasts black and grey, and curved spurs, sharp at the point, and about an inch in length, on the first joint of each wing.

As we had seen nothing of our supposed enemies, the Indians, the crew declared that they were too hungry to proceed farther without breakfasting; and a tolerably open space between the trees affording us room to light a fire, we landed, and having cleared the ground, soon had our pots boiling. Our crew put all their food, consisting of rice, plantain, and salt beef, into one large pot, and boiled them together. The mess was then emptied out into wooden basins, from which they fed themselves with their fingers, long cakes of sugar serving as dessert.

By the doctor’s advice, we imitated their example in one respect,—by boiling fowls, ham, vegetables, and flour together, which, when well seasoned, made an excellent dish; only, we made use of spoons and knives and forks to eat it.

After the meal was finished the men lay on the ground to rest, while the doctor produced his huge meerschaum and commenced smoking, surrounding his visage with such dense clouds that not a mosquito ventured to approach him, while my uncle and I had to keep our handkerchiefs moving rapidly to drive off the detestable little insects. We were thus enjoying ourselves, if enjoyment it could be called, when, looking along the channel in the direction we had come, I caught sight of the bow of a canoe just rounding a point.

“On board, on board!” shouted the padrone, or captain; and the men, jumping up, tumbled the cooking things, pots and pans, into the boat—Tim following with our breakfast set, which he had just before packed up.

On our taking our seats, the crew shoved off and began to paddle at a rapid rate up the stream. The canoe we had seen had now come full into view, and at first appeared to be gaining on us. This made our padrone excite his men to fresh exertions. Should our pursuer be an enemy, and overtake us, they would as certainly be put to death as we should, supposing that we were unable effectually to defend ourselves. We got our firearms ready, however, having no intention of yielding as long as we were able to resist; and the doctor, having put fresh powder into the pan of his rifle, now knelt down in the stern of the boat, prepared to take good aim should our pursuers exhibit any hostile intentions.

“Why, doctor, I thought you said just now that only fools were eager to fight,” I could not help observing.

“And you are right, young gentleman,” he answered. “I am only preparing to defend myself; and I hope that the people in yonder canoe will have the wisdom not to attack us. Still, in case they should do so, we should lack wisdom if we were not prepared for their reception.”

While the doctor was speaking I was watching the canoe, which was now joined by several others; but for some reason or other the fastest remained for the slower ones, and thus we managed to keep well ahead. The water hissed and bubbled under the bows as our boat clove her way through it. My uncle sat as calm as usual, and had I judged by his countenance I should not have supposed that we were in the slightest danger. The captain and crew, however, showed by their eagerness that they were very unwilling to be overtaken; while the doctor, in spite of his professed pacific feelings, was full of fight, and prepared for the worst. Such good use did the crew make of their paddles, however, that on seeing that we were distancing them our pursuers began to shout and shriek—from disappointment, as we supposed. But their cries only made our men redouble their efforts, and utter every now and then a derisive shout in return. It was echoed by the chattering of the monkeys and the loud squalls of the parrots from the neighbouring woods, Jumbo occasionally adding to the chorus by barking furiously.

At length, on rounding a point, we lost sight of the hostile canoes; but our men did not relax their efforts, for we expected them every instant to reappear. I kept watching the point, but no canoe could be discovered coming round it, so I began to hope that the Indians had given up the chase. Our men behaved admirably, and not for a moment did they complain of the severe exertion they were going through. Still, we were too well acquainted with the treacherous character of the Indians not to know that they might very possibly keep out of sight to deceive us, and then come on during the night, in the expectation of finding us encamped on shore, and thus take us by surprise. This neither my uncle nor the doctor had any intention of allowing them to do; and by promising a reward to the crew, my uncle induced them to continue paddling on as fast as at first. They shouted after their fashion when, emerging from the narrow channel, we entered the broad waters of the Magdalena. A breeze was setting up the stream; the mast was now stepped and the sail hoisted, and along we flew at a rapid rate.

We had no longer any fear of being overtaken, though we knew that we had many dangers to encounter on the voyage. The inhabitants of the banks were generally in favour of the Republican cause, but we might possibly, unless we took care, land at a spot occupied by Spanish troops or by Indians fighting for the King of Spain.

I must pass rapidly over our river-voyage, interesting as it was. The banks were, in numerous places, exceedingly beautiful, from the profusion of scarlet and lilac coloured flowers of the convolvulus kind which covered the trees and bushes, some growing on them, others the produce of the numberless creepers which hang to the boughs. In some places we saw the wild cotton-tree hanging over the banks of the river, with pods full of cotton ripe and bursting. Among other creepers was the vanilla, entwining itself round the trees and producing a pleasing effect. The doctor told me that it is used as a spice to flavour chocolate and various dishes.

After sailing on for some days, we came to a part of the river full of islands covered with lofty trees and a variety of shrubs, the mimosa being among the most beautiful. Of the many creepers we observed, one, called the bejuco, is so strong and tough that the natives use it to fasten together the rafters of their houses, and the bamboos forming the covering of the long flat-bottomed boats, called champans, with which they navigate the upper part of the river Magdalena. Birds of all kinds, of the most gorgeous plumage, flitted among the trees or flew over our heads; large scarlet macaws in great numbers, two-and-two, went squalling by, their brilliant plumage shining in the bright sun; large black wild turkeys occupied the lower branches of the trees. We frequently saw the scarlet heads of the macaws peeping out of holes in the trees in which they make their nests; while flights of gaily-coloured parrots and green parrakeets were flying backwards and forwards across the river. Small fish, too, were in such vast shoals in the shallows that the bongo appeared in one place to cut through them. The finny tribe must, however, enjoy a hazardous existence, for close to the spot we counted no less than thirty alligators swimming within a few hundred yards of our boat, their heads generally appearing only above water; and we frequently saw the fish leaping above the surface, evidently endeavouring to escape from their persecutors. On several occasions we saw the monsters’ carcasses lying on the banks, probably killed by the jaguars. Some were reduced to perfect skeletons, every particle of flesh having been eaten off by armadilloes or ants.

At one of the villages where we landed, we found a poor mulatto woman in great tribulation; and on our inquiring what was the matter, she told us that her daughter had that morning been seized by an alligator, while in the act of filling her pitcher in the river, and carried away. The rest of the villagers were also in a state of alarm, as they declared that the alligators, when once they have tasted human flesh, become particularly fond of it, and are especially bold and fierce in their attacks on people approaching their haunts.

“I will try what I can do for you,” said the doctor. “I have been sent opportunely to your relief. Know me as the renowned slayer of caymans!”

The villagers on this gazed on him with great respect, and eagerly showed him the part of the river frequented by their foe.

Obtaining a bar of iron about a foot and a half in length, the ends sharply pointed, he fixed it in a float, which he surrounded with a large mass of putrid pork. This he fastened to a long rope, the part nearest the bait being of an open texture which the alligator’s teeth could not bite through.

The bait was allowed to float off into the river, while the end of the rope was secured to the trunk of a tree. Jumbo was then sent to bark along the bank of the river, in order to attract the monster. Its snout before long appeared above the surface, when Jumbo, aware of the rush it would make, scampered off up the steep bank to a safe distance. The sagacious dog knew well the danger of manoeuvring on ground raised only a little above the level of the water; for the alligator could easily land and make its way over it with great speed. The monster, disappointed in obtaining the delicate morsel Jumbo would have afforded, at last caught sight of the bait; and making a dash at it, immediately found its jaws pierced by the iron spike, and began to haul away at the rope with a force which threatened to snap it, if it did not pull down the tree.

The doctor now called the villagers, and ordered them to haul away at the rope. At first they seemed very unwilling to undertake the task; but we setting them the example, they laid hold of it, and casting the end loose from the tree, hauled away lustily. In spite of its struggles, the vast monster was dragged up to the bank; and feeling its feet touch the shore, it made the most terrific efforts to back off. The men hauled away with such good-will, that it was compelled to move along the ground for some distance on its knees. Suddenly getting on its feet, however, it made a desperate rush at its captors. “Pull away! pull away!” shouted the doctor, who was prepared for the emergency; and the villagers pulled with all their might, till two or three tumbling down, the rest scampered off. My uncle, Tim, and I had sprung on one side and got ready our rifles, but before we could fire the monster would have been upon the fallen men, when the doctor, stepping forward, fired his rifle almost down its throat. It instantly stopped, and after another attempt to dash forward fell over on its side.

The villagers on this slackened the rope, when the creature, recovering, made another desperate attempt to reach them. “Pull, ye villains, pull!” shouted Tim; his words being echoed by the doctor, who, in his excitement, as another great naturalist asserts that he himself did, leaped on the alligator’s back, and flourished his rifle, which he had reloaded, above his head; then quickly lowering it, he presented it towards the creature’s ear.

The natives, now emboldened by witnessing his performance, hauled away as he directed them. The wounded alligator was evidently becoming weaker; and the doctor, fearing that it might roll over him, and finding his seat not the most comfortable in the world, leaped off; then running some way ahead, he again fired into the creature’s mouth. The last shot proved an effectual quietus to the saurian, which, after making a few convulsive struggles, rolled over and lay perfectly still.

The natives, on seeing their enemy dead, shouted and danced with delight, and insisted on carrying us all back on their shoulders to the village in triumph. They told us that the monster had already carried off several dogs which had gone down to the water to drink. They urged us to remain, that we might kill a few more alligators; and were much disappointed when we told them that we were compelled to continue our voyage.

As we frequently had to bring up, sometimes before dark, we had opportunities of shooting a variety of birds and animals in the forest. The doctor killed several monkeys, one a large red fellow with a beard as long and rough as that of a capuchin friar, and several others of a smaller species—one called the titti, a pretty little creature with a grey back and chocolate-coloured breast, the face without any hair. I was sorry to see the small creature put to death—it seemed like unnecessary cruelty; but the doctor did not participate in my feelings, and I must confess that the monkey made an excellent fricassee.

We generally spent our nights on the dry sandbanks. At first I was under the unpleasant apprehension that we might be attacked by alligators; but we were assured that they seldom come out of the water at night, and unless very hungry are not likely to carry anybody off. Among other valuable vegetable productions of the country, we saw the guava-tree, from the fruit of which the jelly of that name is made.

At last we arrived at the town of Mompox, which we happily found in the hands of the Republicans. We had here to exchange our bongo for a flat-bottomed boat called a champan, with which alone the upper part of the river can, from its numerous shallows, be navigated. It is exactly the same in shape and construction as the boats made by the Indians before the conquest of the country by the Spaniards. They are of all sizes. A large one costs a considerable sum—as much, we were told, as three thousand dollars. The larger are about sixty feet in length, by seven feet in beam, and the gunwale is two feet from the water’s edge. In the centre is a cabin with a convex roof, between six and seven feet high, made of strong and flexible bamboos covered with palm-leaves, and fastened together with the bejuco, the creeper I have before described. The crew consists of a padrone or captain, a pilot (who steers with a large paddle), and about twenty-two men, who urge the boat on with long poles, some standing in the bow and others on the top of the cabin.

The champan we engaged, however, was of a much smaller size.

The news we received at Mompox, that the Spanish forces were moving out of the fortified towns they had for some time occupied, and were traversing the country, made my uncle anxious to continue our voyage.

We passed several plantations of the cocoa-tree, from the seed of which chocolate is made. The cocoa-pod resembles a small, rough melon, and is of a dark-red colour, full of small beans.

We had now in view in the distance ranges of mountains, which appeared to be of vast height; a sign that we were approaching a region very different from that which we had hitherto traversed.

The second or third night of our voyage in the champan, we brought up alongside a narrow sand-bank backed by lofty trees; and after we had lighted our fire, and just as we were preparing for our evening meal, on looking up I saw a number of comical little faces grinning down upon us. As we did not move, their monkey owners became bolder, and advanced towards the ends of the boughs, playing all sorts of gambols,—such as hanging by their tails, and swinging backwards and forwards. Many of them had young ones on their backs, who, in spite of the leaps made by their parents, clung fast, even when they were swinging by their tails with their heads downwards. An old monkey led the way, followed by the others, with flankers and a rear-guard. Sometimes, as a variety, they played a regular game of “follow the leader,” and amused us much. They were succeeded by vast flights of parrots and parrakeets, which came to rest in couples on some wild fig-trees which grew near, and indulged in a vociferous concert till the shades of night crept over the river. At times the air was full of them, coming from all directions; but, notwithstanding the din they made, we allowed them to enjoy their repose undisturbed.

As the interior of the toldo, or cabin, of the champan was excessively close, and infested by mosquitoes, we formed a sort of tent of the boat’s sail, which we stretched on four uprights, leaving room below for the air to circulate. Under this covering we spread our bedding, trusting to the Bogos, as the boatmen are called, to keep a proper watch; and still more to the vigilance of the doctor’s dog, Jumbo, who always lay at his master’s feet. We had been so accustomed to hear of alligators, jaguars, and huge serpents, without having hitherto suffered from them, that all anxiety on the subject had vanished. When we went out shooting in the woods, we of course kept a sharp look-out on either side, and took care where we stepped, that we might not be putting our feet on a venomous serpent, or allow a jaguar to steal towards us unperceived; and as for the alligators, we had arrived at the opinion that they had more to fear from us than we from them.

Thus we were all sleeping tranquilly that night, when, about four or five hours after sunset, I was startled by a bright light which I saw through my closed eyelids, followed almost immediately by a tremendous roar, which seemed to shake the very earth.

“What’s the matter?” I shouted out, starting to my feet, scarcely understanding what was about to happen.

“A thunderstorm has broken,” answered the doctor; “we shall have the wind down upon us before long, and then we shall see what we shall see.”

Scarcely had he spoken when I was thrown flat on my face by a tremendous gust, which in an instant tore away from the posts the sail which formed our tent, and sent it fluttering in the air. The trees bent before the furious blast, while whole branches which were torn off went flying to a distance, and we felt masses of sticks and leaves come rattling down on our heads. For some moments we were in total darkness, then a flash of lightning of extreme vividness burst from the clouds, showing to me the rest of the party lying down as I was, and involuntarily attempting to shield their heads with their hands, while all around the lofty palm-trees were yielding to the gale, which was tearing their feathery heads into fragments. Every instant I expected some of the trees to come down and crush us.

We were utterly helpless, for had we attempted to push off in the champan, we might have been driven against the points of the sunken trees (to the destruction of the boat), or have been stranded on the beach. The champan, it was to be hoped, was securely moored. I shouted to the crew, who had remained on board, but the uproar made by the howling of the wind, and the crashing boughs, and the dashing of the water against the banks, completely drowned my voice. All we could do, therefore, was to remain where we were. A jaguar might have picked us off without difficulty; but I trusted that they were as unable to move as we were, or, what was probable, were terrified by the fierceness of the tempest, which has the effect of overcoming the most savage natures.

I groped about till I got hold of my rifle, which as usual I had placed by my side when I went to sleep. At length there came a lull, when I heard the doctor’s voice shouting out, “Barry, my boy, where are you? Mr Concannan—Tim, Tim,—speak, and tell me if you are alive.”

“Shure, it’s alive I am,” answered Tim, “though almost kilt, by a big bough which came down just now on my back.”

I saw him, by another flash of lightning which just then darted from the sky, creeping out from beneath a huge branch, which had happily formed an arch over him. I was thankful, too, to hear my uncle’s voice.

“Stay where you are, Tim,” cried the doctor, “and we’ll join you. Providence has formed a hut for us, and into that hut we will creep, as we shall be safer there than elsewhere.”

We followed his advice, and were joined by Jumbo, who followed his master under the shelter; and the huge bough effectually guarded us from the numerous other branches which came hurtling through the air.

As we could now hear each other’s voices, my uncle expressed his fears about the champan. I told him that I had seen her safe during one of the flashes of lightning, and that I hoped she was still secured to the bank.

Hour after hour, it seemed, went by; the wind howling, the thunder roaring, the lightning flashing through the air, darting amid the trees, and running in fiery lines along the ground with a brightness which so dazzled my eyes, that for the next moment I felt as if struck by blindness, leaving the forest dark as Erebus—though I could still see the trees waving backwards and forwards against the sky.

How thankful I felt when at length the thunder rolled away, the lightning ceased, and the wind almost immediately afterwards fell, till it became perfectly calm. In a short time the fire-flies darted out from their hiding-places, and filled the air with their soft light; but we were not inclined to contemplate their beauty just then, or to attend to anything else except endeavouring to make ourselves tolerably snug for the remainder of the night.

We had escaped a great danger, moreover, of which we at first had not thought. Our fire had gone out before the tempest broke on us, or the flames might have set the grass and dry shrubs around on fire; and though the forest itself was too green to burn, it might have rendered the spot untenable.

Groping about, we found the sail sticking in the bushes; and dragging it over the bough which protected us, we again secured it. In the meantime, Tim had been engaged in relighting the fire, for which the storm had supplied us with an abundance of fuel.

On hailing the champan, we were answered by the padrone; who, to our satisfaction, informed us that she had escaped injury, though some of the crew had received pretty severe blows from falling branches. As we could not trust to the crew, Tim undertook to keep watch while my uncle, the doctor, and I slept. The storm had done us one great service, too,—it had blown away the mosquitoes and other biting insects, besides having materially cooled the air.

The next morning we continued our voyage, the greater portion of which was performed by the men shoving on the champan with their long poles, sometimes among trunks of trees, at others amid rocks; but occasionally they had to go on shore and tow the boat along through the whirlpools and rapids which we met with. The scenery was often very beautiful, consisting of magnificent ranges of mountains, their bases rising abruptly out of the river, covered with umbrageous trees and flowering shrubs of various hues.

At length we reached the neighbourhood of Honda, where our voyage terminated; and from thence we were to travel over the mountains for upwards of two hundred miles. We here parted with our friend the doctor, who was bound for Santa Fé de Bogotà, where, he told us, he hoped to get employment. He wished us good-bye with real heartiness, and I believe was grateful to my uncle for having brought him thus far on his journey. I was much obliged to him for the interesting information he had given me, and I told him that should he ever come our way, I was sure that my father would be happy to see him at our house.

“Perhaps I may come, my young friend,” he answered; “it is possible that the inhabitants of Bogotà may not appreciate my talents.”

Mounted on a stout mule, and carrying the whole of his property in his saddle-bags, he took his way eastward over the mountains towards the capital of New Granada, while we followed a more southerly course across a wild and mountainous region.

Chapter Three.

Journey over the mountains—Lose our way—We find Padre Pacheco enjoying a bath—Invited to his house—Fresh guests arrive—A Patriot General—A lovely heroine—A supper at the Padre’s—I am invited to join the Patriot cause—Anecdotes of Generals Bolivar and Paez—General Bermudez—The guests depart—Candela comes as our guide—The General’s history—Attacked by Indians—We wound and capture their chief—Carry him with us—Our journey continued.

Our journey was performed on mule-back; but I had expected to be provided with a good horse to ride.

“You would soon have wished yourself mounted on your present steady, sure-footed animal,” observed my uncle; “the roads we shall have to traverse are such as no horse could pass over in safety with a rider on its back.”

I soon found that he was right. The country we travelled over was wild and rugged in the extreme. Dark rocks of varied forms rose in lofty perpendicular walls on one hand, while torrents dashed down the mountain-sides on the other. Frequently we had to ascend by a succession of rough steps cut in the rock, and then to descend by a similar description of path with a precipice on each side of it, down which, had a mule made a false step, its rider would have been thrown many hundred feet into the abyss below.

I soon got accustomed to the sagacious animal I rode; and taking my uncle’s advice, I left the bridle loose on its neck, allowing it to pick its own way—which it did in a sensible manner, following most patiently the windings of the paths. Our mules had been well-trained to ascend and descend these precipitous mountains, and as they proceeded they fixed their small feet with caution and firmness in the holes made in the ground by the constant passing and repassing of other travellers.

For some distance we proceeded almost parallel with the river Magdalena, of which, through openings in the rocks, we got fine views as it rushed onwards, foaming and eddying amid the huge boulders in its course. Then, leaving it on the right, we continued along the bed of a small stream for a league or so, till we reached a shallow lake which runs in and out amid the precipitous cliffs rising to an immense height above it; while over its whole extent were scattered huge masses of rock, which had been hurled down by the convulsions of Nature from the summit of the mountains. Not a canoe floated on its bosom; no human being, bird, or animal was visible. It was one of the wildest and most desolate scenes I had ever beheld, and contrasted strongly with the fertile region through which we had passed, teeming with human and animal life. I was very glad, then, when, crossing another rugged height, we reached a small valley.

But I must not stop to describe the various incidents of our journey, or attempt to portray the scenery of the country we traversed. It varied greatly; sometimes being grand and beautiful, at others monotonous. Sometimes we slept at the cottages of the natives, at others we bivouacked in the woods, or under the shelter of lofty rocks. We each carried a net-hammock at the cruppers of our mules, so that we had it ready to hang up between a couple of trees, or in a hut, whenever we stopped, either for our noonday rest or at night. On crossing a wide elevated plain, we passed through several forests of date-trees; and had a few Arabs with their camels been moving about among them, the whole scene would have borne a truly African appearance.

The journey appeared a very long one, though we pushed on each day as fast as our mules could travel; but we had to make frequent détours to avoid places held by the Spaniards, who, though often defeated, still had considerable forces in the field. My uncle and I, having been born in the country, would have been looked upon as Spanish subjects; and as all the members of our family were known to hold Liberal opinions, we might be detained and compelled to serve in the Spanish ranks. At all events, my uncle thought it prudent to keep out of the way of the Royalists, as well as of those Indians who were known to side with them.

Whenever we passed through a village or came to a halt for the night, we endeavoured to gain information of the movements of the troops; and in the course of three days we came in sight of as many spots where villages had once stood, which now only presented blackened walls and devastated fields—the sad result of civil war. When able, we obtained a guide to conduct us over the mountain-paths; but we were not always successful, and sometimes had to make our way alone.

We were now approaching our home; but my uncle had been so long absent from the country that he was unacquainted with the road, and even Tim had to confess that he did not sufficiently recollect the appearance of the scenery to guide us.

We had descended to a lower level, and after passing through a thick tropical forest, were proceeding along the margin of a river, looking for an open spot to encamp, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains on our right. There is little or no twilight, it will be remembered, in that latitude, and before we were aware of it darkness came down upon us.

“Shure, we can camp aisy enough,” observed Tim; “but about the provender—I’m afraid our canteen is well-nigh empty.”

Such proved to be the case, and we had every prospect of going without our supper. We had two mulatto boys to look after our mules, but they were of little use for any other purpose; and though we heard some parrots and other birds uttering various notes in the trees, it was too dark to see them. Still, as it could not be helped, we were about to make our usual preparations for spending the night, when Tim exclaimed that he saw a light some distance ahead; and as it probably proceeded from a hut, or perhaps from a habitation of more importance, he proposed that we should ride forward towards it. My uncle, with his usual wariness, was unwilling to allow this, fearing that it might proceed from the camp of a party of Spaniards or Indians. I offered, therefore, to make my way to it, and ascertain whether we were likely to meet with a friendly reception. To this he consented, provided I took care not to be discovered.

Carrying my rifle in one hand, and a stick, with which to feel my way, in the other, I directed my steps towards the light. As I approached it, I crept forward slowly, concealing myself behind the shrubs which grew thickly around. As I advanced I saw that there were several lights, and I heard voices, with now and then the sound of laughter. “If they are enemies, they are jolly ones,” I said to myself; “there is nothing very dreadful here, I suspect.”

Creeping on a few paces and looking over the bushes, I saw, in an open spot surrounded by trees, at a short distance from the river’s brink, four Indians clothed in jackets and trousers, each holding a torch in his hand, and in their centre the head and shoulders of a jovial friar (for that he was a friar I knew by his shorn crown) just rising above a huge cask sunk in the ground. The friar was evidently enjoying a bath, though he was taking it in a somewhat curious fashion—as I at once guessed, to avoid any risk of being carried off by an alligator. Now he sank himself up to his chin in the refreshing fluid, now up he popped again like a Jack-in-the-box; now down he went, and then up he came again, holding on by the edge of the cask,—his Indian attendants meanwhile watching him, as grave as judges.

At first I doubted whether I ought to intrude on the bather; but as he showed no inclination to get out, I thought that I might venture to pay my respects to him, and at the same time ask him to afford us shelter in his house, which I knew could not be far off! I accordingly advanced, and taking off my hat, saluted him with a polite bow. The Indians, who were crouching down in front of him, looking out towards the river, apparently to watch that no hungry alligator or jaguar should pounce out upon their master, upon this sprang to their feet, and looked very much inclined to run away.

“Who are you; and whence do you come?” inquired the padre.

“I am travelling with my uncle, Señor Denis Concannan, and a servant, towards our home, not far from hence, and having no guide we have lost our way,” I replied. “My father is Señor Barry Desmond—perhaps he is known to your reverence?”

“Of course he is; and a dear friend,” answered the padre. “And you are his son! If I were not dripping wet, I would give you an embrace: receive it in imagination. You, and your uncle, and attendants, if there were fifty of them, are welcome to my abode. Go and bring them hither; and as soon as my servant comes down with my dry clothes, I will accompany you.”

I must own, by-the-by, that I felt well pleased to accept the padre’s embrace in imagination rather than in reality; and heartily thanking him for his kind reception, I begged to know his name, that I might tell my uncle.

“The Padre Pedro Pacheco,” he replied; “he will remember me, though he has been absent so many years, and will require no further assurance that he will meet with all the hospitality that I can afford him. Now go, young caballero, and bring him here; and by the time he arrives I shall be in a fit condition to set out.”

On this, making another bow, I set off to return by the way I had come.

I had not gone far when I met Tim, who, ever careful about my safety, had followed me.

“Hurrah! shure, it’s all right if it’s the Padre Pacheco,” he exclaimed. “I know his riverence well, and there isn’t a praste like him in all the country round; though, to tell you the truth, Misther Barry, he isn’t much in favour with the Spaniards or monks up in the towns, for he’s a mighty great Liberal, and is as ready to fight as to pray for the cause of the Republicans.”

Tim gave me this information as we were making our way back to where we had left my uncle and the mules. We were not long in saddling the animals and replacing their packs; and by the time we got back to the padre’s bathing-place we found him standing ready to receive us, clothed in dry garments. He greeted my uncle as cordially as he had done me; and taking our arms,—two of the Indians with torches leading the way,—we proceeded by a path through the forest to his house, which stood on a slight elevation above the river. It was a thatched one-storied building, with a walled-in courtyard on one side, and surrounded by a garden of considerable extent, as far as I could judge by the torchlight.

He at once ushered us into a good-sized room, furnished with a large table and benches, and a ponderous arm-chair at one end. The table was covered with various substantial viands, as well as delicacies and fruits of all sorts, showing that the padre was given to hospitality, and that he was at all times prepared for the unexpected arrival of guests.

“I sent up to order supper to be got ready for you, and I see that my people have not been dilatory,” he observed as we entered the room. “Perhaps we shall have other guests, and I only hope they may be such as we desire to see. Sometimes the Spaniards come this way, and I am compelled, though much against the grain, to be civil to them. However, before you sit down, you may desire to wash the dust off your hands and faces; and if you will accompany me, I will show you where you can do so.—Here, Candela, bring a torch, and towels for the caballeros.”

As he spoke, an intelligent-looking black servant led the way into the courtyard, where we saw a fountain falling into a stone basin, the water afterwards serving to irrigate the garden. We quickly performed our ablutions, especially refreshing after the heat of the day, and then returned with the padre into the supper-room. We were on the point of sitting down, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming along the path from the southward reached our ears.

“Grant Heaven that they are friends!” said the padre, looking grave. “Should they be Royalists, you will guide your conversation accordingly, Señor Concannan,” he observed.—“Here, Candela, go out and welcome the cavaliers, whoever they may be.”

The black, relighting his torch, hurried out; and soon we heard his voice calling to the other servants to hold the cavaliers’ horses, and in a loud voice welcoming the travellers. One of them spoke a few words in return, whereupon the padre started up and rushed out to the front of the house. I followed him, and saw him clasping the hand of a tall cavalier, who had just dismounted from a powerful horse, which one of the servants was holding. On another steed of more delicate proportions sat a lady, who, as the light of the torch fell on her countenance, appeared to be young and unusually beautiful. At the same moment several other persons came up; and the tall cavalier having now assisted the lady to dismount, advanced towards the house—the rest of the party, throwing themselves from their horses, following.

On entering, the cavalier cast a suspicious glance at my uncle and me.

“Who are these?” he asked of Padre Pacheco in a low voice.

“They are English—friends to the cause; you can trust them,” answered the padre; and he mentioned our names. On this the new-comer advanced towards my uncle, and taking his hand, shook it warmly; afterwards doing me the same favour.

“The English are always my friends,” he said,—“a noble nation, who love liberty; and especially are you so, gentlemen, who belong to such an esteemed family. Would that we had many more like them. But our cause will triumph; everywhere the tyrant Gothos are yielding to our arms whenever we can catch them in the open country; and as hornets are burned out of their nests, we must expel them from the cities in which they have taken refuge, and then not sheathe the sword till we have cut them to pieces or driven them before us into the ocean.—Say I not well, Donna Paola?” he added, turning to the young lady.

A rich colour mounted to her brow, as with kindling eye she replied,—“Heaven will favour the righteous cause, and aid you, General Bermudez, and your brave followers, in the glorious undertaking.”

She spoke in a firm yet sweet and melodious voice, and I at once saw that she was an enthusiast in the cause. My uncle regarded her with a look of surprise and admiration, and bowing, said,—“I have often heard of you, Donna Paola Salabriata, and rejoice to have the opportunity of meeting you.”

Donna Paola smiled and bowed gracefully; and the padre, who had been giving directions to his servants, then appearing, requested her to take possession of the only private room in his house which he could offer; “Though,” he added, “it is unworthy of one to whom is due all the honour we can pay.”

The young lady smiled. “I am accustomed to rough lodging,” she answered, “and will gratefully accept your kindness, Señor Padre.”

I judged from the appearance and manners of the other persons who entered that they were officers on the staff of General Bermudez. Two, however, appeared to be of rank; and one I soon discovered to be an Irishman, from the rich brogue in which he addressed me on hearing my name. He had been long in the service, but had not forgotten his native tongue, he assured me—an assertion not in the slightest degree necessary. He at once launched forth in praise of General Bermudez, whom he asserted to be, next to Bolivar, the best and bravest man and truest patriot in the country; and from what I afterwards heard of the general, I am convinced that he was right.

After a short time the whole party collected in the supper-room, but did not take the seats which the padre requested them to occupy. Their eyes, I saw, were frequently turned towards the door. At length it opened, and Donna Paola entered the room with that grace which Spanish women so generally possess. She looked even more beautiful than at first; her raven hair, secured by a circlet of gold, contrasting with the delicate colour of her complexion, which was fairer than that of Spanish women generally. Her figure was slight, and she appeared scarcely so tall as I had supposed when I had first seen her in her riding habit. She was followed by a black damsel,—her constant attendant, I found,—who stood behind the chair she occupied on the right of the general. He desired my uncle and me to take the seats on the other side.

I confess that, interested though I had been, I had become very hungry, and was glad to fall to on the viands which the good padre had provided. There were a variety of dishes: fish and fowl predominating, an olla-podrida, omelets, and puddings. There was flesh too,—some small animals, which I strongly suspected were monkeys.

The party were evidently too much interested in talking of affairs of importance to pay much attention to the nature of the provisions set before them. The young and handsome officer—a colonel, I judged, by his uniform—sat next to Donna Paola; and from the tender way in which he addressed her, and the looks she gave him in return, I suspected that her patriotic enthusiasm had not steeled her heart against all softer influences. Such I afterwards found to be the case. She had promised to marry the colonel as soon as the patriots had triumphed, and the liberties they had been struggling for had been established.

It was important to gain exact information as to the intended movements of the Royalists; and Donna Paola, I found, had undertaken the hazardous duty of visiting Bogotà and other cities, and from thence transmitting intelligence to the patriot leaders. The young colonel looked grave when the subject was mentioned, and, from what he said, would willingly have dissuaded her from the attempt.

“If we fear to run a risk for the purpose of obtaining an important end, that end may never be gained,” she answered; “and the time you look for, Enrico, must be postponed,” she added, playfully tapping him with her fan on the arm; for, heroine as she was, she carried one. What woman, indeed, with Spanish blood in her veins, would be without so useful an implement?

The party were to continue for some days together, and then to separate in various directions,—General Bermudez to return to the plains and take command of his guerilla forces, which had already proved so terrible a scourge to the Spaniards. Had they known how close he was to them, with only a small band of followers, they would eagerly have despatched a force to effect his capture.

The conversation at the supper-table was animated in the extreme, Padre Pacheco taking an active part in it. After some time the general turned to me. “You have heard, young gentleman, of the glorious cause in which we are engaged,” he said. “Many of the patriot leaders drew their swords when younger than you are. We want every one with honesty and courage to join us, and we claim you as a compatriot. Judging by your looks, you will soon become expert in all the exercises required for a leader; and I shall be glad to offer you a command in one of the brave bands serving under me when you have gained sufficient experience.”

I felt highly flattered at this address, though I scarcely knew what to answer.

“I shall be ready, whenever called upon, to do my duty towards the country of my birth,” I answered at length; “but I am under my father’s orders, to whom my first duty is due, and I dare not pledge myself till I have consulted him.”

“Well spoken, young señor,” remarked the general. “Knowing his sentiments, I feel assured that he will not deny your request, and that I may count upon you ere long as a follower.”

“Surely the young Englishman will feel it the highest privilege he can possess to fight in so glorious a cause,” observed Donna Paola, looking across the table at me with her beautiful eyes. “Say at once, my dear young friend, that, with your father’s permission, you will devote yourself to the liberation of your native land. For what nobler task can a human being live—or die, if needs be? For my part, I am ready to sacrifice all I hold dear in life, and life itself, so that I may but afford the feeble aid a woman can give in forwarding the great object.”

I had found some difficulty in answering the general; I found it still more trying to reply to the beautiful Donna Paola. I remembered too well the advice given me by my sensible schoolmaster; yet, as I listened to the enthusiastic conversation of those into whose company I was so unexpectedly thrown, and heard of the atrocities of the Spaniards and the gallant exploits of the patriot leaders, I was naturally carried away, and soon forgot all my prudent resolutions, in spite of the remarks made by my uncle to prevent me from committing myself.

“Whenever summoned, you will find me ready, general,” I exclaimed; “and I call my friends here to witness my promise.”

“Well spoken, my young patriot,” cried the general, stretching across the table to take my hand; while Donna Paola smiled her approval.

“Remember, Barry, that your promise is but conditional,” whispered my uncle; “your father may have other work for you.”

During the time we sat at table, I heard anecdotes of most of the chief leaders of the patriot as also of the Royalist forces. Of the former the two principal men were,—Don Simon Bolivar, a man of good birth and education; and José Paez, who, belonging to the humblest rank of life, had been brought up among the hardy llañeros of the Apure. Bolivar was born in the city of Caraccas, in the neighbourhood of which his father, Don Juan Vicente Bolivar, had large possessions, and was of noble rank. At an early age he was sent to Madrid for his education, on completing which he made the tour of Europe, visiting England among other countries. When only nineteen he married a beautiful girl, the daughter of a nobleman, and for a short time lived in the enjoyment of domestic life, until he was deprived of his wife by death. To alleviate his grief, he again visited Europe and the United States, where he imbibed, those Liberal principles which induced him to take a prominent part in fighting for the freedom of his native country. In 1811, when General Miranda, the commander of the patriot army, cut down and destroyed the Spanish standard, and hoisted the tricolour in its stead, Simon Bolivar joined him, and was immediately appointed to a command in the independent army. After a long and desperate struggle, Venezuela again fell into the hands of the Royalists, who retaliated on those who had opposed them, and the whole country was reduced to a frightful state of misery. The Spanish troops treated the people with the most revolting ferocity, plundering and murdering in all directions, on the most trifling pretexts. Old men, women, and children even, were arrested, and often cruelly maimed and massacred as rebels. These barbarous proceedings aroused the indignation of Bolivar, who had escaped from the country; and uniting with a relative, Ribas, he proceeded from the island of Curacoa to Venezuela, where he speedily raised a small force. Attacking the Spanish garrison of the town of Teneriffe on the river Magdalena, he drove them out, proceeding southward to Bogotà, then in the hands of the patriots. The Spanish generals at this time were Boves, Rosette, and Morales. They were joined by Morillo, who was sent in 1815 with a powerful army from Spain. Bolivar had again to fly; but once more returning in 1817, he defeated Morillo in several battles; and in 1819 he had become President of the Venezuelan Republic, the Congress of which had been installed at Angostura on the Orinoco. From his finished education, his knowledge of the world, and his military talents, he was well fitted, as he showed, for the important position he held.

Very different was the career of General Paez, who was born at Araure. When but seventeen years old, the priest of that place—who was his uncle—sent him with a considerable sum of money, to be delivered to another padre residing at a distance. That he might perform the journey in safety, he was provided with a mule, an old pistol, and a rusty sword. It was fortunate that he was thus armed, for on the road he was attacked by three men, who demanded his treasure. Young Paez, instead of giving it up, threw himself from his mule with his pistol cocked; and his weapon for a wonder going off, killed one of his opponents, and at the same time bursting, struck another in the face; then drawing his sword, which providentially also came out of its sheath, the youthful hero charged the third robber, who, with his wounded companion, then took to flight.

Not knowing what might be the consequence of having killed a man, young José,—after delivering the money to the padre,—afraid of returning home, fled to the province of Barenas, where he obtained employment on a large cattle-farm. The overseer was a black man, who, conceiving a dislike for the youth, compelled him to perform all sorts of laborious duties, and among others to break in the most vicious horses. He thus became a first-rate horseman, and learned also the use of the lance, the weapon of the llañeros. The brutal black, in order to exhibit his dislike to young Paez, compelled him more than once, on returning home after a hard day’s labour, to bring a pail of water and wash his muddy feet—an act which Paez did not forget.

On the breaking out of the revolutionary war, he enlisted as a common soldier in the militia of Barenas; but soon proving his superiority over his companions, he was able to raise and organise an independent body of cavalry, with which ere long he rendered important service to the cause. His troops ever had the utmost confidence in him; when charging, he was sure to be the first among the ranks of the enemy, his lance making terrible havoc. Ever hating the Spaniards with a deadly hatred on account of their cruelties, he never spared them. Unfortunately, he was at length taken prisoner, and an order was issued by the Spanish general for his execution. It was the custom of the Spaniards to lead their prisoners out at night to some lonely spot, where they were quietly despatched with a lance or sword. Paez and some of his fellow-prisoners were being led out for this purpose, when, believing that he was merely to be taken before the general, he borrowed a hat of one of his companions. The officer in charge of the party, not recognising him, ordered him back to be exchanged for the unfortunate owner, who was supposed to be the notorious rebel captain. He thus unexpectedly obtained a respite of a day. The next night he was aroused by a loud noise in the streets, and fully expected that he was about to be led out to execution; instead of which, it proved that the Spaniards had been alarmed by the report that a large body of patriots were about to attack the town, and were hurriedly preparing to evacuate it. Paez took the opportunity of freeing himself from his fetters; and having helped to release some of his fellow-prisoners, they overpowered the sentinels, and made their escape.

He was quickly at the head of a fresh body of insurgents; and after going through numerous adventures, he found himself holding the independent command of a large body of llañeros. On frequent occasions, though with inferior numbers, he attacked and defeated the Royalists. The Spaniards, having regained their power in other parts of the country, compelled, by the fearful cruelties they practised, vast numbers of men, women, and children to fly into the wilderness and take refuge in the camp of Paez. Among them were many persons of distinction; and a regular system of government being established, Paez was chosen supreme chief with the rank of general of brigade. To supply his starving followers, he, at the head of his troops, during the rainy season made a long march across the flooded savannahs to attack the city of Barenas, which abounded with all the commodities of which he stood most in need. When approaching Barenas, he sent a detachment to attack the small town of Pedroza, for the purpose of drawing the Spanish forces away from the city to its relief. His ruse was successful; and galloping forward, he and his ragged followers were quickly in possession of the city. Each man loading himself with as large an amount of provisions and stores as he could carry, the troops quickly again retreated, and succeeded in conveying their booty to their starving friends.

On the arrival in the country of a large army under General Morillo, Paez gave him battle on the plains of Apure, and by a stratagem—pretending to fly—induced the Spanish cavalry to follow. His active horsemen then wheeling round, attacked them so furiously with their lances that nearly the whole were destroyed.

I heard many anecdotes related of him. On one occasion he overtook in a skirmish a Spanish major of cavalry, who defended himself bravely; but when Paez was in the act of running his lance through him, he exclaimed, “O general! had you not been better mounted than I am, I should have overmatched you.”

“If you think so,” exclaimed the gallant Paez, “we will exchange horses, and renew the fight.”

To this the major agreed; but no sooner did he find himself on the back of the general’s horse than he galloped off at full speed, followed by Paez, who, finding that he was losing ground, threw his lasso over the major’s neck and brought him to the ground. As the major, however, had defended himself bravely, Paez gave him quarter, a favour neither he nor his llañeros were in the habit of granting to their foes.

On another occasion, one of his men brought in as prisoner a Spanish hussar of the regiment of Fernando the Seventh,—who, in order to appear more terrific, wore long beards.

“Why did you grant him quarter?” inquired Paez.

“Because,” answered the llañero, “my conscience forbade me to despatch a Capuchin friar.”

“He is no friar, but a regular soldier. Bring me no more Capuchin friars,” said the general.

On this occasion, too, he spared the prisoner’s life, and the man entering his service, became much attached to him.

Paez ever proved himself a most indefatigable enemy to the Spaniards. For weeks and months he followed the steps of Morillo, unceasingly clinging to him, and on every opportunity dashing into his camp at night, frequently with not more than a hundred and fifty or two hundred men, slaughtering all he encountered, and never failing to cut his way back with trifling loss. He would also, when the Royalists were fatigued by a harassing day’s march, drive off all their cattle and baggage-mules, leaving them frequently without provisions.

The most renowned of his exploits occurred when he had formed a junction with Bolivar on the plains of Apure. Their troops were in an almost starving condition, and unless they could cross the river they would have to make a circuitous march of many leagues to obtain provisions; while on the opposite bank were seen vast numbers of cattle, which could not be reached for want of boats. About midway across the stream there was also a fleet of sixty flecheras, or gun-boats, well-armed and manned, belonging to the enemy. Bolivar stood on the shore gazing disconsolately at the enemy’s fleet, when Paez rode up to him and inquired the cause of his disquietude.

“I would give the world to have possession of the Spanish flotilla, for without it I can never cross the river,” answered Bolivar.

“It shall be yours in an hour,” replied Paez.

“It is impossible,” said Bolivar.

“Leave that to me,” rejoined Paez, and galloped off.

In a few minutes he returned at the head of a body of three hundred lancers, selected for their proved bravery and strength from his llañeros, and leading them to the bank, he thus addressed them,—“We must have those flecheras or die. Let those who please follow Tio,” (or uncle, for so his favourite troopers were accustomed to call him). Saying this, he dashed into the river and swam towards the flotilla.

His guard followed him with their lances in their mouths, now encouraging their horses to bear up against the current, now swimming by their sides and patting their necks, and shouting to scare away the alligators, of which there were hundreds in the river. Thus they proceeded till they reached the flotilla; then mounting their horses, headed by their leader, they sprang from their backs on board the boats. A desperate struggle ensued; but the llañeros were victorious, and driving the unfortunate crews overboard, they carried the flecheras to the bank of the river, where the patriot forces were drawn up.

Equal to him in most respects, and superior in some, was the noble-looking cavalier, General Bermudez, in whose company I now so unexpectedly found myself. I could learn less about him at the time, but I afterwards heard much of his interesting history.

Notwithstanding the difficulties and dangers with which they were surrounded, the whole party seemed in high spirits, and did not separate till a late hour. Donna Paola was the first to rise, and bowing gracefully to the military officers and wishing them good-night, she left the room, accompanied by her sable attendant. The table being then cleared, our supper-room was turned into a dormitory—every corner of the house being likewise occupied. The padre requested my uncle and me to take possession of a small chamber near his own cell, which afforded just space enough for us to stretch our legs. Here, with our saddles for pillows, and horse-cloths and cloaks for bedding, we were quickly asleep.

At an early hour the next morning we were astir, and found an ample breakfast spread. General Bermudez hurried over the meal, and left the table; and on going out to the front of the house soon afterwards, I found him standing by his horse’s head, ready to mount. He presented a perfect picture of a commander of irregular troops. He was remarkably tall,—being considerably above six feet in height,—his figure well proportioned, and evidently possessing great muscular power; his handsome countenance showed intelligence, and beamed with good-nature and sincerity; while the evening before I had been struck by his frank and genial manners, so unlike those of the ordinary run of Spaniards,—though he was, as might be expected, wanting in that polish which a constant intercourse with refined society seldom fails to give. Though dexterous in the use of the lance, as are all the warriors of the plain, he was armed with a remarkably long gun, which only a man of great strength could have used with any effect. A powder-horn hung over his shoulders, and a long dagger was secured by the folds of the ample scarf he wore round his waist.

At a short distance off were the troopers who had formed his escort, standing by their horses, ready for the signal to mount. They were picked men, mostly tall and stalwart, and armed with lances and carbines; evidently from their costume irregular cavalry, and looking as if they could render as efficient service in that climate and region as any body of troops, albeit clothed in more uniform fashion.

“Ah, my young friend, I am glad to have the opportunity of saying farewell,” he exclaimed, putting out his hand; “you will not forget your promise of last night. And let me advise you to prepare yourself for the service you may render our beloved country. Take every opportunity of perfecting yourself in horsemanship, and practise the use of the lance and carbine I hope ere long to return this way, and to enrol you among my troops, when you will, I doubt not, with the practice we will be able to give you, become thoroughly expert in the use of your weapons. Should Heaven preserve your life, you must look forward to becoming a leader; and consider well how you will have to act in all the circumstances in which you may be placed,—whether meeting the foes of our country on the plains or amid the mountains; either pursuing, or retreating before superior numbers; endeavouring to effect a surprise, or guarding against one. He proves the most successful leader who has reflected well—during the quiet hours of the bivouac under the starry vault of heaven, or in his silent chamber—how he will conduct himself in the varied chances of warfare. Brute courage is useful in the heady fight, but the possessor of that only can never be a fitting leader.”

I was thanking the general for his advice, when Donna Paola appeared, led forth by Colonel Acosta, the young officer I have before mentioned, who had been seated next to her at supper. He pressed her hand as he assisted her to mount, and by the look she gave him I saw that their affection was mutual. I trusted, for both their sakes, that she would be protected in the dangerous undertaking in which she was engaged. The general springing into his saddle, the rest of the party followed his example. Waving his adieux, he led the way along the side of the mountain; while Padre Pacheco, stretching out his hands, blessed him and his followers, and commended them to the care of Heaven.

My uncle and Tim had also come out prepared for a start. The hospitable padre urged us to remain longer, but we were naturally anxious to reach home. On my uncle making inquiries as to the best road to take, “I will send Candela with you,” said the padre; “he knows it well, and may be of use to you should any roving bands of Indians (and I have noticed that there are several out), seeing a small party, attack you. They mostly know and respect me—for though they are but poor Christians, they look upon me as possessing supernatural powers; and when Candela explains that you are friends of mine, they will allow you to pass without molestation.”

Without hesitation my uncle gladly accepted the kind padre’s offer, and Candela was forthwith ordered to get ready. He did not require many minutes, his preparations consisting in bolting a mess of porridge, to enable him the better to undergo the fatigue of the journey. He was to proceed on foot with the natives who conducted our baggage-mules.

“You must come soon and see me again,” said the padre, as he wished me good-bye. “You are sure to find me, for I never move far from home, seeing I have my little flock to look after, and matters of importance to attend to. But before you go, let me caution you, Señor Denis, not to speak to any one about those persons you saw here. It might lead to unpleasant consequences should the tyrannical Spaniards hear that my quiet abode is frequented by patriots; and we never know what evil birds may carry information.”

“You may trust Barry and me, and my brother’s servant; though we are not likely to meet any but friends to the cause where we are going,” replied my uncle.

The padre looked satisfied; and again wishing him good-bye, we mounted and rode forward, led by Candela, who, with a long stick in his hand, kept well ahead of us.

We soon lost sight of the padre’s abode. The road we took was wild and rugged, across the spurs of the mountains; sometimes we had to cross rocky heights, again to descend into narrow valleys, with streams—through which we waded not without difficulty—running down them. Occasionally we had to pass amid thickly-growing trees, which concealed from view the mountain-tops, which might otherwise have assisted to guide us; and we agreed that it was fortunate Candela had come with us to show us the way.

We had to encamp another night in the forest, as it would have been dangerous to proceed over that kind of country in the dark; but Candela assured us that we might reach my father’s house early the following day. We pushed forward till the gloom of evening came on, when we looked about for a convenient spot for encamping. We selected one on some rocky ground just outside a wood, with a deep ravine in front of us; while on our left was a precipice of a hundred feet or so in height, at the bottom of which flowed a rapid stream.

Securing the legs of our mules with their halters in the usual fashion, so that they could not stray, we turned them loose, while we lighted our fire, and placed our saddles and horse-cloths ready for sleeping. A basket of provisions, which the padre had secured to one of the baggage-mules, afforded us an ample supper; so that we had only to boil our chocolate, and to heat some water with which to mix the aguadiente the padre had sent, prescribing a cupful as a preventive against the ill effects of the damp night air or any noxious exhalations rising from the valleys—though there was not much chance of our suffering from these in the lofty position we occupied.

While we were seated at supper, I asked my uncle what he knew of the guerilla chief whose acquaintance we had just made.

“I learned something of his history from Padre Pacheco this morning,” he answered; “and his career has been very similar to that of General Paez. He is the son of humble parents, who resided near Caraccas, their occupation being to convey provisions to the garrison and inhabitants, in which work he assisted them. Illiterate as was the old Bermudez, he was a devoted patriot, and, notwithstanding the danger he ran in doing so, endeavoured to induce all the young men of his acquaintance to join the troops then being secretly levied for the independent cause by General Miranda. Having incautiously uttered some Liberal expressions, he was seized by the governor of the city, Monteverde. In vain young Bermudez pleaded that mercy might be shown his aged parent; notwithstanding his advanced age, he was cruelly gibbeted, his son being barbarously compelled to witness his execution. This was the fate of many others who dared to utter a word against Spanish tyranny.

“Young Bermudez managed to effect his escape; and carrying with him his unhappy mother, he set off over the plains of Maturin, where he intended to provide a shelter for her few remaining years while he entered the service of his country to revenge the murder of his father. Her death from grief on the way set him free, and he immediately joined as a private a body of the irregular cavalry of the plains, commanded by the brave Hirogas. The band, from its inferiority of numbers, seldom came to an open engagement, but harassed the foraging-parties of the Spaniards, never failing to come off victorious. Bermudez, by his determined bravery and great personal prowess in these skirmishes, gained the admiration of his comrades, and was speedily raised to the rank of lieutenant of a small troop, at whose head he performed numberless acts of valour. From his great strength and skill in all the games in which the horsemen of the plains take delight, he still further rose in the estimation of his companions; while, from his unassuming manners and excellent conduct, he was beloved by all who served with him.

“The band to which Bermudez belonged in a short time amounted to four hundred men; and so much injury did they inflict on the Spaniards, that Monteverde resolved, if possible, to crush them. He accordingly sent out a strong detachment—six hundred cavalry, and an equal number of infantry—in pursuit of Hirogas. The forces of the guerilla chief were strongly posted on the top of a hill, about fifteen leagues from the Spanish headquarters. They were not men to be taken by surprise, and as they saw the Spaniards advancing they charged furiously down upon them. The odds were fearfully against the patriots; and the brave Hirogas, carried by his impetuosity too far in advance, fell into the hands of the enemy, desperately wounded. Bermudez, on seeing this, charged with his troop upon the Spanish infantry, and not only succeeded in rescuing his chief, but put the enemy to flight. The Spaniards left about one-third of their number dead on the field, and many of their horses and arms in the hands of the victorious guerillas.

“Hirogas dying of his wounds, Bermudez was unanimously chosen chief of the band; and his fame spreading, volunteers flocked to his standard. He had no difficulty in mounting them, from the many herds of horses which roamed at large on the mountains and plains of Venezuela, which were easily caught with the lasso, and quickly broken-in at the experienced hands of his followers.

“Having organised his band, he attacked the Spanish forces; laying siege to the town of Maturin, and in three successive encounters supplying himself with arms, ammunition, and every military essential. His force was then regularly enrolled by the Congress as a portion of its troops, and in appearance and discipline became far superior to the generality of the guerillas.

“Being now recognised as one of the leading patriot chiefs, he united himself to General Roxas; and in conjunction they attacked the army under the Spanish General Boves. In this action Roxas slew Boves and nine others with his own hand; and Bermudez was said to have killed thirty men in the action, during which he broke three lances. The patriot government, in recognition of his services, now created him a general of division, and offered him pay; but he nobly declined any remuneration, observing that his object was to fight for his country’s liberty without the intention of receiving reward. By his frequent forays into the plains, where he collected large herds of cattle, he contributed greatly to the support of the patriot army.”

Such was the man under whom, should my father give me permission, I had undertaken to serve. I felt flattered that he should have thought me capable of being of any use among his hardy and experienced horsemen, and I could scarcely account for the reason of his so distinguishing me. I asked my uncle what he thought about the matter.

“He saw that you were a likely lad, and took it for granted that your father’s son was brave and intelligent. He admires the English, and wishes to have a few with him to assist in civilising and disciplining his followers,” he answered.

We talked on for some time, till my uncle proposed that we should lie down and go to sleep, leaving Tim and Candela to keep watch alternately and maintain the fire, as even at that elevation we were liable to be attacked by a prowling jaguar or puma.

I never slept more soundly in my life; and when I was awakened by Tim pulling at my arm, I found that the day had already broke.

“Hist, Masther Barry,” he whispered. “The praste’s black fellow Candela, says there are Injyuns lurking about, who maybe want to steal our mules, or cut our throats if they have the chance; and we’ve sent the boys to bring in the animals; and Misther Denis and Candela have gone forward to get a look down the gorge, where we think they have hidden, intending to take us by surprise.”

I should have said that on the other side of the gorge was a ridge, beyond which the ground again sloped, thus enabling a party to approach within gun-shot of where we were encamped.

On jumping to my feet I saw my uncle and Candela creeping along towards a fallen trunk, which lay close above the brink of a precipice. At that instant an Indian sprang up, bow in hand, from the other side of the trunk, and shot an arrow, which quivered in the ground close by my uncle’s side. He rushed forward, on seeing this, and before the Indian could fix another arrow had felled him to the earth with his sword. The next moment a large party of Indians appeared on the top of the ridge, and a shower of arrows fell close to us: happily, none took effect, and I saw my uncle drop so as to conceal himself behind a log, while he levelled his rifle over it at the Indians. As he saw the Indians about to shoot, Tim pulled me behind the nearest tree, and probably saved me and himself from being wounded by the arrows,—which, as it was, whistled close to our ears. Before the Indians could move forward, my uncle fired, and a tall warrior, who seemed to be their chief, fell wounded to the ground. This evidently disconcerted them.

“Now is our time,” cried my uncle. “Barry—Tim—call the mule-boys and follow me;” and leaping over the log, he dashed down the ravine, sword in hand, and rapidly climbed the opposite side.

We obeyed his orders, and the Indians, seized with a sudden panic on seeing us coming, and probably believing others were to follow, took to their heels, leaving their chief bleeding on the ground. We fired,—as did my uncle, who had reloaded his gun,—to expedite their movements, and two more fell dead, the rest continuing their flight.

“Though he is an enemy, we must not let this fellow bleed to death,” said my uncle, stooping down. “Come, Barry, we’ll bind up his wound and carry him along with us; perhaps he may be able to give us some important information, and at all events we shall learn why he attacked us.”

My uncle soon stopped the flow of blood from the Indian’s side; and the muleteers having brought the animals round by crossing the valley a little way above where we stood, we placed our captive on one of them. We then, guided by Candela, hurried forward on our journey, keeping a sharp look-out lest the fugitive Indians should return.

Chapter Four.

Approach my home—A welcome—My sister Norah—The Indian’s wound dressed—He takes his medicine from Norah—His gratitude—My family—A happy evening—Candela leaves us—Our relative, Don Fernando Serrano—Gerald and I pay him a visit—The Barawa Indians—Our cousins—Donna Isabella Monterola—I practise with the lance—Win Donna Isabella’s approval—We take our departure—Swim across a river—Put to flight by a boa-constrictor—Travel along the borders of a lake—See Dr Stutterheim—He accompanies us home—Takes Kanimapo in hand—The fate of Donna Paola Salabriata—Start on a shooting expedition with the doctor—Encounter a huge anaconda—I shoot it, and save the doctor—Carry off the skin in triumph.

We were now approaching my father’s house, and I recognised several points in the surrounding scenery. The northern end of the lake came into view, bordered by lofty palms and other graceful trees, and I remembered well the shape of the mountains which rose above it.

Tim kept a watchful eye on our prisoner, who, though badly wounded, might still, he thought it probable, attempt to make his escape. He had not spoken as yet, but I observed his dark eye wandering on every side, either in the hope of rescue, or as if considering in what direction he should fly, should he be able to free himself from the thongs by which he was secured to the mule. I was surprised that his followers should have deserted him in the cowardly way they had done. He was a fine-looking savage, with features more refined and regular than those of the Indians I had hitherto seen. But his countenance was sullen; and, from his resolute aspect, he probably expected that he would meet with the fate the Spaniards invariably inflicted on their captives, and be immediately put to death on our arrival at our destination. I suspect that he was in ignorance as to who we were, and supposed that we belonged to a party of patriots; and if so, he must have been surprised on discovering the smallness of our numbers.

Tim led his mule, constantly looking back to assure himself that he had not succeeded in loosening the thongs which secured his arms and legs. At the same time Tim continued talking to me, and pointing out various objects which I thought I remembered.

At length he exclaimed,—“Sure, Masther Barry, there’s the masther’s house; and mighty glad they’ll all be to see you safe;” and he pointed to a good-sized house with a broad verandah in front, shaded by trees, and standing in the midst of a large, well-irrigated garden. Though smaller than I had supposed, I at once knew the house to be that in which I was born. “And beyond it there, higher up the hill, you see Mr Concannan’s mansion—Castle Concannan, we call it, you’ll remember—and a pretty dacent castle it is, with its high, thick walls and courtyard; it would take a pretty strong earthquake to shake it down. He has made it stronger still, by blocking up some of the lower windows.”

In our eagerness to reach home, we pushed on as rapidly as our mules could move. We were yet at a little distance, when, riding on ahead, I caught sight of the figure of a black woman holding up a chubby little boy in her arms. I felt sure that he must be my youngest brother,—the baby, as he was called,—whom I had never seen, and that the woman must be our nurse, Josefa. She gazed at me, doubting whether the tall young man she saw approaching could be the little boy who had gone away but a few years before. The baby, who was a good bouncing one, shook his rattle, and seemed satisfied that I was some one he ought to expect.

Josefa knew me the moment I uttered her name; and as I sprang from my mule, she and little Denis, who was named after our uncle, threw their arms round my neck. We then hastened on towards the front gate, Josefa shrieking out in her delight,—“They are come! they are come! It is Señor Barry!” Her voice was heard at the house; and my father and mother, with my sister Norah and the rest of the family, guessing who we were, hurried out to welcome us.

Our first greetings over, my father expressed his satisfaction at my appearance.

“You have benefited greatly by your stay in the old country, Barry,” he said; “and your journey here seems to have done you no harm.”

My mother pressed me to her heart; and my sweet sister Norah kissed my cheek again and again, gazing at me as sisters are apt to do at a brother of whom they are proud. I am sure I felt proud of her, and wondered that all the young men in the neighbourhood were not dying with love for her; but perhaps they had too much to do in fighting for the liberty of their country.

As may be supposed, my father soon made inquiries about our captive. Uncle Denis explained how we had caught him, and suggested that he should be placed in a strong room, under a proper guard, where his wound could be tended without the risk of his making his escape. My father observed that he had a small unoccupied room at the back of the house, which would serve as a prison; and to this our captive was at once conducted.

As there was no surgeon, either English or Spanish, living within many miles, my uncle undertook to dress the Indian’s wound, and to do his best to cure him.

A bed was brought into the room, on which he was placed. Uncle Denis then commenced his operations.

After gently washing the wound, he discovered to his satisfaction that the ball had passed through the Indian’s body, and that he should therefore not have to attempt its extraction. This greatly facilitated his task. My mother having brought some linen bandages and a healing salve, the wound was carefully bound up. The Indian, who did not once wince, though he must have been suffering great pain, gazed with a look of surprise at my uncle and the other bystanders, and was evidently wondering why so much care was taken of him. My sister Norah then brought in a cooling draught, which she offered to him; and speaking first in Spanish, and then in the language generally used by the Indians in the neighbourhood, advised him to take it, assuring him that it would be beneficial. He, without hesitation, swallowed the draught; and now speaking for the first time, expressed his gratitude for the attention bestowed on him.

“We are sorry that you were wounded, and our wish is that you may recover,” said Norah, in a pitying tone. “You must rest now; and if you will give your word that you will not attempt to escape, or to injure those who are guarding you, your arms will be left at liberty.”

The Indian hesitated, and was apparently considering the consequences which might ensue should he give the promise required.

“Tell him that we intend to keep him a prisoner only till his wound is healed, and that we will not now trouble him with questions; but we shall by-and-by wish to learn who he is, and why he attacked your uncle and Barry,” said my father.

Norah repeated this, for having learned the Indian tongue from her nurse, she spoke it better than any one else in the house; no one, indeed, would have been so likely to calm the suspicions of our captive, and to gain his confidence, as she was. “We do not wish you to speak now,” she added; “but to-morrow or next day, when you are stronger, you will tell us what we seek to know. And now, will you give me the promise we ask? It will be for your benefit; and you know how you would have been treated had you fallen into the hands of the Spaniards.”

“I promise to remain quiet as a child on its mother’s breast,” answered the Indian. “Kanimapo never breaks his word; and to you, who have treated him so mercifully, he will be faithful.”

On this assurance, in which my father and uncle believed that they could trust, the Indian’s limbs were left unfettered; but, at the same time, they thought it prudent to place a man well-armed with pistols and a dagger at the door, and carefully to bar the window on the outside, so that the captive, even in possession of his full strength, would have been unable to make his escape.

My father, with Norah, always accompanied by another person, visited him several times during the evening. Notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him, he appeared to be suffering much, though, Indianlike, he endeavoured not to exhibit his feelings; but his eye brightened whenever it fell on Norah, and he seemed to look upon her as his good genius. Each time he showed his gratitude by a few words, or by the expression of his countenance when unable to speak from pain.

We had a very happy evening. My parents were glad to have me back safe, and, as may be supposed, we had a great deal to talk about.

My young brother, Gerald, was fully as fine a little fellow as Tim had described him. He constantly came up to my side, and brought various articles to show me—stuffed birds, and the skins of animals he had shot—and as soon as he could he dragged me away to exhibit his gun, and his canoe, and several animals he had tamed. Kathleen, my second sister, was like Norah, but on a smaller scale; and Mary, the third, was a jolly little girl, fat and chubby as a rosy apple, in spite of the climate in which she was born; while the baby, Denis, was a merry chap, who took to me at once, though he might not exactly have comprehended our relationship.

Our uncle remained with us during the night, that he might attend to our wounded prisoner, though anxious to proceed to his brother’s house. He was also unwilling to let Candela go back alone, lest the Indians who attacked us might be still prowling about, and should murder him.

“I have no fear on that score, señor,” he answered; “I know the country better than they do, and can easily make my way without being discovered. They would not, either, willingly attack the señor padre’s servant; and so by daybreak to-morrow I will depart, as my master will be anxious to hear of your arrival.”

We sent many messages to the kind padre; and my father especially invited him to come to our house, should he at any time find himself threatened by the Spaniards on account of his Liberal principles. His cloth certainly would not save him, as they had already shot several padres who had sided with the patriots; the greater number of the priests, however, professed to be loyal subjects of the King of Spain, and supported his cause. One might have supposed that the Spaniards, after all they had suffered at the hands of Napoleon’s generals, would have been inclined to treat their fellow-countrymen in their colonies with leniency; but, on the contrary, the only lesson they appeared to have learned had taught them to be more cruel and tyrannical than their conquerors.

Among the various friends about whom my uncle made inquiries was our relative, Don Fernando Serrano, whose estate was a few leagues off, though it abutted upon that of Mr Concannan, which extended a considerable distance to the southward. Properties in that country are of great extent, and a visitor to Don Serrano’s house had to travel a dozen leagues through his estate before reaching it. He was not only a wealthy man, but greatly esteemed by all who knew him. He was supposed to entertain strong Liberal principles, but, on account of his age and health, had taken no part in the struggle going forward. My mother’s and Uncle Denis’s father, I may remark, had married his sister; he was therefore my great-uncle, and his children were my cousins. Our families, too, had always been on the most friendly terms, and my father and mother had paid frequent visits at his house. His eldest son, Don Carlos, who was married and had a large family, lived with him. Two of Don Carlos’ sons and one of his brothers had joined the insurgents, but, not to commit Don Fernando, had assumed different names; though we knew that both Don Fernando and Don Carlos afforded much pecuniary assistance to the Liberals. From the precautions they had taken, they believed that they were not suspected by the Royalists, and at all events they had escaped being molested.

Their chief cause of anxiety arose, however, from the hostile behaviour of a tribe of Indians, the Barawas, who inhabited the shores of the river Guaviare, falling into the Orinoco. They belonged to the great Carib family, and had many years before been driven by their white invaders from their native territory on the coast to the eastward, and had here settled themselves; retaining, however, their warlike disposition and many of their ancient manners and customs. Barawa is a Carib name for the sea; and they consequently took it, as was supposed, from their ancestors having lived on the borders of the ocean, or having crossed it from the lands they once inhabited. We had little doubt that our prisoner belonged to that tribe, and was probably a chief among them.

My father told us of a report he had heard, of Spanish emissaries having visited them for the purpose of inducing them to take up arms against the Republicans; and should such be the case, the capture of our prisoner, Kanimapo, might prove a fortunate circumstance, as we should hold him as a hostage for their good behaviour. The next morning, however, there appeared great probability that our hopes would be disappointed; for on my uncle’s visiting him he found him much worse. As the day advanced, Uncle Denis expressed his fears that the Indian would die, notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him.

Day after day, however, the wounded man lingered on. My father and Norah were assiduous in their attentions to him; and he refused to take such medicines as we possessed from any other hands but my sister’s. There was now no chance of his escaping, for he was too weak to walk; indeed, he could scarcely sit up in his bed. Still, the Indians possess wonderful vitality and endurance, which enable them to recover from wounds of the body; but they succumb very quickly to European diseases. Though apparently growing weaker, Kanimapo still clung to existence. He seemed grateful, too, for the attentions shown him; but except having mentioned his name, he had not told us who he was, nor had he given any reason for attacking our party.

Uncle Denis had gone home; and soon after Gerald and I paid a visit at his house. We then went on to that of our relation, Don Fernando Serrano, where we were received by him and my cousins with the greatest kindness. They were interested in hearing of all my adventures, and especially in the accounts I gave them of our capturing the Indian; but they were unable to conjecture who he was. I was delighted with all the family, they were so gentle and loving to each other, and so kind to me. What also surprised me much, was to find that Don Serrano regularly read the Bible and had prayers with his family. Such a thing was at that time probably unheard-of in South America. They did not speak unkindly of the nearest padre, who occasionally visited them, but they evidently held him in no respect.

“He is a poor ignorant man,” observed Don Carlos, “a blind leader of the blind; he expressed his horror at finding we read the Bible, and urged us to give up the practice, as one most dangerous to our souls. Now, it is very evident to me that from the Bible alone do we know anything about God, or how He desires men to live; and therefore, unless we read the Bible, we must remain ignorant of Him and His will, or obtain the knowledge second-hand from one who might make grievous mistakes in interpreting it,—as Padre Bobo would most certainly do.”

I suspected from this (what I afterwards found to be the case) that my relatives were really Protestants, though they did not openly declare themselves to be so; that their family had held these opinions from the time when many of the noblest in Spain had espoused them. Their ancestor had providentially escaped the doom which the horrible Inquisition had inflicted on the greater number of those who had become Protestants: having made his way to America with his wife, he had settled in this then remote region; but dreading persecution, he had not attempted to promulgate his opinions beyond his own family. My maternal grandfather, when he married Donna Teresina Serrano, had, through her instruction, become a Protestant. Thus, in the heart of South America, those principles were cherished which, as was fondly hoped, would spread around them when liberty should be established among the population.

I suspect it was owing to the machinations of the priests that the Barawa Indians had proved so hostile to one whose wish and aim was always to benefit them. That such was the case, Don Fernando could not clearly ascertain; but it was known that Padre Bobo had made several visits to the Indians, for the purpose, as he professed, of converting them to Christianity. He had managed, indeed, to induce some of them to allow him to baptise their children, but they remained as utterly ignorant of the Truth as before. (What I have here mentioned, I heard from my own family before Gerald and I set off to visit our friends.) As is often the case in Spanish families of wealth, there were three generations living in harmony together, and I was somewhat puzzled at first to distinguish between my numerous relatives. Gerald, who knew them all, helped me, but still I was frequently making mistakes. Among them was a very beautiful girl, whom I at first took to be one of my cousins, and whom I addressed accordingly; but after I had been there a couple of days, she laughingly told me that, though she should be very happy to be a relative, she was not so in reality: that her name was Isabella Monterola, and that she was a ward of Don Fernando. Then suddenly changing her tone from gay to grave, she said,—“I am happy here, and they are all very kind; but I cannot forget my poor father, who was murdered by the cruel Spaniards because he loved liberty and hated tyranny; and, alas! my mother, who was compelled to witness his execution, died of grief. They would have shot her too, had she lived, as they did other women, without remorse; and me, perhaps, because I was their child, had I not been so young but I was rescued from prison by Juan Serrano, and brought here secretly. The Spaniards did not know who carried me off, and therefore could not send to bring me back, or they would have done so. You have not been long enough in the country to have heard one-tenth part of the horrible cruelties those Gothos have inflicted on our people.”

“But you, Donna Isabella, are Spanish, and so are all our friends here,” I said, after having expressed my horror of the atrocities which had been committed in the country.

“I am a child of Venezuela,” she answered proudly. “I disown the name of Spaniard; do not, Señor Barry, ever call me one again. We speak the language of Spain, it is true, and boast our descent from noble ancestors who conquered the country in which we live; but we have for ever severed our connection with the land from which we came, because Spaniards desire to enslave us.”

I had considered Donna Paola a heroine, but as I listened to Donna Isabella I thought her a still more interesting one; and she was equally anxious to enlist recruits in the cause of liberty.

I had not forgotten the advice General Bermudez had given me; and I found my young cousins were in the habit of exercising themselves daily in the use of the lance, as well as with firearms and swords. Every morning they went out for some hours on horseback, and practised on a level meadow at some little distance from the house; and I soon became as expert as any of them. The ends of our lances were not only headless, but covered with a soft pad, so that we could charge at each other without much risk of serious injury; and one day, in a sham fight, I unhorsed all my opponents in succession. As I rode up to where the ladies—who had come out to witness our sports—were standing, they greeted me with loud applause, and Donna Isabella especially showed her satisfaction by the bright smile she gave me and the eagerness with which she waved her scarf.

We had occasionally, also, real sport in hunting wild boars in the part of the forest frequented by those animals. The first day I went out I killed a boar, after narrowly escaping, by a dexterous turn of my horse, being killed myself. We killed a bear, too, and a puma, or South American lion—which, next to the jaguar, is the most savage animal in that continent; and I had the satisfaction of presenting the skin to Donna Isabella.

But our visit was at last to come to an end. Very unwillingly, so far as I was concerned, did we bid our friends good-bye, and mount our horses to commence our journey.

“I shall expect to hear great things of you, Señor Barry,” said Donna Isabella, as I bade her farewell. “The next campaign undertaken by Bolivar will, it is hoped, complete the overthrow of the Spaniards, I am told.”

“The noble sentiments you hold will inspire me, Donna Isabella,” I answered; “and if you will give me that feather from your hat, I will ever wear it in battle, and promise that it shall never be seen in flight.”

She, smiling, instantly gave it me, and I fixed it securely in my hat. We were very young, and I had of late become more romantic than I had ever before been.

At last we had to ride forward, two of our cousins accompanying us to the borders of the estate. As we were well-mounted, instead of taking the rougher but shorter road across the spurs of the mountains, we had settled to strike down into the plain, where we could gallop for a considerable distance, and then, keeping by the borders of a long lake, return towards our own home. Gerald, who knew the way well, said there were no insuperable difficulties to overcome, though we might have to swim a stream or two. “But that,” as he observed, “is nothing when one is accustomed to it; and you, Barry, will have many a river to cross and many a marsh to wade through, as well as mountains to climb, and hundreds of miles to gallop over the prairie, when you take service with General Bermudez.”

He was right; and I was glad to gain some experience as to the varieties of country I might have ere long to traverse.

We were armed with pistols, carbines, and lances, though Gerald’s arm was not strong enough to wield the latter with much effect; but he could skilfully use his carbine when going at full gallop. We trusted, however, to the speed of our horses, should we come in sight of any marauding party of the enemy; and Gerald declared that three, or even four or five, horsemen would not dare to attack us. He was indeed the most spirited little fellow I ever met, and utterly fearless.

As we galloped along we kept a look-out over the plain for any horsemen who might appear.

“I only wish two or three would come!” cried Gerald. “We would soon make the survivors turn to the right-about; for I am pretty sure we should kill a couple at least.”

“I hope that we shall not have anything of the sort to do,” I answered. “I am perfectly ready to fight, when necessary, in a right cause, such as I believe that to be in which our friends are engaged; but it is dreadful to contemplate killing people unless stern necessity compels us. Warfare is terrible work at the best, and the butcheries of which I have heard in this country show too well what men are capable of when their passions are excited. For my part, though I have seen but little of fighting as yet, I wish that peace were established.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do for a guerilla!” exclaimed Gerald, in a somewhat contemptuous tone.

“I shall not fight with less determination because I wish for peace,” I continued, not minding him. “The only way to secure it is to beat our enemies; and that I will do my best to accomplish, when I have the opportunity.”

“That I am sure you will!” exclaimed Gerald, sorry for his remark; for though impulsive, and in the habit of blurting out anything that came uppermost, he was ever ready to acknowledge himself in the wrong.

We galloped on for some leagues, stopping occasionally to give our horses breath, and then reached the borders of the lake I spoke of—which extended for some distance parallel with the foot of the mountains, and was fed by several streams which flowed from them. It was also connected, by another stream, with the smaller lake below our father’s house. Out of it likewise flowed a river of some size towards the east.

We had forded two of these smaller streams without difficulty, when we came to a wider and deeper one.

“We shall have to swim for a little distance,” said Gerald; “but our horses will perhaps carry us over on their backs. However, if we find that our weight is too much for them, we must slip off; only we must remember to hold on tight by their manes, and keep at their shoulders, to avoid the unpleasant pats they might otherwise give us with their fore hoofs. And, by-the-by, it will be as well, while we are on their backs, to keep our feet as high up as we can, lest an alligator should take a fancy to our toes; though, as the brutes are of no great size, we haven’t much to fear from them.”

I thought Gerald was joking; but he was perfectly in earnest, though the danger we were to run did not in the slightest degree trouble him.

I followed his advice when, after wading a short distance, my horse began to swim. Shortly afterwards, as its body was completely immersed, I slipped off its back, taking care to hold on to its mane, near the crupper, with one hand, while I struck out with the other. Gerald himself, being so much lighter, stuck on, and guiding his horse to a shelving part of the bank, regained the firm ground.

I was still in the water, when, looking up the stream, he shouted out to me,—“Make haste, make haste, Barry! for here comes an ugly-looking customer it would be as well not to encounter in the water.”

As may be supposed, I was making all the haste I could; for I had no fancy to remain in the river longer than necessary, with the possibility of being seized by an alligator, even though it might be one not large enough to swallow me at a gulp. I saw that Gerald was more excited than usual: as he held his horse’s bridle, he kept stamping and moving about in his eagerness. I exerted myself to the utmost, and at length had the satisfaction of finding my horse’s feet touch the shore; when I immediately scrambled on its back and rode up the bank.

“Look there!” cried Gerald; “that brute would be a more unpleasant opponent than even a big alligator.”

He pointed, as he spoke, to a huge serpent—which, I concluded, was a boa-constrictor—coiled round the broken stem of a palm-tree, and, with head erect, floating leisurely down the river.

“I only wish it would come nearer!” exclaimed Gerald. “I think I could manage to hit it and blow its head off.”

He fired as he spoke, but missed; and the serpent, turning its head, gave a hiss at us, though it did not attempt to quit its raft. From the way it moved its tail, which served as a rudder, I believe that it could easily have guided itself to the shore; and as it was big enough to have crushed not only one of us, but either of our horses, in its powerful folds, I felt especially anxious to avoid it.

Gerald quickly reloaded his weapon. “Fire, Barry—fire!” he cried out; “and if you miss, I’ll have another shot.”

As the snake, though it was not likely to attack us, might injure other people or destroy some cattle, I took aim and fired; but I merely grazed its head, for it was a small mark to hit with a carbine. The creature then gave a hiss, as if it did not like such treatment, and whisking its tail urged its float towards the bank.

“I say, Barry, the brute’s coming towards us,” cried Gerald. “I’ll have one more shot; and if I miss we’d better gallop off, for these snakes move with fearful rapidity through the grass, and this one might catch hold of us in a way we shouldn’t like.”

I was glad to find that Gerald was as cautious as he was brave; and considering his advice good, I agreed to take to flight rather than risk an encounter with the serpent on dry land. I might transfix it with my lance, as Saint George did the dragon, but I had no wish to engage in combat with the terrible beast.

While I was reloading my carbine Gerald fired. “Missed again!” he shouted; “now let’s gallop for it,—the brute’s in earnest, and will have us if he can!”

We turned our horses’ heads, and digging our spurs into their flanks, left the serpent, should it land, to search for us in vain.

After going some distance we pulled rein and looked back, but as we could nowhere see it, we concluded that, not discovering us on the shore, it had continued its voyage to wherever it was bound.

“I don’t care for human foes, or for any wild animals, but these snakes are my detestation,” said Gerald. “The boa and anaconda, and the big tree-snake, are bad enough; but there are others which, on account of their bite, are still worse. There is one called the aques, seldom more than eight or ten feet long, which is the most savage creature imaginable; and its fangs are so deadly that a person seldom lives more than a few hours after being bitten. Not only will the creature spring out upon a passer-by, but it will follow him to a considerable distance, and then fly at his throat and kill him,—unless he has a long stick to defend himself. The Indians and blacks are, with good reason, mortally afraid of the aques. I have often seen them, but never had a fight with one; though I shouldn’t care about it, provided I was armed with a long, tough stick.”

I confessed that I should not wish to make the near acquaintance of so terrible a reptile; but, young as he was, Gerald had shot a jaguar and a puma (on each occasion while quite alone), and several smaller wild animals—such as black bears, boars, peccaries, and tiger-cats. He had numerous trophies of his skill to exhibit. No wonder that Tim was proud of him. He had greatly the advantage of me as a sportsman; but, though our father and mother had done their best to instruct him, he was sadly behind-hand in general knowledge and book-learning, such as I had had the opportunity of gaining at school. Notwithstanding this, we got on very well together; and there was no fear, I hoped, of our ever falling out. He looked up to me as superior to him in many points, and I regarded him with admiration for his courage and hardihood and excellent temper.

We had proceeded for some way along the banks of the lake, when we caught sight of a boat in the distance, apparently crossing to reach a point ahead of us. We could distinguish four people in the boat, which came on rather slowly. This was accounted for when we made out several horses swimming in the water astern. The lake was bordered by a fringe of reeds, which in some places grew some distance into the water, over which water-fowl of various species winged their flight,—while we observed several pink-tinted flamingoes stalking with long legs in the shallows: and as we were watching the boat, a large flight of these beautiful birds came swooping along through the air.

Being curious to know who was in the boat, we rode slowly on towards the landing-place, from whence, Gerald told me, the road led past the end of the lake to our house. As we reached the spot the boat approached; and looking at the only passenger it contained, I at once recognised the countenance of Dr Stutterheim, while his canine friend Jumbo was standing in the bow of the boat. “What, doctor! is that you?” I shouted out.

“Ah, my young friend, I am very glad to see you,” he exclaimed, standing up and waving his hand. “I am coming to take advantage of your invitation. But I will tell you all about it when I get on shore.”

In another minute the boat touched the bank; when the doctor, leaping on dry ground, dragged two of his horses out of the water by the long reins which secured them—a black man, whom I found to be his attendant, leading the third. Shaking hands warmly with the doctor, I introduced Gerald, while Jumbo acknowledged me as an acquaintance by leaping up and energetically whisking his tail. The boatmen then assisted in loading the baggage-animals with several chests the doctor had brought; and having paid the men, he dismissed them, and mounted his horse.

“Now, Heliogabalus, follow me; and see that none of the baggage falls off, you black villain,” said the doctor.

The black, having examined the thongs which secured the baggage, climbed up on the back of one of the animals, and followed us as we rode on.

“I sometimes call him Heliogabalus,” said the doctor; “but he is generally known by the name of Gab, which is a more convenient appellation for ordinary use. I picked him up on the road to Santa Fé. I have no great faith in his honesty; but as I wanted an attendant, I engaged him—though I strongly suspect he is a runaway, and very likely may be reclaimed by his owner.”

“I don’t admire him for his beauty,” I answered. “Now tell me, doctor, to what happy circumstance are we indebted for the pleasure of seeing you so soon?”

“Simply because I found it dangerous to remain longer in Santa Fé,” he answered. “I got no practice,—or rather no payment from my patients; and I thought it very probable that I should be led out and shot by the Spaniards on suspicion of being a Liberal, as was the case with many unfortunate people while I was there. I determined, therefore, to continue my journey through the country, and gain a further knowledge of its natural history and productions,—keeping, if possible, out of the way of the combatants. I should have preferred travelling in more peaceable times; but, as life is short, I might not have an opportunity were I to defer my travels till the Spaniards are driven out of the country and peace is restored.”

Of course I told him that, under any circumstances, we were very glad to see him; and it at once occurred to me, that should our captive Indian be still alive, the doctor might by his superior skill assist to cure him.

“I have a grand remedy, which, if he has still some breath in his body, is almost sure to succeed,” he answered.

“What is it?” I asked.

“To let nature take its course,” he replied. “Perhaps your friends have been doctoring him overmuch; but I shall judge when I see him.”

It was late when we reached our house, and my father, to whom I had before described the doctor, gave him a hearty welcome.

I was thankful to hear that the Indian was still alive, though in a very weak state; so the doctor was at once taken in to see him. Having examined his wound and felt his pulse, he observed,—“I see all about it. We will give him stimulants, which will set the machine agoing. You have been afraid of fever, and have kept him too low. I will answer for it that in a few days he will be ready to perform his war-dance and flourish his scalping-knife with as much energy as ever.”

Norah, who heard this remark, assured the doctor that she believed his patient had become perfectly civilised, mild, and gentle.

“Oh yes, while he is in this house and in your presence, young lady; but let him get back to his old haunts among his savage companions, and he will cut throats with as much zest as ever,” replied the doctor.

At the supper-table my father inquired what news the doctor brought from Bogotà.

“Judging from the cruelties inflicted on their prisoners, the Spaniards know that they are losing ground,” he answered. “It is bad enough when they shoot men taken in arms; but the day before I left I witnessed a sight which made my blood boil with indignation—and I am not apt to feel such sensations, I assure you. A young lady, it appears, residing in the city, was accused of favouring the patriot cause, and of giving information to its leaders—of being a spy, in fact. A letter she had written to Bolivar was stopped, and the bearer confessed that it had been intrusted to him to deliver, by her. She was immediately arrested and brought before the judge. She was young and beautiful—very beautiful indeed, I assure you—and I should have thought that her appearance alone would have softened the heart of the greatest tyrant. I expected to hear her plead her innocence with tears in her eyes, imploring for mercy; but instead, she stood calm and unmoved, and boldly acknowledged herself a patriot, and ready to die, if required, so that she might know her beloved country would gain its freedom. Not one among those collected at the trial dared to utter a word in her favour: she was condemned to die, and was forthwith led out to undergo the sentence just pronounced. She bowed her head proudly, not a limb trembling, not a tear dropping from her eye. It was granted her, as a favour, that she should be shot, on account of her rank and the high estimation in which she was held. A priest was sent for; but she refused his services, observing that she had counted the cost, and had made full preparation for the fate which awaited her should she be discovered—her only regret being that she could no longer serve the cause in which she gloried. ‘Do you leave no one behind you who will mourn your loss?’ asked her military judge, with cruel irony in his tone; for it was known that she was engaged to marry a young and handsome colonel of the Republican army.”

“Who was she?” I exclaimed eagerly, my heart sinking as I heard the doctor say this; “what was her name?”

“Donna Paola Salabriata,” he answered. “Without being allowed to take a last farewell of her friends, or to communicate with any one, she was led out into the great square, followed by a party of soldiers,” continued the doctor, not observing my agitation. “She entreated as a favour that her eyes might not be bound; and facing her executioners, she stood with her arms crossed on her fair bosom, without for a moment exhibiting the slightest fear. I could not have believed that any woman would have shown courage so undaunted, and yet be so gentle and modest in all her actions. Stoical and indifferent as I am, I could scarcely refrain from shouting ‘To the rescue!’ and rushing forward to preserve her; but I remembered in time that I should certainly be shot did I make the attempt. And so, rooted to the spot, and feeling as if I were turning into stone, I waited till the fatal word should be given. Could any being in the form of man, as he beheld that young creature in all her maiden beauty, utter that word? Could those swarthy soldiers, savage as they looked, pull a trigger to deprive her of life? Yes! and the officer—who perhaps was a husband, perhaps a father—in a loud voice, which sounded to me like the shriek of a demon, gave the order to fire. Then came the rattle of musketry and a cloud of smoke; and the fair young girl, pierced by a dozen wounds, sank lifeless on the ground. The officer advanced to ascertain that she was dead, followed by the soldiers, to plunge their bayonets into her had she shown any signs of life. But death had been merciful; and the still lovely corpse—for not a shot had struck her countenance—was placed on a bier, and carried away for interment.”

As the doctor finished his thrilling narrative, unable longer to restrain myself, I burst into tears, at the thought of one so young, so lovely, and so devoted to a noble cause, having been thus cruelly put to death. My heart bled, too, for young Colonel Acosta. I reflected on the agony he must endure, the bitter desire for vengeance which must animate his bosom. I little fancied at the time that he was my cousin, and that I should be by his side on the field of battle when, in the hour of victory, he cast his last fond look at the miniature of the lovely girl whom he had hoped one day to make his bride, ere she was foully murdered by those who were now about to be driven for ever from the land. But I anticipate events.

The account we had heard excited feelings of grief and indignation in all our family. Norah was weeping bitterly; she had known Donna Paola. Even had she not known her, she would have wept at the tale, and wished, as I did, to aid in driving our tyrants from the land. I suspect that had my worthy schoolmaster been present, his sympathies would have been with us, and he would not have advised me to remain neutral in the struggle. But I must quit the subject; I cannot, even at the present day, speak of it without a choking sensation rising in my bosom.

The doctor looked surprised at the effect his narrative had produced; and he expressed his regret that he should have spoken of her, when I told him that I had but lately met Donna Paola.

“Now we will talk of something else,” he said. “Your brother seems to be a great sportsman for one so young, Mr Barry. I hope that he will assist me in obtaining specimens of natural history, and enable me to gain a further knowledge of the habits of the quadrupeds and quadrumana, and of the feathered tribes, of this region.”

“I shall be very happy to accompany you, doctor,—either into the forests, or over the plains, or up the mountains, or on the shores of the lakes,—whenever you wish to go,” said Gerald.

“I should be ready to go to-morrow; but I must not neglect my patient,” answered the doctor. “And he will require my care for a few days; and trust me, I will do my best to cure him.”

The rest of the evening was spent in talking of our proposed shooting-excursion.

Some days elapsed, however, before we could set out. The doctor was most attentive to the wounded Indian, who was now evidently recovering under his superintendence. Still, he seemed to regard Norah as his chief nurse; and though he hesitated to take what the doctor prescribed for him from any one else, he received it willingly from her hands.

At last the doctor pronounced him convalescent, and declared that he no longer needed his care. “And so, my young friends,” he said, turning to us, one evening while we sat at supper, “we will lose no more time, out set off immediately. Life is short, remember. ‘Carpe diem’ should be the motto of all who desire to gain information.”

I agreed to accompany the doctor and Gerald; and before retiring to rest that night we made arrangements. Tim, also, on hearing of our plan, begged to go—being afraid that Gerald would get into some scrape.

The doctor of course intended to take Jumbo. I asked him if Gab was to go also.

“I have not tried him yet, and I think it is possible, if I put a gun into his hands, that he might shoot me instead of a jaguar, should one appear before us,” he replied.

I confess I thought that possible, for I did not particularly like the appearance of Mr Heliogabalus.

My father employed a number of blacks on his estate, as did my uncle; for they found them far more trustworthy and industrious than the so-called Christianised natives. Gab soon made himself at home among his fellow-blacks, but they from the first looked upon him with some degree of suspicion, for which I could not account; they very probably had more insight into his character than either his master or I had.

We started early the next morning, with a small quantity of provisions,—consisting chiefly of flour and biscuits,—a pot in which to boil our cocoa, and some cups to drink it out of; some condiments, such as pepper and salt; and plenty of powder and shot. We expected to kill sufficient game to supply ourselves with substantial food. We were all mounted, as we could leg-strap our horses while we shot, or leave them under charge of a black servant, who accompanied us with a sumpter-horse to carry our larger game, as also the skins of any animals the doctor might wish to preserve. We agreed to camp out for a couple of nights, and then return home.

I must not stop to describe the numerous birds we saw on the lake along the shores of which we took our way—the flamingoes, spoonbills, herons, and several varieties of water-fowl. Among others, we saw some little herons as white as snow, which the doctor assured me were great friends of the alligators. Before long we caught sight of a number of these saurians lying on a bank in the sun; and while we were watching them, several of the beautiful birds perched on their backs, and went walking composedly along, as if they mistook them for trunks of trees. The alligators were much smaller than those I had seen in the Magdalena, and both Gerald and Tim assured us that they never attacked human beings.

Having left our horses in charge of our black servant, Chumbo, we set off to get a shot at the wild-fowl, some of which the doctor wanted to stuff, while we agreed they would also serve us for dinner. The reeds being very high, we soon lost sight of each other. I had gone some way, supposing that I was at a distance from my companions, and was on the point of firing at some wild-fowl which rose in the air, when, just close to the water, I heard the doctor shout out in a voice of terror, which I was sure he would not have done without good cause. I rushed forward as fast as I could through the reeds, when what was my horror to see an enormous anaconda, capable of swallowing a foal or a young calf at a gulp, with its head raised within a few feet of his shoulders, and apparently about to seize him in its deadly embrace. Either his gun was unloaded, or terror prevented him from using it.

Hastily ramming a bullet down my fowling-piece, I raised it to fire, hoping earnestly that I might take good aim. My worthy friend’s life depended on my doing: so, for in another instant the monster might envelop him in its huge folds. I shall not forget in a hurry the look of horror depicted in the worthy doctor’s countenance. Taking steady aim, I fired, and the bullet happily went crashing through the anaconda’s head. Though the creature was not killed, its head dropped, and the doctor had time to spring forward and escape its fangs, which almost grazed his arm. I shouted to him while I was reloading my gun. In a moment he was himself again, and imitating my example, got his weapon ready to fire down the serpent’s throat should it again lift its head. It quickly gave him an opportunity; and the second shot had the effect of making it roll over and over in a most extraordinary fashion.

I was glad to keep out of its way, and so was the doctor, whom, by making a circuit, I rejoined.

“I hope this marsh is not frequented by other snakes of the same species,” he observed. “If it is, I propose that we beat a retreat while we can do so with whole bones. But I should like to have that fellow’s skin; it would be a prize worth possessing. However, I don’t feel inclined to approach it nearer.”

“Nor do I; but probably in a few minutes it will be dead,” I said.

“Not quite sure of that,” replied the doctor; “serpents have wonderful vitality. But if we could get near enough to cut off its tail, we should soon kill it.”

I undertook to make the attempt. Having a sharp axe in my belt, while the doctor stood ready to fire should it raise its head, I rushed forward and severed the tail about six feet from the end. In an instant its movements ceased, and its coils gradually relaxed.

“Bravo, Barry! The piece you’ve cut off would make a good-sized serpent of itself,” shouted the doctor, holding it up. “If we could skin it, we might carry it home.”

While we were speaking, Jumbo, who had been at a distance, came jumping up, and barked furiously at the dead serpent. I rather suspect that, having seen the creature, he had bolted—not unwisely, for it would have swallowed him at a gulp. I hinted this to the doctor, who at first repudiated the idea, but acknowledged that Jumbo was more experienced with regard to alligators than anacondas.

Our shots, and shouts had been heard by Gerald and Tim, who now appeared, and congratulated the doctor on his escape.

“I owe it to my friend Barry’s coolness and courage,” he answered. “I shall ever be grateful to him;” and he described how I had shot the anaconda.

The doctor seemed so anxious to have the skin that we all set to work and cut it off, together with the head. To me it was a disagreeable operation, as I was unaccustomed to it; but the rest of the party took it as a matter of course. Having scraped it as clean as we could, we bore it in triumph to where we had left the horses. They snorted as they saw it, and the animal on whose back we fastened it did not seem much to like its burden. Our negro servant gazed on it with horror and astonishment, declaring that he had never seen so large a serpent.

We agreed that, as there might be others in the neighbourhood, it would be wise not to remain among the reeds, especially as Gerald and Tim had shot as many wild-fowl as we required for supper. We accordingly proceeded on towards a forest which bordered the bank of a stream running into the lake; and here we intended to encamp for the night.

Chapter Five.

Camp at night—Shoot two tapirs—The doctor’s lecture—Visit Padre Pacheco’s house—He has disappeared—A night at a hunter’s hut—Return home—Gab accused of treachery—Humming-birds—Kanimapo appears—Warns me of an intended attack on our house—We collect men, and go to Castle Concannan—Prepare for its defence—We see our house burning—Aqualonga and his banditti appear—Commence the attack—We drive them back with one of our guns—They assault the back of the house—Gab escapes—A battering-ram brought into play—Out-buildings on fire—Several of our men killed and wounded—Our ammunition runs short—A fresh assault—Enemy retreat—We follow—Regain the house—Enemy return—Driven back and disappear—The dead buried.

We were well satisfied with the success we had enjoyed during the day, having shot as many birds as we required for the pot, and several others of various species. We had half-a-dozen different sorts of animals which the doctor wished to examine or to add to his museum. There were among them three monkeys, a titi, a minas leonidas (a miniature lion—a curious little creature), a spider-monkey with white whiskers; besides a paca (a small rodent which burrows in the ground), and an opossum with a prehensile tail, which we saw with half-a-dozen little ones on its back. The doctor observed that, having no pouch, it thus carries its young, and is from this circumstance called Dorsigereas, or “back-bearing.” The young ones were clinging on to her with their hand-like feet, while their tails were turned round hers; and thus she was making her way along the branch of a tree when the doctor’s cruel rifle cut short her career. I confess that I could not have had the heart to kill the creature, nor did I much like shooting the playful little monkeys; but the doctor observed that such sentiments must yield to the necessities of Science, and that they might consider it a great honour to have their skins exhibited in the Museum of Berlin.

Having kindled a fire, we were busily employed till a late hour, by its light, in skinning the doctor’s prizes. The paca, by-the-by, was roasted, and preferred to the ducks.

With our ponchos and horse-rugs we formed luxurious couches, though the mosquitoes were somewhat troublesome. The doctor was entering into a learned disquisition as to their species.

“Faith, your honour,” cried Tim, “they all seem mighty much alike, for they bite terribly!”

I may remark that the poncho is the usual cloak worn by all ranks, from the hidalgo to the poorest civilised Indian, differing only in material and texture. It consists of a square piece of cloth with a small round hole cut through the centre, and a slit a little way in front, which enables it to be slipped over the head. It is secured round the neck by a clasp or a button, and is well adapted for a climate where rain and wind have to be guarded against rather than cold.

We agreed that one of the party should keep watch at a time, as it would not have been wise to trust even to Jumbo’s vigilance, notwithstanding all the doctor had to say in his favour. At all events, he could not put the sticks on the fire; and a stealthy jaguar might, carry him off, should he close his eyes for a moment.

We secured our camp by dragging some logs of wood round it, and sticking some thick boughs into the ground, so as to break the rush of a jaguar or puma should one take it into its head to make a dash at us, tempted by the savoury smell of the roasted paca and ducks.

I need not again mention the monkeys which came round to look at us, the parrots and other birds which perched in the neighbouring trees, or the brilliant fire-flies which flitted about our heads as soon as darkness set in. I may add the mosquitoes, but they are pests to which no human being can get accustomed. Even the natives look upon them as persecutors; and the whites who live near the banks of the rivers, when asked how long they have resided there, often reply, “I have been food for mosquitoes for so many years.” We had bound thick handkerchiefs round our heads, that the ends, by covering our faces, might assist to guard them.

Covering myself up with my poncho, I had managed to go to sleep, in spite of the stings of the mosquitoes, when I was awakened by hearing some one moving near me; and looking up, I saw the doctor take his gun and steal away out of the camp. I followed him, to render him assistance if necessary, though I could not guess his object.

“Hist!” he whispered; “I saw some creatures coming down to the water to drink. They are tapirs; and if we are cautious we may shoot them.”

We crept along, keeping under cover of a bank, at one end of which we had formed our camp. Presently I saw two large animals, with long snouts somewhat resembling the trunks of elephants, but considerably shorter. They came on slowly, cropping the grass or leaves in their course. The doctor whispered to me to aim at the one on the left, while he took that on the right. Waiting till they came quite close to us,—for their skin is so tough that it can turn a bullet at a distance,—we fired almost together. The animals turned round, and I thought that we had missed and that they were about to escape; but no sooner had they got round than they began to stagger, and presently both came to the ground.

The doctor, uttering a shout of triumph, rushed forward with his hunting-knife and quickly despatched them. The shots and our voices aroused our companions, who leaped up and came rushing towards us. Together we dragged the two carcasses close to the camp, thinking that the doctor would wait till the morning to cut them up; but, in his eagerness, he insisted on commencing operations at once.

“I want their skins,” he said; “and if we don’t secure them, the armadilloes, the ants, and the vultures will have made a feast off them before we awake, if a jaguar has not torn them to pieces.”

Grasping his knife, he commenced his labours, in which we were fain to assist him; and as he cut away, he lectured on the creature.

“You see,” he observed, “this is one of the Pachydermata, or thick-skinned animals. It is a link which connects the elephant and rhinoceros to the swine; indeed, their habits are somewhat similar. It measures about four feet in height and six in length, and is thus the largest animal of this part of the continent. Observe its flexible proboscis—how much it resembles the rudiment of the elephant’s trunk; and it serves for the same purpose—that of twisting round the branches of trees, and tearing off the leaves, on which it partly feeds. In form it is like the hog; while its skin resembles that of the rhinoceros: and like that animal it delights in water, and is a good swimmer and diver; while, as does the hog, it enjoys wallowing in the mud. During the day it remains concealed in the deep recesses of the forest, and, as we have had an instance, issues out at night to seek its food. Here, look at its front feet: there are four toes (while on the hinder there are only three), their tips, as you observe, cased in small hoofs. See! the eyes are small and lateral, and the ears long and pointed. Observe the teeth, which are strong and powerful, to enable it to crush its food, or defend itself against its enemies. The hair, as you observe, is of a deep brown, nearly black, short, scanty, and closely depressed on the surface; while it has little or no tail. The animal is of enormous strength, and its tough hide enables it to force its way through the dense underwood, where no other creature can penetrate. It generally moves forward at a trot; but when pursued it breaks into a gallop, carrying its head downwards very much as does a hog. It holds its own against all the other animals of the forest, and, being of a peaceful disposition, never willingly attacks either man or beast; but the savage jaguar tries occasionally to make a feast off its carcass by leaping on its back. When the tapir feels its enemy, it rushes through the forest, attempting to dislodge it by passing under the low boughs of the trees; or, should water be near, by plunging in and diving down,—when it quickly escapes, as the jaguar must either let go its hold or be drowned. Its teeth being strong and sharp, it can inflict severe wounds when hunted and brought to bay, though it prefers seeking safety by flight.”

“Faith, doctor, you were fortunate in killing these fellows before they scented you, or they might have given you some ugly bites,” observed Tim, holding open one of the heads.

Having performed our unpleasant operation, we went down to the river to wash our hands, while Tim and the black beat the surface to scare away any alligators which might be prowling about. On our return to the camp we once more lay down, one of the party as before keeping watch; which was more than ever necessary, as the dead tapirs were very likely to attract either jaguars or pumas. We were unmolested, however.

In the morning, mounting our horses, we rode some distance before we breakfasted. Then we shot all day with a result highly satisfactory to the doctor, though we met with no adventures worth noting.

In the evening I found that we were not far from Padre Pacheco’s abode; and recollecting my promise to visit him, I proposed that we should go round that way. To this the doctor and Gerald agreed; and, accordingly, the next morning, after we had had a few hours’ shooting, we turned our horses’ heads in that direction.

On reaching the padre’s house we saw no one about. Fearing that he was ill, I went to the door and knocked, but nobody came. I tried to open the door; it was bolted. At last, seeing a cottage at some little distance, I rode towards it, and shouted out,—“Friends, can you tell me what has become of the padre?”

The door opened, and a native woman rushed out with a child at her back, exclaiming,—“Has he come back?—has he come back? O señor, we have lost him!”

“Lost him! How, and when?” I asked.

“Two days ago, when one of our people went to his house it was closed, and no one was within. Neither the señor padre nor Candela were to be found. It is said,” (and here she dropped her voice to a whisper) “the Gothos carried them off. They were here, that is certain; and we fear they have murdered him, as they have done so many other unfortunates.”

In vain I tried to draw more information from the poor woman, who showed, by her sorrow, the affection she felt for the worthy padre. We also made inquiries at other cottages in the neighbourhood, but received only the same answer.

“Has no one been into the house?” I asked at length. “Perhaps they are there. They may, alas! have been murdered.”

We rode back, and after searching round I found a window open. Gerald and Tim scrambled in, and I waited, expecting to have my worst anticipations confirmed. I was indeed relieved when they came back saying that they could find no one. There was still some hope that the padre might be alive; though had he been carried off by the Spaniards, his fate might be that of many others.

As we could not longer delay, we set off, in order to reach the house of a native acquaintance of Gerald’s before dark. He was a great sportsman, Gerald told us; and having had several encounters with jaguars and pumas, he would be delighted to recount his adventures.

The house was situated some way up the mountains on the right. To reach it we had frequently to get off our horses and lead them along the rugged path. Our friend’s abode was not a grand one; it consisted but of one room, which was ornamented with his trophies of the chase. He maintained himself chiefly by keeping a large flock of goats, which lived secure from jaguars and pumas among the rugged rocks. The savage animals sometimes came, however, to try and catch them, but generally paid the penalty of their audacity with their lives. He gave us a kid for supper, and told us some wonderful stories. Even lately, a jaguar, which was crouching behind a rock, suddenly sprang out on him, and seized him by the arm. With his knife he attempted to strike the brute, when they both rolled over the precipice, and he lost all consciousness. On recovering, the jaguar was gone; but there were marks of blood, which showed that it must have been severely wounded.

I did not fail to mention Padre Pacheco’s absence, and asked if he could divine what had become of him.

“I do not think the Gothos have got him,” he answered; “for, to say the truth, I gave him information that they were coming, and, as the padre is a wise man, he would not have waited for their visit. Where he has gone I cannot tell.”

I was somewhat relieved by this information, though I pictured to myself the jovial padre wandering about the wilds without food or shelter.

The next day, by starting at dawn, we reached home at an early hour. The doctor’s first inquiry was for his patient; when, to our astonishment, we heard that he had rapidly gained strength, and on the previous night had made his escape. In consequence of his evident weakness, he had been left unguarded, and no one supposed that he had even any wish to quit the house where he had been so kindly treated. Only the day before, he had, with evident sincerity, expressed his gratitude to Norah, and taking her hand had pressed it to his lips, vowing that he would be ready to die to do her any service.

“And so I am sure he would,” exclaimed Norah, when our father told us this. “Could he write, he would have left a message explaining why he has left us; and we shall hear some day that he had good reason for doing so. Still, I was as much surprised as any one else when I found this morning that he had actually fled. Probably he was afraid that he might be stopped should he express his wish to go, and therefore thought it wiser to steal off secretly. We shall hear from him before long, depend on it. I cannot believe that he is ungrateful, or had any bad motive for running away.”

I fully agreed with Norah. Still, the act was so like the ordinary conduct of Indians, that it was not surprising the rest of the party should believe him to be ungrateful.

“We must wait patiently, at all events, till the mystery is elucidated,” observed my father; “and now, as you hunters are hungry, we will go to dinner.”

We had just finished our meal when Tim hurried in with the announcement that a number of our black labourers were collecting outside in a state of great commotion, three or four of them having brought in the doctor’s servant, Gab, as a prisoner. Tim informed us that, having suspicions as to his conduct, they had followed him for several miles into the mountains, when they found that he had gone to meet some Spaniards.

On hearing this the doctor seized a thick stick, and was on the point of rushing out, to break it, as he said, on Gab’s head,—or rather on his shins, for his head was not likely to be much the worse for it.

“Sit down, my good friend,” said my father. “I don’t manage my blacks in that way. Let me go and speak to him, and I may perchance elicit the truth. If he has been holding any traitorous communication with the enemy, he probably knows something of their movements; he may afford us valuable information.”

My father accordingly went out. I stayed a short time to try and calm the doctor, who was excessively enraged at the conduct of his servant. “Light your meerschaum, doctor,” I said, “while I go and see how matters are proceeding.”

On reaching the verandah in front of the house, I found Norah and old Josefa standing there, the latter apparently as much excited as the rest of her sable brethren and sisters, who in considerable numbers were collected round the accused negro, vociferating loudly, while Jumbo, who had never taken to him, was joining in the chorus with repeated barks. My father advanced, and having requested the rest to be silent, addressed him earnestly, and urged him at once to confess what he had been about. Gab, lifting up his hands, declared that he had had no evil intentions, as he respected his master, and was grateful to us his entertainers; and that the other blacks, through jealousy, had brought a false accusation against him. On hearing this they all shouted out as before, denouncing Señor Gab as a traitor, a spy, a barefaced hypocrite, and bestowing a good many other unsavoury epithets upon him.

“Silence, my friends,” again said my father; “I must sift this matter to the bottom. You have behaved faithfully in bringing him back, and I am thankful to you. And now, Gab, tell me at once, who are the people you went to meet, and what did you say to them? You will understand that if you faithfully speak the truth, you will be rewarded; but if you endeavour in any way to deceive us, you will be punished severely.”

Gab hung down his head.

“Speak at once,” said my father. “I cannot allow you time to concoct a story. Who are the people you went to meet?”

“I learned nothing from them, Señor Desmond,” at length replied Gab. “They were friends of the Spaniards, I confess; and they wanted to know how many people were assembled in this house, and in Señor Concannan’s; also if there were many fighting men in the village, and whether you expected a party of the insurgent troops to come here.”

“And did you give them the information they required?” asked my father.

“O señor, believe me, I did not,” exclaimed Gab. “I told them as many lies as I could think of, and tried my best to deceive them.”

“You audacious villain! Then how are we to believe you?” exclaimed the doctor, who now appeared on the scene, and beard his servant’s last words. “What made you go out to meet those people? Answer that. I care not what you tell us that you said to them, or they said to you.”

Gab was dumb.

“The fellow has probably been all along in communication with your enemies, Señor Desmond; and his object is to gain a reward for conducting them to this place,” exclaimed the doctor. “Take my advice, and hang him forthwith. As I brought him here, I feel answerable for his behaviour; and it would be a bad return for your kindness should the villain betray you.”

I am very sure the doctor said this to frighten Gab, for he was not at all of a sanguinary disposition, and even the beasts of the forest he only slew in the cause of Science. But Gab, believing him to be in earnest, trembled all over, and pleaded for mercy, promising to be faithful to his master in future, and to endeavour to mislead the enemy should they come into the neighbourhood. Our own blacks, on hearing this, shouted out,—“Don’t trust him; he has got two faces—one for the enemy, and one for you!”

“I don’t intend to do so,” answered my father. “We will shut him up for the present, till we have settled what punishment to inflict.”

With this the rest of the blacks were far from satisfied; and I believe that, had he been handed over to them, they would very quickly have disposed of him.

He was forthwith conveyed to the room in which the Indian had been confined—a plank being nailed over the window to prevent him from communicating with any one outside, and the bedding taken away, so that he had but the bare ground to sleep on, and the naked walls to look at. He was not likely to make his escape, as our former captive had done.

Two or three days passed. The doctor was mostly out in the woods shooting birds and collecting animals and insects. Among the first were some beautiful humming-birds, which in great numbers frequented the neighbourhood, one species scarcely larger than a humble-bee. The doctor came home delighted with his spoils. He observed that he found different species of humming-birds in different localities. One species, which he called a “thorn-bill,” does not, as do most of its race, mount to the tops of the trees, but seeks its food among the low flowering shrubs. He exhibited the little creature, which was not so large as many moths. It was of a golden green colour on the upper parts, with a dull brown below; and it had a curious tuft hanging from its chin, of a light green at the base, and purple-red towards the points. The wings and tail were of a purple-brown hue, while the under part of the tail was of brown-yellow.

High up on the hills he found another beautiful little bird which he called the “white-booted racket-tail.” It possessed muffs round the legs, and the feathers of its tail were shaped like two racket sticks. When flying these are in constant motion, waving in the air, opening and closing in the most beautiful manner, while it darts forward with the rapidity of an arrow. The colours are chiefly of a bronze-green, with wings of a purple-brown; while the feet, just appearing below its milk-white ruffs, are yellow.

However, I have not time to describe one-half of the humming-birds or others of the feathered tribe which the doctor exhibited. I had often seen them flying about, but had never taken the pains to examine the peculiarities of each. The doctor remarked that many of them were found at an elevation of ten thousand feet above the sea, and others still higher; often on the sides of Chimborazo and Pichincha.

I after this took more particular notice of the peculiarities of the humming-birds in different districts, and thus discovered how greatly they vary according to their localities. It seems a wonder how such defenceless little creatures can exist, surrounded as they must be by numerous foes. They escape in the daytime by the rapidity of their flight; and at night from their small size, and the care they take to guard their nests (many of which are built hanging to the ends of boughs, down which even the active monkeys cannot climb). Others, again, live high up the mountains, in spots to which neither monkeys nor insects find their way.

About a week had passed from the discovery of Gab’s supposed treachery, during which time we had felt some anxiety lest an enemy should really intend to pay us a visit; but at last, as no further information reached us, our fears began to subside. I followed the advice I had received from General Bermudez, and endeavoured, as far as I was able, to improve myself in horsemanship, and in the use of the lance and carbine, by firing at a mark as I rode at full speed. As I improved, the desire of practically employing my accomplishments against the enemies of my country increased, and I looked forward eagerly to a summons from the general. I had been one day thus engaged, at some distance from the house, when I caught sight of a mounted Indian galloping towards me. He also carried a lance, and a long bow at his back. As I saw him, the thought that he was an enemy flashed across my mind. The time had come for me to try my prowess and to fight for my life. I reloaded my carbine, which I had just fired, and, placing it across my saddle ready to raise to my shoulder, I grasped my lance, meanwhile watching the movements of the Indian. He had not unslung his bow, while his lance still rested in an upright position; and as he came on he lifted up his hand, as a sign that his intentions were peaceable. In a few seconds I had recognised our late prisoner Kanimapo. His steed was panting and covered with foam. He had evidently ridden at a rapid rate for a long distance.

“I am thankful to meet with you here, Señor Barry,” he said, “for my horse is well-nigh exhausted, and there is no time to be lost. But a few hours back I gained the information that a large body of men, under the Royalist leader Aqualonga, is about to make a foray in your district, and to carry off or slaughter all suspected persons,—which means every one whom they encounter. You have heard of the man, and the fierce banditti he commands. He has had notice that a traveller with a vast amount of wealth is residing in your house, and his chief object is to get possession of it, as well as of those whom he calls traitors. Hasten back and make all the preparations in your power for defence, for I cannot tell how soon he may attack you. You may collect a sufficient body of men from the neighbouring village to assist in defending you, and I will endeavour to bring up some of my people to your aid. Again I say you have not a moment to lose. Ride on as fast as your horse can carry you. Farewell. Trust to my desire to assist you.”

I thanked Kanimapo, assuring him that I would follow his advice. In the hurry of the moment, I forgot even to ask him why he had quitted our house without wishing us good-bye; and as, immediately he had done speaking, he turned his horse’s head, I put spurs into the flanks of mine and galloped homewards.

As I approached I listened anxiously, almost expecting to hear the sound of shots; but none reached my ears. Then I began to fear that the sanguinary banditti had surprised the house, and perhaps put all those I loved to death, as I well knew they were capable of doing. I kept my carbine and spear ready for instant use should I catch sight of the enemy, resolved to sell my life dearly, and to avenge the murder of my family; but no sounds came from the house. My heart sank within me. Great was my relief when, as I got nearer, I saw my father and the doctor seated under a wide-spreading tree, a short distance in front of the house,—the latter puffing away at his meerschaum, and evidently engaged in some learned disquisition or other.

I threw myself from my horse as I got up to them, but so deeply absorbed was the doctor in his subject that he kept puffing and puffing away, encircling his head with a cloud of smoke, and scarcely observing me.

“I beg your pardon, doctor,” I said, “for interrupting you; but I have matter of importance, which brooks of no delay.” I then gave the information I had received from Kanimapo.

My father looked grave, as well he might.

“Can the Indian be deceiving us?” suggested the doctor.

“I feel very sure that he is not,” said my father.

He and the doctor then rose, and we hastened to the house. As we went along, my father continued,—“Before we act, let us consider what is to be done. Even were we to make no resistance, those ruffians would murder us; so that, however inferior in numbers we may be, we must fight. Barry, do you and Tim go into the village and beat up for recruits. Gerald must ride off to Castle Concannan and give your uncles notice,—Aqualonga will certainly try to surprise them. The doctor and I will remain, and, with the aid of our blacks, make all the preparations we can for defence. You will stay by us, doctor; but you may prefer seeking safety in flight, as the quarrel is not yours?”

“No, no, my good friend; I will stay and fight, and attend to those who may be wounded,” answered the doctor, still sucking at his beloved meerschaum. “Indeed, it is my belief, from what Barry says, that I am the chief cause of the attack. The savages have heard of my chests of specimens, and naturally suppose that they contain treasure; so that I should be an ungrateful wretch, as well as a big coward, were I to run away. We Germans are not in the habit of doing that. But, from the appearance of your house, I very much doubt whether you can hold it against a determined attack. Would it not be wiser for you to unite with your brothers-in-law, and assist in defending their house, which you may do successfully? It is far more capable of resisting an enemy; and, pardon me, I think it will be madness to attempt to hold out here, when you have their house in which you can take refuge.”

“Doctor, you are right,” exclaimed my father. “They can but burn this down; and they will not have time to destroy the plantations. I am grateful to you for your counsel. We will carry it out.”

Entering the house, my father communicated to my mother and Norah the intelligence I had brought, and desired them to prepare with the children for instant flight, while he went out to call in the blacks whom he could trust.

I meantime, having found Tim, hastened off to the village, where there were nearly a score of men who would be ready, Tim assured me, to fight in our cause. The news we brought spread consternation among the people: some immediately began to pack up their property, with the intention of flying into the woods to conceal themselves; while the braver portion—many of them young men who had already served with the insurgent forces—hurried to get their arms and ammunition, and to follow us. The village was so open that it could not be effectually protected, unless with a far larger force than the inhabitants could muster; and they knew, therefore, that they must abandon their own houses to pillage if they would preserve their lives. It was a hard fate, but it had been the lot of so many others of late years that they did not repine.

I was thankful to find, in the course of a few minutes, twenty stout, hardy-looking fellows, chiefly Creoles and mulattoes, pretty well-armed either with guns, blunderbusses, pistols, swords, or spears. All had one or two weapons, which they knew how to use; and were thoroughly imbued with a true hatred of the Gothos, as they called the Spaniards, and all those who sided with them. The bandit Aqualonga they especially detested, from the numberless atrocities he had committed, and for which he had been rewarded by the King of Spain with a colonel’s commission, a handsome uniform, and occasional pay. These signal marks of favour had encouraged him to continue his career. Bermudez and other patriot chiefs had hitherto in vain attempted to hunt him down. He was active and intelligent; and, supported by his band of cut-throats,—Spaniards, mulattoes, Indians, and blacks,—had long evaded pursuit, and had appeared now in one part of the country, now in the other, where he had committed fresh outrages on the unfortunate inhabitants.

I feared that, as he had now come into our neighbourhood,—if Kanimapo was rightly informed,—he would attack Don Fernando’s house, from which he would obtain a richer booty than from ours or Castle Concannan. I mentioned my fears to Tim.

“It may be, Masther Barry; but if he pays Castle Concannan a visit first, it’s my belief that we’ll be after giving him such a drubbing that he’ll have no stomach for attacking any other place. We’ve a good store of ammunition at our house, and your uncles have a still larger; and with forty or well-nigh fifty true men inside the four walls, we shall be able to keep the enemy employed as long as they venture to stay within gun-shot.”

On reaching the house, we found my mother and Norah mounted. Each of them held one of the children; while the rest of the horses were laden with the ammunition, and some of the more valuable property. I could nowhere find the doctor, and asked what had become of him. Presently I saw him returning with four blacks.

“I went away for an especial object,” he said: “to hide my chests of natural history. The rogues would have broken them open, expecting to find them full of treasure; or should they burn the house, their contents would have been destroyed: so I thought the best way would be to conceal them in the woods, as I could not ask your father to convey them.”

I congratulated him on his forethought, and it then occurred to me to ask what had become of Gab.

“Oh, the villain! I forgot all about him!” exclaimed the doctor. “He still remains shut up. Should the banditti destroy the house, he will be burned alive.”

“Common humanity forbids that we should allow him to be thus put to death. We must take him with us,” observed my father.

“He would only meet with his deserts,” remarked the doctor. “However, as it won’t do to let him be at liberty, I will bring him out.”

The doctor hurried into the house, and quickly returned driving Gab before him with a rope fastened round his wrists, so that, though he could use his feet, he could not run away.

The order was now given to advance,—my mother and sister, with the children, being placed in the centre, while our own servants and the villagers marched on either side; for though we hoped to reach Castle Concannan in safety, we could not tell at what moment Aqualonga and his band might arrive.

My father cast a regretful look at his house, which he was thus leaving to destruction. Tim, who observed it, cried out,—“Faith, masther dear, better to let the house burn than to lose all our lives, which would have happened, maybe, into the bargain; so we’ll just hope to live and fight another day, and go back and build it up again before long.”

My father, giving Tim a friendly nod, turned away his head and pushed forward to the front, while the doctor and I brought up the rear. He was too good a soldier to omit sending out scouts to bring us timely notice of the approach of an enemy; but we pushed on as fast as we could move, with our firelocks ready for instant use, hoping that, even if attacked, we might fight our way to Castle Concannan, the distance not being great.

Our anxiety was soon relieved by our arrival at our destination. My eldest uncle came out to receive us. Gerald had faithfully delivered our father’s message, and they had immediately set to work to put the place in a state of defence. All the timber that could be collected had been brought in to barricade the windows and doors; and they had already begun to remove part of the roof which was thatched, and which, as it could easily be set on fire by arrows with burning tips, was likely to prove dangerous. The considerable force we brought enabled these operations to be rapidly carried on. The thatch was conveyed to a distance from the house, that it might not be employed for smoking us out, while all the men able to use saws and hammers set to work to fit and nail up the timbers. Every door and window was so strongly barricaded, that a cannon-shot only could have knocked them in.

My uncle had, fortunately, two small field-pieces. To enable these to be used with effect, ports were cut in the lower part of the doors on either side, with traps or portcullises to mask them till it was necessary to run them out and fire. All the windows were loopholed; and a number of large stones and bricks, taken from the walls of the outhouses, were carried up to the roof, to be hurled down on the heads of our assailants, should they attempt to escalade the walls.

Our men were then divided into four parties, that, should the house be attacked on every side at once, it might be effectually defended. Uncle Denis had charge of one of the guns; and as I had learned to load and fire one on board ship, I had command of the other, with Gerald and Tim under me.

The preparations occupied us the greater part of the night, and not till towards morning did we consider that the house was placed in a proper state of defence.

My mother and sisters, as well as my aunts and cousins, had rendered all the assistance in their power, and they now begged that they might be stationed in the upper part of the house, so as to throw stones on the heads of the enemy should they approach the walls. To this, however, my father and uncles would not consent, as they would thus be exposed to the shot of our assailants.

“Your proper duty, ladies, will be to help me, should any of our garrison be wounded,” observed the doctor. “The fittest place will be the centre of the house, where you yourselves will run the least risk of being hurt. We cannot allow you to be exposed to danger, if it can be avoided.”

To this they somewhat unwillingly agreed; and our minds were greatly relieved by believing that, as long as we could hold out, they would be safe.

The command of the fortress was entrusted by my uncles to my father, who, having seen so much fighting in his younger days, was considered the best soldier of the party; while Uncle Denis and I acted as his lieutenants.

The order was now given to those of the men who wished to do so to lie down and rest, while we kept a look-out from the battlements,—for so I may call the upper part of the house,—that the enemy might not take us by surprise. It was, as I have said, a square, strongly-built stone house, with a courtyard on one side, beyond which were several out-buildings. Had we possessed a stronger force, these would have been fortified and occupied; but, as it was, we had only men sufficient to garrison the house, and we were compelled to leave these to their fate. Our horses were brought inside, as were several mules; but the rest of the live stock—the oxen, pigs, sheep, and goats—had to be deserted. The house stood on slightly elevated ground, sloping away gradually on three sides, the fourth being that on which the courtyard was situated.

The night was drawing on, but as yet we had seen no signs of an enemy. It was possible that, after all, Aqualonga and his band might not come; they might have encountered some of the patriot troops and been driven back. We hoped that such might be the case.

I was looking out on the side turned towards our house, when Gerald joined me. “I can’t sleep for thinking of the work we are to be engaged in,” he said. “After all the trouble we have taken, it will be quite a pity if the banditti disappoint us.”

“I cannot quite agree with you,” I answered. “Remember that they are not likely to come here till they have paid our house a visit; and if they go there, they are sure to burn it, in revenge at finding us gone, and nothing within which they greatly value.”

As I was speaking, I observed a bright light in the direction of our house, and pointed it out to Gerald. “What do you think that means?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps some native with a torch going through the woods.”

“I fear very much that it will increase,” I answered. “See! it is already doing so! Gerald, I am afraid Aqualonga and his party have really come, and finding that we have escaped, have in revenge set fire to our house. I trust that they will not treat the whole village in the same way. It is bad enough for those who have friends to go to, but it will be sad indeed for the poor people to be burned out of their homes.”

“You take things very coolly, Barry,” exclaimed Gerald. “The villains! Can they have dared to burn our house? I hope that they will come here; and we’ll give them a tremendous thrashing!”

“Depend on it, they’ll not disappoint us,” I observed. “See! see how the flames are ascending! I have no longer any doubt of what has happened.”

As we were speaking we were joined by my father and Uncle Denis, whose opinion confirmed our worst fears. The burning of our house was the signal for us to prepare for an immediate attack, as the enemy would not take long in traversing the distance between the two places; and unless they should take it into their heads to destroy the village, they would very soon appear before Castle Concannan. Those of the garrison who had lain down to sleep were aroused, and all the men were ordered to their posts. I hurried to mine; while my father remained on the roof to give us notice of the approach of the enemy. I opened the port through which my gun was to be fired, and looked out. The shades of night were fast floating away, and I could see down the slope to a thick wood which covered the opposite side of the valley. My gun was loaded with langrage, which was likely to prove far more effective than a single shot; for, though that could reach to a distance, it would not, like the pieces of iron, scatter death and destruction around. With a slow match in my hand, I stood ready for action. A few men only were stationed near me, all of whom seemed resolute and determined to fight to the last.

I felt very impatient, waiting to hear the expected word of command from my father, to fire. Several times I peeped through the port. At length I saw a body of men emerge from the wood. They halted for a minute or more,—being apparently the advanced guard,—till they were joined by others. My father must have seen them, but he did not give the order to fire. At length I saw the whole mass advancing, and at the same moment my father’s voice sounded loud and clear through the building,—“Be prepared, my men! The enemy are coming; but reserve your fire till you receive my orders, and then take good aim, and don’t throw a shot away.”

My uncle now came over to where I was posted. “The enemy appear to intend attacking us only on this side,” he observed; “I hope they may, for we shall then be able to sweep them down as they ascend the open slope. They have no scaling-ladders with them, I am thankful to see, or our task would be more difficult. I will lend you a hand, Barry, in fighting your gun, till I am called back to my own. We must take care that while we are reloading none of them succeed in creeping through the port; they are daring fellows, and may make the attempt.”

We had kept the port closed, a man being stationed to lift up the trap the moment the order to fire should be given. For a minute or more perfect silence reigned through the house; every one stood eagerly waiting for my father’s orders. At length his voice was heard. “Fire!” he shouted; and at the same moment, as if his command had been addressed to the enemy, they began blazing away, the shot rattling like hail against the walls.

Our port being unmasked, we ran out the gun, depressing it so as to sweep the hill-side, and fired. Loud shrieks and cries arose as the iron shower went crashing among them; but as we immediately closed the port, we could not see how many fell. Still they advanced; and as they did so our garrison kept firing away, with right good will, from every loophole in the house. We meantime reloaded our gun and again ran it out; but the enemy scarcely waited for its discharge. Its effects were even more deadly than at first, for their front ranks were almost up to the walls. Before the smoke had cleared away some of them dashed forward towards the port, by command of their leader, for we heard his voice giving the order; but we had our pikes raised to receive them, and two, if not more, were killed as they attempted to force their way in. The others for a moment holding back, enabled us to close the port, at the same time that some of the men on the roof hurled down on their heads a shower of stones, which must have killed or disabled many more.

Aqualonga—for he himself was at the head of the party—now found that he had made a mistake in attacking the house on the north side, and dashing forward, he and his followers took shelter among the out-buildings which surrounded the courtyard. He here rallied his men, and for a short time the firing ceased; for though the out-buildings afforded our assailants protection, they were unable to fire at us from them.

But the fighting was soon renewed. Some brands thrown from the top of the walls on to the roof of the out-buildings set them on fire, and quickly drove out the banditti, who now rushed into the courtyard and attempted to burst open the back doors of the house,—not being aware how strongly they were barricaded. We had on this side also kept a port ready for firing through; and my gun being hauled round, we sent another dose of langrage among them. Numbers fell, as did many more from the shot fired at them from the loopholes and the stones hurled down on their heads. Still, with desperate bravery, Aqualonga persevered, and the bullets came rattling against the walls, several making their way through the loopholes, and some penetrating the shutters, which were of less thickness than those below.

At length the enemy brought up a huge log of timber supported on ropes, and while the rest of the band fired rapidly at us, they attempted to break open one of the lower doors. Should this plan succeed, they might, in spite of all the resistance we could offer, force their way in.

“They are not aware, possibly, that we have another gun in reserve,” observed Uncle Denis. “We’ll bring it round; and if they do force the door, they’ll meet with a reception they little expect.”

Had there been any projections to the house, from which we could have opened a flank fire on our assailants, we should have had a great advantage; but, as it was, we could only fire directly upon them.

The battle now raged with greater fury than before: the banditti seemed determined to get in, while we fought for our existence, for we knew well that every one of us would be put to death should they succeed. Again and again they attacked the port—or, more properly speaking, the embrasure—which opened on the courtyard; and at last, finding that they could not force their way in, a number of them brought some heavy masses of timber, with which they completely blocked it up, so that the gun could not be fired through it.

As it was necessary to have a strong party to protect the lower part of the house, now attacked, several of the garrison were summoned from the upper story; when I learned from them that two or three had been killed, and five or six wounded,—who, poor fellows, were affording ample occupation to Doctor Stutterheim. Should the attack be continued with the same fury as at first, the banditti might succeed, in spite of the determined resistance we were making. That they still hoped to do so, was shown by the way they were attacking the door; but as we had two guns ready to receive them, besides a number of men with muskets and pikes, we did not despair of driving them back, even should they break down the barricade.

While we were standing ready, my uncle recollected that the port on the south side was left unguarded, and Gerald and Tim were sent round to watch it. Directly afterwards Gerald came running back, saying that just before they reached it they saw a couple of black legs going through, and on looking out they discovered Gab scampering down the hill. They both fired, but missed him, as he at that instant, either intentionally or by chance, fell flat on the ground. He quickly picked himself up, however, and before they could reload he had got under shelter. They had little doubt that his intention was to join Aqualonga, and lead some of the people through the unguarded port; so Gerald begged that two or more men might be sent to assist in its defence. This was of course done, though they could ill be spared.

All this time the battering-ram was crashing against the door, notwithstanding that several of those working it were one by one picked off by our marksmen in the upper story. In so doing they were exposed to the fire of our assailants at the further end of the courtyard, who kept peppering away at us without cessation.

“I fear, Desmond, that we shall before long exhaust our powder,” I heard my eldest uncle observe to my father; “it is already fearfully diminished.”

“We shall drive the enemy back before then, I hope,” was the answer; “it will never do, by slackening our fire, to let them suppose that we are likely to run short of it. Even should it be exhausted, we may still hold out; and, from the rate at which they are firing, they are quite as likely to use up all they possess.”

We were at this time standing ready to discharge our two guns, should the door give way—and there seemed little hope that it could resist the tremendous battering it was receiving. As soon as one of the men working the battering-ram was killed or wounded, another took his place. Presently there came a loud crash, and the shattered door flew in splinters about our ears, while through the aperture we saw hundreds of savage countenances, with the points of pikes and swords and the muzzles of pistols directed at us. It was but for an instant, for directly we could run out our guns we fired them point-blank into the living mass. As soon as the smoke cleared away the ground was seen strewed with dead and wounded men; while the greater number, panic-stricken by the unexpected reception we had given them, instead of dashing forward to make their way through the opening, were rapidly retreating, in spite of the efforts of their leader and his officers to stop them.

“Now, my lads!” cried my father, “let’s take advantage of their fright, and put them to the rout.” Saying this he dashed through the doorway, while I followed with about fifteen more. We drove the enemy before us across the courtyard, and should have followed them farther, had we not heard my uncle’s voice shouting to us to return, in tones which showed that he considered we were in the greatest danger. Happily, we effected our purpose before Aqualonga perceived what we were about; and as my father and I—being the last to re-enter the house—sprang through the doorway, we saw the enemy again advancing.

My uncles had, during our sortie, brought fresh beams, with which, as soon as we were inside, they again barricaded the door. It was not a moment too soon, for another band of Aqualonga’s followers had been perceived approaching the house on the southern side. Disappointed in not immediately effecting his object, Aqualonga now called off his men; it was, however, to reform them, and make preparations for a fresh attack.

Matters with us were now growing more serious: we had only powder to hold out an hour or two longer at the rate at which we had hitherto been using it; while the enemy, from behind every spot where they could find shelter, continued firing at the loopholes. A party of them, having gone to a short distance, now returned with a quantity of firewood, which they threw into all the out-buildings nearest the house; and setting light to them, they were soon blazing furiously.

The enemy took care not to give us a moment’s respite. Although nearly a hundred of them had been killed or badly wounded, they still outnumbered us as ten to one. Already eight of our men were hors de combat,—a heavy loss among so small a number,—yet no one quailed, or talked of surrendering.

While the flames were raging round us, the banditti once more came on to the assault on three sides of the house. We flew to our posts—my uncle dragging one of the guns to the south side, and I taking mine to the north. The enemy shouted loudly as they advanced. My father and uncles encouraged the men to remain firm, and I did my best. “Hurrah! sure they’ll run soon!” shouted Tim, imitating our example.

The guns were prepared; and waiting till our assailants were close to the walls, we discharged them as before. We now saw that they had got fresh battering-rams; my gun having swept away most of the men carrying that on the north side, while the musketry from the loopholes in the upper story played havoc among their ranks.

Aqualonga appeared everywhere—now on one side, now on the other; in vain we endeavoured to pick him off—he seemed to bear a charmed life. We knew him by his Spanish uniform; but in his appearance there was nothing to show him to be a chief, for he was short and broad-shouldered, with remarkably ugly features. Yet the man, though serving in a bad cause, had the spirit of a hero; and his courage animated his followers, or they would not have persevered so long.

In this attack they kept up as hot a fire as at first—when suddenly it ceased. On looking out we saw them retiring rapidly down the hill on both sides, and forming out of gun-shot on the west. Our hopes rose, but it would not do to be too sanguine: they might be preparing for a third and more desperate attack. Could we resist that attack? We had not more than three or four rounds of ammunition for each musket; and not so much, should we again have to load the guns. My father, animated by the spirit of his youth, proposed to charge down the hill and put the enemy to flight; he had called some of the men together for that purpose, and many were ready to follow him. Tim and I, of course, were eager to do so; but my eldest uncle interfered, and urged us not to make the attempt: perhaps the enemy had retired with the object in view of drawing us out from our fortifications, and then turning round and attacking us with overwhelming numbers.

“I believe you are right, Terence,” answered my father; “though I should have liked much to give them a parting salute.”

The design was accordingly abandoned. Our first care was to strengthen the door the enemy had battered in; for should they return, we must depend rather on our fortifications than on our power of annoying them. To make some amends for our want of ammunition, a party of men were told off to carry up a supply of stones and brickbats to the roof, to hurl down on our assailants. By using these, we might at all events destroy a good many, and annoy them while attempting to effect an entrance at any particular part. Should they succeed in again breaking open a door, we agreed to fight desperately at the breach till not a man of us remained alive.

As may be supposed, the enemy were anxiously watched from the battlements. To our infinite satisfaction, in a few minutes they continued their march; and in a short time not a man of them was to be seen. Their wounded they carried off, but the dead were left where they fell. It was a dreadful sight. Upwards of eighty lay stretched on the ground, in various attitudes, round the house; the greater number on the west side, in the courtyard. Some of these had fallen into the burning buildings, and were hideously charred. If left where they were, besides the annoyance which the fearful spectacle caused, they would render the house uninhabitable. My uncle therefore ordered down ten of the men—promising them a reward—to bury the bodies; and a huge grave being dug in the valley, they were dragged down and thrown in. This task occupied nearly the remainder of the day.

I had been so much engaged, that I had been unable to go up and see my mother and sisters. I now found Norah and my mother assisting the doctor in attending to his patients; while the rest were in the kitchen superintending the cooking of various viands. I had tasted nothing since the morning, and the odour made me excessively hungry. I was thankful, therefore, when the meal was ready; and we all sat down to it with right good appetites. Had it not been for our poor fellows killed and wounded, we should have been a very merry party. It was my first battle, and I could not get over the sight of the unhappy wretches whose bodies I had seen strewing the ground. We were all, I trust, thankful for our preservation.

We did not allow our scarcity of ammunition to be generally known; but so small was our supply, that unless we had been able to keep out the enemy with our swords and spears, we might otherwise by this time have been numbered with the dead.

Note. A house attacked by Aqualonga was defended by a party of the patriots much in the way described in the text.

Chapter Six.

The night after the battle—On the watch—Kanimapo appears—Warns us that Aqualonga is about to return—We resolve to retreat—Kanimapo offers to guide us to a place of safety—The doctor accompanies the wounded—Our journey—Adventures—My mother unable to proceed—Encamp—Find Candela fishing—Visit the padre in his nest—He comes with me to our camp—He agrees to accompany us up the mountains—Again proceed—Encounter the doctor—He joins us—Kill two pumas and obtain some venison.

Notwithstanding our success, we were perfectly sensible that danger was not over, as the enemy might return, and, in the hope of taking us by surprise, renew the attack. Of course, trustworthy men were placed on the battlements to keep a look-out.

We were all naturally somewhat tired, and were very glad to lie down on mats in the corners of the room. My father and uncles were, however, too anxious to go to sleep; and I desired to be aroused in three hours, that I might take my share of watching.

When Tim called me, I got up, feeling quite refreshed, and at once went to the top of the house to have a look-out. The buildings which the enemy had set on fire were still smouldering, but I was able to look beyond them into the darkness, and to distinguish objects at a considerable distance. The fire which we supposed to be our own house had now gone out, showing that it must long since have been burned to the ground. We hoped, however, that the village had escaped.

A passage ran completely round the roof, and by its means I could watch each side in succession. I was looking towards the south-west, where the ground was mostly open, when I observed a single figure advancing at a quick pace across it. The person stopped for a few seconds, and then came on directly towards the house. Whoever he was, I could not suppose that he was an enemy. As he got near enough to hear me, I hailed, and inquired what he wanted.

“I come with important information,” he answered; “allow me to enter, that I may deliver it without delay.”

From the tone of his voice, and the way he pronounced his words, I knew that he must be an Indian; but feeling assured that he was a friend, I told him on which side he would find the only door by which he could be admitted; then calling to one of the men to take my place, I hastened down to the ground-floor. I there summoned four trustworthy men to guard the door; but on opening it, the light from the lantern held by one of the men fell on the stranger’s countenance, and I recognised Kanimapo.

“I come,” he said, “to urge you to be on your guard; for Aqualonga has been joined by fresh forces, and he has sworn that he will capture the house, or perish in the attempt. He fully expects to succeed, for a black, who states that he made his escape from the house, has informed him that many of your people have been killed and wounded, and that your ammunition is almost expended. On hearing this, Aqualonga expressed both rage and regret at not having continued the attack; and he fully intends to resume it to-morrow night, when he hopes to find you off your guard. As I am supposed to be a foe to the patriots, I was able to mix among his officers without being suspected; and having gained all the necessary information, I escaped from the camp, and came at once to put you on your guard. I desire, also, to render you any further assistance in my power.”

I of course merely give the substance of what Kanimapo said.

Knowing that his information was too important to be neglected for one moment, I at once went in search of Uncle Denis, who was on guard. He called up my father, Uncle Terence, and Doctor Stutterheim; and Kanimapo being summoned, a council of war was held. No one having any doubt of the correctness of his information, it was quickly decided that, in consequence of our want of ammunition, it would be hopeless to attempt the defence of the house, and that the best prospect we had of saving our lives was to beat a speedy retreat. My uncles proposed proceeding to Don Fernando’s; and my father would have gone there also, had not Kanimapo undertaken to guide him and his family to a place of safety, if they would trust to him.

“I would invite you all to come, but I fear that so large a number would be more likely to be discovered by the Spaniards,” he said.

My father expressed his perfect confidence in the Indian, but said that he must first consult my mother. He therefore went to call her, and she and Norah quickly appeared. The Indian did not conceal his satisfaction when they both declared that they should be ready to trust to his guidance.

“Kanimapo’s life will answer for your preservation,” he replied. “Had he a hundred lives, he would willingly give them up for your sakes.”

It was therefore decided that my uncle and his family, with a party of twenty men, should immediately start for Don Fernando’s, and that we should accompany Kanimapo. Our chief anxiety was for the poor wounded men. To leave them in the house, would be to doom them to certain destruction. It was accordingly arranged that they should be carried to a place of concealment in the neighbourhood of the village, where their friends could take care of them.

“I will attend them,” said Dr Stutterheim; “although I should have preferred accompanying you, my friends, into your mountain-retreat. But I look upon these poor fellows as my patients, and I never desert my patients until they are cured.”

Having once decided to abandon the house, the necessary arrangements were rapidly made. Litters were formed for carrying the wounded men; two horses and a mule were appropriated for the use of my mother and Norah, and for the conveyance of the younger children. The remainder of the animals were then taken by my uncles, as it was important that they should push on rapidly, to avoid the danger of being cut off by any of Aqualonga’s people. My father advised that a party should remain within to barricade the door by which we had made our exit, and that they should then descend from the battlements by means of a rope, so that it might cost the enemy considerable time and trouble to force their way in.

A brief time only was given to parting adieus, and then our different parties set out. We had still three hours of darkness before there was any risk of being discovered, and after that, it will be remembered, according to what the Indian had heard, a whole day would elapse before Aqualonga would make his proposed attack.

I remained behind a moment, to bid farewell to the doctor.

“I will not, if I can help it, quit the neighbourhood till we meet again,” he said as he wrung my hand.

“The banditti will probably not remain here long. When they have retired, you may descend from your mountain stronghold; and your father will, I hope, lose no time in rebuilding his house.”

On consulting with Kanimapo as to the best route to take, we found that he intended to proceed for some distance along the level ground, through the forests, and by the shores of the lake; then, having made a circuit, to strike up to the left among the mountains. We should thus avoid the risk of falling into the hands of any scouts sent out by Aqualonga; and though the route was longer, we might easily reach the region to which he wished to conduct us. Game, he said, was abundant; and there was a cavern of considerable dimensions, which would afford us ample accommodation, surrounded by inaccessible rocks, the only pathway amid which was little known and might be easily guarded.

It may seem strange that my father and Tim, who had resided so long in the country, should not be well acquainted with every part far and wide around; but the difficulties and dangers of traversing these mountain districts are so great, that few white men are tempted to go out of the beaten track, and they are consequently known only to more daring hunters and a few of the Indian natives.

Before we started, we sent off the villagers with the wounded men and all our own blacks, with the exception of one—a faithful fellow named Chumbo, who had been chiefly instrumental in the capture of the traitor Gab, and had frequently exhibited great affection for us. We did not even let him know the route we had determined to take, and the rest of the party believed that we should at once strike up into the mountains. Indeed, we proceeded a short distance in that direction, and then halted till the rest were out of hearing.

My father, Gerald, Tim, and I carried firearms; but our scanty supply of powder would prevent us using them except in cases of emergency. Chumbo had a long pike and the usual knife of the country; while Kanimapo was armed with his bow and spear. We could thus defend ourselves against any wild animals, though we might offer but a slight resistance to a body of human foes.

Silently we moved on through the darkness, Kanimapo and Gerald leading the way, and I bringing up the rear, while my father and our two attendants walked by the side of our mother and Norah, with Josefa and the children.

Morning dawned as we were travelling along the side of the lake, between which was some forest which would conceal us from the view of any persons on the higher ground. It is often the case that more important events fade from recollection, while trifling incidents are remembered; so, even at the present day, the scene on which my eye rested as the sun rose above the horizon is impressed on my memory. We were passing by a small arm or inlet of the lake, surrounded thickly by reeds, and in parts overhung by the branches of trees, amid which birds of gorgeous hue were fluttering; while near at hand one of the gaily-decked patos reales, or royal ducks, with its young brood, floated on the calmer water; and farther off a long-legged water-fowl, of the crane or bittern species, stood gazing at us with a watchful eye as we approached its domain. Had we possessed a larger supply of ammunition, I might have shot the duck for breakfast; but I was unwilling to expend a charge of powder—and besides, I was not sorry to allow the beautiful creature to enjoy its existence.

Kanimapo came up to us. “We will quickly have some of these birds,” he observed. “Wait a few minutes, and you shall see how I will catch them.”

Saying this, he retired out of sight of the birds, and speedily constructed a sort of basket from the reeds which grew on the bank, of sufficient size to cover his head and shoulders. As soon as he had manufactured it, he cautiously approached the bank and shoved it off. Impelled by a light breeze which blew from the shore, it floated away towards where the ducks were swimming about. They swam up to it, and, after sufficient examination, perceiving that it could do them no harm, took no further notice of it. The Indian, in the meantime, had formed another basket of the same description, which he secured over his shoulders, leaving a space sufficient to enable him to look through it. He now slipped into the water, and, keeping his feet and arms low down, slowly swam towards the ducks. They, already accustomed to the appearance of the basket, seemed in no way alarmed; and thus he was able to get close up to them, when one after the other disappeared beneath the surface. Thus he secured half-a-dozen fine ducks, with which he returned to the shore, when he fastened them together with a string and suspended them at his back.

We proceeded on some distance farther, till we reached a sheltered spot in the woods, where we could encamp and cook the provisions we had brought for our morning meal. Kanimapo assured us that we need not be afraid of starving, as the region to which he proposed to conduct us abounded with game; and that should we run short of ammunition, his unerring bow would always supply us with an ample amount.

As we rested on the ground near the fire, the smoke from which assisted to keep away the mosquitoes, we talked of the events of the last few days, and discussed our prospects for the future. My father was more out of spirits than I had ever seen him; the loss of his house and so much of his property was naturally very trying, and he had begun to despair of the success of the patriot cause.

“Shure, your honour, the more harm the Spaniards do to people, the more enemies they’ll make; and for every man they kill, a dozen will rise up to revenge his death,” observed Tim. “We don’t like them the better for burning our house; and, if I have the chance, I’ll show them that, some day or other.”

I felt, I must own, very much as Tim did. I had before been rather cold in the cause, though I intended to join General Bermudez as soon as summoned; but after the accounts I had heard of the atrocities committed by the Spaniards, and the evidences I had witnessed of what they were capable of doing, I felt eager to assist the patriots by every means in my power, and regretted the delay which our flight into the mountains must cause. I could not, of course, quit my mother and brothers and sisters until I had seen them all placed in safety.

We feared much that my mother would be unable to stand the rough life we were about to endure. She was, indeed, already fatigued with her morning ride; and when Kanimapo proposed that we should proceed, my father begged that she might be allowed a longer time to rest. The Indian consenting to this, he and Gerald and I made a short excursion in search of more game.

We had not gone far when we reached a stream which ran through the forest, thickly bordered by magnificent trees. Here animal life abounded; parrots flew amid the branches; and just above the water a number of small rodents were busily employed in searching for food; while a curious boat-bill heron, which had just scrambled up out of the river, was hunting the numerous insects flying about.

Concealed by the trees, we were watching the bird, when I saw an opossum rapidly descending the boughs; then, after hanging for a moment suspended by its prehensile tail, it let itself drop directly down upon one of the small rodents, which it seized in its claws, and was bearing off in triumph, when Kanimapo shot an arrow, and the opossum and its victim fell down a few yards before us. Though a carnivorous animal, the Indian assured us that its flesh was very good eating.

On showing the opossum to Gerald, he said it was called the “crab-eater.” When living near water, it exists on crabs and other Crustacea; but it also feeds on small rodents, birds, and other creatures. Its body was scarcely a foot in length; but its tail, which was prehensile, was fifteen inches long. Its fur was darkish; and it had a somewhat pointed nose; as also a pouch in which to carry its young. I had observed this little creature moving with the activity of a monkey. Indeed, it was evidently formed for living among trees, its powerful tail enabling it to get rapidly and securely from one branch to another. Gerald told me that there are various species of opossums, one of which lives in the water and has webbed feet, but they are mostly found on trees.

We carried the opossum back to the camp, with three or four parrots which Kanimapo had shot. By this time my mother was sufficiently rested to enable us to continue our journey. We pushed forward, keeping as much as possible under shelter of the trees, not only for the sake of the shade, but in order to keep concealed from any parties of the enemy who might be passing in the neighbourhood. We greatly felt the want of people to send out as scouts, who might give us due notice should danger be near; but we could ill spare any one from our small party. Tim and Chumbo were required to lead the mules which carried the nurses and the children: Josefa sat on one with the baby in her arms; and Kathleen rode in a huge pannier, balancing the younger ones, who were placed in another. My father and I guarded them, one walking on either side. Gerald brought up the rear; and Kanimapo went ahead to lead the way.

At any moment a jaguar might spring out on us, so it was necessary to be ever on the watch. We had also to keep a look-out for the aques, the most savage and deadly snake of that region, which without any provocation springs out from its ambush on passers-by; and will even follow them, and, giving a tremendous leap, fix its fangs in a person’s body. The rattlesnake is not nearly so dangerous, as its rattle always gives notice of its approach; while the boa and anaconda can, from their size, generally be seen moving through the grass, and avoided. There are, of course, many other venomous serpents in the country. They seldom attack people, however, unless trodden on; but numerous as are the serpents of South America, they generally keep away from the haunts of men.

We had proceeded, as far as I could judge, about half-way between Padre Pacheco’s house and our own, when Kanimapo, pointing to a range of mountains in the west, told us that we must now turn in that direction. We accordingly followed him, hoping to get some way up the mountains before nightfall.

We had gone some distance farther, when my father observed my mother looking very ill; and she confessed that she was suffering greatly from the heat, and feared that she should not be able much longer to sit her horse. On this he called a halt, and we looked about for some place where we might bivouac. We fixed on a small open space entirely surrounded by shrubs thickly entwined with creepers, which would afford us shelter and concealment. On one side ran a stream bordered by reeds, and apparently not very deep.

We at once set to work to cut down boughs to form a hut for my mother and sister. We bound the tops of the branches together with sepos, and then thatched it with large palm-leaves, which would effectually keep out the rain should any fall. Working with a will, the operation did not take us as long as might be supposed; and a very complete hut was constructed, with walls which no jaguar or puma could break through, or any ordinary-sized snake or other animal penetrate. The only creatures it could not keep out were the mosquitoes; but as my mother had thoughtfully brought some mosquito-curtains, we were able to set those tormenting creatures at defiance.

The hut was finished, and Chumbo was at a little distance cutting firewood when we heard him shriek out, “A snake! a snake! I am bitten!”

Kanimapo instantly ran towards him. “Let me see the wound,” he said. Chumbo showed where the snake had bitten his leg; when Kanimapo produced a small bottle from his waist-belt, and poured a few drops from it into the wound. He then desired Chumbo to swallow a little of the decoction which he gave him. “You will suffer no harm from the bite,” he added; “and if you see another snake, cut off its head and bring it to me.” Chumbo, on hearing this, soon recovered his calmness, and in a short time returned to the camp with a large bundle of wood.

Not having much confidence in the antidote, we expected to hear him soon begin to complain of the sensations which generally result from a snake-bite. I asked Kanimapo what he had given Chumbo. He said it was the juice of a red berry boiled into a syrup; and it was considered so efficacious that all Indians carried a bottle of it about with them. He told me that it had been discovered by an Indian, who was one day in the forest and saw a desperate combat take place between a small bird called the snake-hawk and a snake. During the conflict the snake frequently bit the bird, which on each occasion flew off to a tree called the guacco, and devoured some of its red berries; then, after a short interval, it renewed the fight with its enemy,—and in the end succeeded in killing the snake, which it ate. Thinking the matter over, the Indian arrived at the belief that these berries would cure any human being bitten by the snake. He accordingly made a decoction, and not long after had an opportunity of trying it upon himself. It proved effectual; so instead of keeping it secret, as some people might have done, he generously made it known to all his acquaintance,—and thus the use of this berry became universal.

In the case of Chumbo, however, I was not satisfied that the antidote had been really required, for he confessed to me that he believed he had been bitten by a coral snake—which he declared was most venomous, whereas I have since learned that it is perfectly harmless. But I believe that no specific has yet been discovered to prevent the fatal effects of bites by the more venomous snakes.

The occurrence made us feel a little uncomfortable when we lay down at night, for we could not help fancying that snakes might crawl into our camp and attack us while sleeping.

At Kanimapo’s suggestion, he and Gerald and I set off to explore the country over which we should have to pass the next day, that we might ascertain whether there were any foes lurking in the neighbourhood; though, as no high-road—if I may so call the tracks which led from one place to another—passed within some leagues of it, we were not likely to meet with any Spaniards. Gerald and I took our guns; while, our Indian friend carried his bow and arrows, that he might shoot any game he came across.

I kept along the bank of the river, while my companions took a course more to the left. Soon I had lost sight of Gerald and the Indian, and was attempting to go on farther than I had intended, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and suddenly left me in darkness. I turned to retrace my steps with somewhat uncomfortable feelings, lest a jaguar or puma might be following me. I do not mind mentioning these creatures so often, for I defy any one to wander alone through the South American forests without thinking of their possible vicinity, and the numberless stories he may have heard from the natives of the way in which people have been destroyed by these savage beasts. The puma, it is true, is not so fierce as the jaguar; but, at the same time, it is very dangerous, as it will, cat-like, follow a person, and spring upon him if it can catch him unawares. It will not, in most instances, attack him if he faces it boldly, but will then slink off; whereas the jaguar will attack a man unless he has the nerve to fix his eye on the brute, when it generally hesitates to spring forward; but it will do so the instant he turns,—and should he attempt to fly, will bound after him and bring him to the ground.

I had not gone many paces—intending to keep along the bank of the stream, that I might the more easily find my way—when the moon rose round and full, shedding her silvery light over the scene,—on the quivering leaves, and the waters of the stream, rippled by a gentle breeze. I kept my eyes round me on every side, with my lingers on the trigger of my gun, occasionally giving a glance over my shoulder to ascertain whether any animal was following me, when I caught sight of a dark figure kneeling close to the edge of the water with a long rod in his hand. I saw that he was fishing, though it did seem an odd time for a person to be so employed. For a moment I thought it must be Chumbo; but then I recollected the distance I was from the camp, and that my father would not have allowed him to quit it for such a purpose, as we had as much food as we required. I had no cause to be afraid of the man, whoever he might be; but I advanced cautiously, so as not to alarm him. As I got nearer the light of the moon fell on his face, and I discovered to my great satisfaction that he was no other than Padre Pacheco’s black servant, Candela; so I immediately surmised that his master could not be far off.

“Candela, my friend, what has brought you here?” I cried out, as I advanced from amid the shrubs which concealed me.

“O Señor Barry, is that you? Praise Heaven!” he exclaimed, pulling out a fish—which, with his rod, he threw on the bank, and then rushed forward to greet me. His delight was very great on being assured that he was not mistaken; and he at once told me that his master was hiding in the neighbourhood, being afraid as yet to return to his home.

“We first took to the mountains,” he said; “but the padre found scrambling among the rocky heights did not suit him. Besides which, we had no firearms to shoot game, and I am no great hand with the bow and arrow, so that we were almost starving. It was very tantalising to see plenty of deer and pacas and birds, and not be able to get them; and at last the padre resolved to risk coming down here, where I knew that I could support him and myself by fishing, having fortunately some fish-hooks in my pocket when we took to flight. Poor man! you wouldn’t know him, he has grown so thin,—though he has retained his health.”

“If you will lead me to him, I will try to persuade him to accompany us,” I said. “My father will, I am sure, be glad of his society;” and I then gave Candela a brief account of what had happened, and where we proposed going.

Candela hesitated a moment. “The Señor Padre told me on no account to let his retreat be discovered,” he said; “but he has confidence in you, and you may follow me. Stop when I tell you, and I will go forward and ask his leave to bring you to him.”

Candela then secured his fish, and, hiding his rod in the bushes, led the way into the thick forest, crawling on his hands and knees under the mass of creepers and branches—while I did the same.

At length he stopped at a spot under some lofty trees, through which the beams of the moon could scarcely penetrate.

“Stay here, Señor Barry,” he whispered, “and I will go forward and prepare the Señor Padre for your coming.”

In less than a minute I heard the padre’s voice exclaiming,—“Yes, yes; I will see him gladly. I long to give him an abrazo!”

Though thus sure of a welcome, I did not attempt to advance, as I literally could not see in what direction to move without the risk of running against the trunk of a tree, or stumbling over the roots. Presently I heard Candela speaking close beside me. “Take my hand, Señor Barry,” he said, “and we will soon reach our abode. Stoop down again, and creep after me till I tell you to stand up.”

In a little he spoke again. “Take hold of this ladder. My master and I have imitated the birds, and formed a nest for ourselves up in a tree; no jaguars, snakes, or peccaries can reach us there, and the Gothos are not likely to search in such a spot.”

As he spoke, I put my foot on the first round of a ladder, and commenced the ascent; and soon I saw a light streaming through a sort of trap, down which the padre’s smiling countenance was beaming on me. A few rounds more carried me into the interior of a small hut, built among the branches on a substantial platform.

The padre gave me the promised embrace, and then bade me sit down on the floor, as he had no other seat to offer. Candela immediately joined us, and, drawing up the ladder (which was formed of the strong creeper I have already described), closed the trap.

“You see, Señor Barry, thanks to the skill of my faithful attendant, I am as snug here as I can desire, and may set my enemies at defiance,” remarked the padre; “for even were they to come to the very foot of the tree, they would scarcely discover my abode,—as you will be able to judge when you see it by daylight,—for we have taken good care to conceal the lower part of the platform with boughs, while the surrounding foliage completely hides the nest itself.”

Of course the padre wished to know how it was I had found Candela; so I gave him a full account of all that had happened.

“Could you not remain with me?” he asked. “We might construct two or three nests like this, in which you could all stow away; and we might shout to each other from our respective abodes, like the howling monkeys,” and the padre chuckled at his joke.

I told him that I doubted whether my father would agree to his proposal, for several reasons. The forest region was not considered healthy, though he had not suffered from living in it; and we had horses and mules, which, as we could not haul them, up into the branches, would probably betray us. I added, that as I was sure my father would be glad of his society, I hoped that he would rather accompany us up the mountains; and as we were promised an abundance of game by our Indian guide, he would thus no longer suffer from hunger as before,—while the region was much more healthy, and nearly as inaccessible as his present residence.

“I agree with you in regard to your first reasons, Señor Barry,” he answered; “but I very much doubt whether, unless I were betrayed, my enemies can possibly find me where I am.”

He acknowledged that the want of food was the greatest drawback to his life in the forest, as he had only fish to depend on, and even to obtain that Candela had to run the risk of discovery. He took the precaution, however, when he went out, to wear scarcely any clothing, so that, should he be seen, he might not be known as the padre’s servant.

“I am glad to see you, as I shall be to see your good father,” continued the padre. “I confess, though, that I am somewhat surprised to find that you are still with him. It is, however, very right and proper that you should be so. I had expected that you would by this time have joined the band of General Bermudez, who must, I should fancy, have commenced operations against the foe; but you are undoubtedly where you should be—with your father.”

I replied that I had been waiting for a summons from the general, and should have been prepared to join his standard had he sent for me.

Though I should have been glad to have remained with the padre, I told him that I was afraid my father would become anxious did I not appear at the camp with my brother and the Indian, and that I must now hasten back by myself, unless he would accompany me. I thought he could do so without danger, and my father and mother would be delighted to see him.

He thought a moment. “I will go with you,” he said. “Candela, we will visit the Señor Desmond, and you will easily find the way back; though, by my faith, it is more, I suspect, than I could do myself.”

Candela had no objection to offer. Indeed, there was no danger of the padre being discovered, as our enemies were not likely to be wandering in that part of the forest at night; and even if they were, unless they found out our camp, we might easily conceal ourselves from them. This being arranged, Candela, after listening at the trap to make sure that no one by any chance was near, led the way down the ladder. I followed as soon as he was at the bottom; and the padre came last, Candela and I holding the lower end of the ladder to steady it. The padre, however, exhibited far more activity than I had expected, and came down as fast as I had done. He had laid aside, I should have said, his usual clerical attire, and was habited in a half-military dress, with a broad-brimmed straw hat on his head; and having allowed his beard and moustache to grow, I should not, with his hat on, have recognised him. He carried a long, stout stick, which, dexterously wielded, was calculated to prove a formidable weapon.

“I should not venture to leave the ladder hanging down in the daytime,—though there is little chance even then of any one reaching the spot,” he observed.

Candela now led the way, crying out to us when to stoop down and when to crawl, as we passed through the narrow passages by which he had before conducted me. The padre followed, and I kept close after him. Thus we progressed, till we reached the more open part of the forest, near the edge of the river. Candela now pushed on at a rapid rate, till we saw the light of our camp-fire a short distance off. I then proposed going ahead to announce the padre’s coming.

I found my father watching at the entrance of the opening; Gerald and the Indian had arrived, and he was beginning to get anxious at my non-appearance. He was very glad to hear that Padre Pacheco was alive and well, and was coming to the camp; so I hastened back to meet him and Candela.

While we were greeting the padre, his servant received an equally warm welcome from Tim and Chumbo.

My father endeavoured to persuade the padre to accompany us up the mountains.

“I would rather advise you to remain here,” answered the padre. “You would run no risk of being discovered while living, as I do, at the top of a tree; and you may kill as much game as you require.”

“We should kill no game while living at the top of a tree, that is very certain,” answered my father; “and the report of our guns, when shooting in the forest, would be more than likely to reach the ears of our enemies.”

At last the padre, with a sigh, agreed that my father’s plan was the best. “As for accompanying you,” he said, “I cannot make up my mind. If I could discover where the brave Bermudez, or Paez, or Bolivar himself, are, I would join their forces; and I might do good service by preaching to the men, and encouraging them to perform their duty.”

“You are more likely to hear of them by accompanying us to the mountains, than by remaining where you are,” said my father. “Our Indian guide will be able to gain information; and should any of the patriot bands come into the neighbourhood, you will have the opportunity of joining them. I will introduce our friend Kanimapo to you, and you can consult him.”

The Indian, who was seated at a little distance, near another fire, with Tim, Chumbo, and Candela, was accordingly summoned.

The padre examined his countenance attentively. “We have met before, my friend,” he said.

“I do not know you,” answered the Indian; “you must be mistaken.”

“Mistaken I am not,” said the padre; “but you probably do not recognise me in my present dress. Once you came to the house of Padre Pacheco, and wished to be instructed in the Christian religion. You remember that?”

“I do,” said the Indian. “And I went away as wise as I came; or rather, from what you told me I was convinced that it was a religion that would not suit me.”

The padre sighed. “I am afraid that I gave you a wrong notion of it,” he answered, “and that it was my fault that you did not accept it. But I have since read the Book God has given to man to make known His will, and I should tell you very differently now.”

“I shall be very glad to hear you,” said the Indian, “for I much wish to understand the white man’s religion. I cannot believe that more than one God exists; and He must be powerful and good, or He could not have made this world as it appears to us, or given abundance of food to man as He has done. How to ask Him for what we want, and how to merit His favour, is what I desire to know.”

“I cannot tell you all that now,” said the padre; “but I will, as far as I know it, by-and-by. In the meantime, Señor Desmond wishes to consult you on a matter of importance.”

My father then asked Kanimapo if he would assist the padre, should he determine to join any of the patriot bands.

The Indian asked time to consider the subject; and while we talked on among ourselves, he retired to a short distance. He soon returned, and expressed his readiness to act as the padre might wish. The arrangement was finally concluded, and our friend promised to join us in the morning. At all events, in his present costume there was little danger of his being recognised, and he would run no more risk than would any of us. He preferred returning to his nest for the night, especially as he had left a book and a few other articles there. That book, he told us, was the Bible, which had of late become his constant study.

The evening’s rest had greatly restored my mother, and we hoped to be able to start early the next morning. A watch was set, as usual; and two large fires were kept up, which would scare any wild beasts, though they might not prove any impediment to the approach of snakes. Still, the flames would enable the person on guard to see them; and we had three or four long sticks cut, ready to attack them, should any be discovered.

The night passed away quietly; and the moment day broke, all hands were called up, and we breakfasted on the remains of the wild ducks and opossum. As soon as breakfast was over the fires were extinguished, and the embers scattered, so that no one coming that way might ascertain how lately we had left the spot. My mother and sister having mounted their horses, and the nurses and children being placed on their mules, we moved forward, looking out as we went along for the padre and his servant. We had not gone far when a voice hailed us from behind some thick shrubs; and presently our friend appeared—so completely disguised, that had I not examined his features I should not have recognised him. His hat was stuck jauntily on one side, sufficiently low down to conceal his shorn crown; and a gaily-coloured handkerchief, which a West Indian negro would have envied, was tied in a bow round his throat. His coat was braided and slashed; his breeches were ornamented with tags and laces, and open at the knees, showing his stout calves encased in leathern leggings; while in a sash round his waist was stuck a long dagger and a brace of pistols. Candela followed, carrying a biggish bundle hung to the end of a pole (which he balanced on his shoulder), with a long stick in his hand, and a machete secured in his waist-belt.

After greeting us, the padre whispered to me,—“I am not so warlike as I look, for my pistols are unloaded,—since I have neither powder nor shot,—and one of them is destitute of a lock. My dagger, however, is sharp; and I can use my stick to some purpose.”

I told him that we could supply him with a rifle, and spare him some ammunition for his serviceable pistol, should there be any probability of our being compelled to fight.

“Depend on me; I will not hang back if we have to defend ourselves,” he answered. “I have no love for lighting; but in this case it is lawful and right—of that I am assured.”

The padre walked along far more actively than I had expected; and we were glad to have our party strengthened by such sturdy allies as he and his man Candela.

The forest through which we were proceeding extended some way up the side of the mountains, with only two or three paths running across it at right angles to our course. As these were in some sense highways, and people might be traversing them—perhaps enemies—we passed by them as rapidly as possible, so that we might avoid the risk of encountering any one. As Kanimapo knew when we were approaching one of these paths, he went some way ahead and looked up and down, to ascertain whether any one was travelling along it.

We had halted for this purpose, when he came back and said that he had seen a person on a mule coming from the south, and urging his beast on at a rapid rate. He advised us to remain concealed till the traveller had passed; not that, being alone, he could do us any harm, but he might betray us to our enemies.

Being near the path, I was tempted to creep forward to see who the stranger was. I had moved a few paces, when I heard a bark; and presently a dog came rushing towards me, barking furiously, and apparently with the intention of flying at my throat. I might easily have shot the animal; and I was lifting my weapon, in case it should be necessary to fire, when I recognised my old acquaintance Jumbo.

“Jumbo! Jumbo!” I shouted out; “don’t you remember your friends?”

Jumbo knew my voice instantly: he ceased barking, and came fawning up to me. I was sure that his master could not be far off; and hurrying out from my concealment, I saw before me Dr Stutterheim,—who, supposing that his dog had discovered a jaguar, had unslung his gun, ready to do battle with the wild beast.

Great was the pleasure he exhibited at seeing me.

“Why, Barry! my dear Barry!” he exclaimed, “what wonderful chance has enabled us thus to meet? I thought that you were long ago safe among the mountains; and despairing of finding you, I was on my way down to any port I could reach on the coast, from whence I could escape from this unhappy country, regretting that I should probably see you no more; and almost as much grieved—I must confess the fact—to leave all my treasures behind me, to rot, or be eaten by the ants, as I had no means of transporting them.”

“I thought, doctor, that you were determined to remain with your patients till they recovered,” I remarked.

“Alack, alack! my friend, they have gone where they require no surgeon’s aid,” replied the doctor. “Those bloodthirsty Spaniards last night burst into the village, and murdered every wounded man; together with several other people—men, women, and children—whom they caught. I myself narrowly escaped with my life by remaining concealed in the garden of the house, under a bed of pumpkins, where it did not occur to them to look for me. Finding that they had beaten a retreat (being alarmed by a report that a large body of patriots was near at hand), I crept out of my place of concealment, and fortunately stumbled upon this mule, saddled and bridled, on which I rode away as fast as I could make the brute move over the rough paths.”

The Indian, who had witnessed my meeting with the doctor, and saw that he was a friend, had gone off to report the same to my father; who now appeared, with the rest of our party.

“The cruel monsters!” exclaimed the padre, when he heard the account given by the doctor; “surely such barbarities must call down the vengeance of Heaven on the heads of those bloodthirsty tyrants and their supporters. Even had I not ample reason for siding with the patriots, the account you have given us would make me desirous of exerting all my energies to promote the overthrow of those monsters. They must be driven from the land before we can hope for peace and prosperity; and I, for one, will not don cassock again till I have aided in accomplishing the work.”

“Bravo, Señor Padre!—for padre I suppose you are,” said the doctor. “I highly approve of your patriotic principles and resolutions; and should a sacrilegious bullet enter your body, I promise you that I will do my best to extract it and set you on your legs again, should I happily be near you.”

The padre thanked the doctor, but quickly changed the subject; his feelings had run away with him, and perhaps he did not quite like to contemplate the contingency to which the doctor alluded.

The doctor did not require much persuasion to be induced to accompany us. He might render us some service, he observed, and might find ample objects of interest in the alpine region into which we were proceeding. He had fortunately brought a rifle and a good supply of ammunition, which was especially welcome.

As soon as the doctor had resolved to join us, we lost no time in moving forward, lest some other traveller might come that way and discover us. After a time we found that we were gradually ascending, though we had mounted to a considerable distance before we perceived any change in the size of the trees or alteration in their character; for palms and other tropical plants still flourished, and the heat was as great as in the plains below. At length, however, we reached the bare side of the mountain; the vast precipitous rocks towering up above us, while the vegetation was that of more temperate climes.

Looking back at the forest from which we had emerged, I was struck by its magnificent appearance, illumined as it was by the almost perpendicular rays of the sun, which caused the broad leaves of the trees to shine with dazzling brilliancy. We could hear, when we stopped, the roaring of the cascade, though concealed by rocks, and groves of the Indian fig-tree.

Up and up we went, sometimes along narrow paths on the summit of precipices, with barely sufficient room for a single animal to advance without risk of slipping over. The mules were so sure-footed, that we had but little anxiety about them; but the danger my mother and sister ran on horseback was very great. No one could render them any help, and they had to depend upon their nerve and the steadiness of their horses. Frequently, I held my breath as I saw the places they had to pass.

At length, from the height over which we were crossing, we looked down upon a broad valley.

“I told you that I would bring you to a region where there is an abundance of game,” observed Kanimapo; and he pointed to a herd of deer directly below us, grazing quietly, unconscious of our vicinity.

“But see! there are already hunters before us,” I remarked, as at that instant I observed two large pumas stealing along the top of an overhanging rock. So eager were they in pursuit of their object, they did not discover us. Scarcely had I spoken when the first threw itself off, and pounced directly down on the back of an unsuspecting deer; its companion the next instant following its example. So sure was their spring, both secured their victims, and began tearing off the still quivering flesh with mouth and claws; while the rest of the herd, seeing the fate of their companions, fled like the wind along the valley.

“They cannot go far,” observed Kanimapo; “and we shall always find some in this neighbourhood when we want them.”

“We must not let these savage brutes enjoy their meal at leisure,” said the doctor, dismounting, and getting his rifle ready to fire. “You take the one on the right, Barry, and I will shoot the other. We must have their skins; and the venison will not be much the worse for the way it has been killed.”

We both fired, and the pumas rolled over, struggling in the agonies of death.

“We must now secure the venison,” cried the doctor, leading the way down the precipitous side of the valley. Tim and I followed him, Candela soon afterwards joining us; and we were quickly engaged in the not over-pleasant operation of cutting up the deer and skinning the pumas. As soon as we had secured the skins of the wild beasts, and the best joints from the deer, we loaded the doctor’s mule with them,—as he volunteered to give it up for the purpose, and to proceed with us on foot.

Though game was abundant, our guide did not consider it safe for us to remain in the valley. We had still some hours of daylight; and before we could hope to rest in safety, we had, he told us, many mountain-heights and deep valleys to traverse.

Chapter Seven.

Paramos described—Suffer from want of water—Reach a stream—Encamp—Indian legends—A capybara—Enemies in the neighbourhood—Ascend a steep mountain—Descend and reach a beautiful valley—Take up our abode in a magnificent cavern—Explore the cavern—Strange birds—Kanimapo shows us another cavern—Constructs a rope-bridge—Hazardous passage—Kill a jaguar and capture two deer—Tim and Chumbo appear—Chumbo’s adventure with king-vultures—Norah and Kathleen in danger from a jaguar—Saved by Kanimapo—Good news—Preparations for our departure.

The fresh air of that elevated region—a contrast to the heavy, damp atmosphere of the plain below—so revived our spirits and strengthened our muscles, that all were eager to push on.

We were, it must be remembered, travelling over a series of mountain-heights forming a chain considerably to the eastward of the true Cordilleras, which are of much greater elevation; but even here the cold on the more lofty mountains is excessive, as it is in some of the valleys between them. These valleys are uninhabitable deserts known as paramos, in which no human being can exist without keeping in unceasing and violent motion. No artificial means appears sufficient to sustain life while a person is exposed to their chilling atmosphere; the strongest spirits have no effect—and, indeed, increase the direful consequences. They are usually long deep valleys, so shut in by neighbouring heights that scarcely a single ray of the sun sheds its genial influence through them. If a person attempts to remain in them unsheltered at night, death will certainly overtake him. Some of them, however, are so extensive that it requires two or three days to cross them. To enable this to be done, small houses have been erected at certain distances, in which cooking utensils, wood for firing, and other articles of convenience, are kept for the accommodation of travellers; as well as stabling for their mules. But to remain in a paramo during the night, even though thus protected, is often a painful ordeal. Only for two or three months of the year—November, December, and January—are they inhabitable by human beings; and it is during those months alone that the huts can be erected or the fuel stored for the remainder of the year.

The doctor described to me the way in which people suffer:—The highly rarified air at first occasions great difficulty in breathing, with a sharp piercing pain at each inspiration; in a short time the person becomes benumbed in the extremities, owing to his incapacity for continuing in motion. He is next seized with violent delirium, and in his horrible paroxysms froths at the mouth, tears the flesh from his hands and arms, pulls his hair, and beats himself violently against the ground, meanwhile uttering the most piercing cries, till, completely exhausted, he remains without motion or feeling, and death ensues. The only effectual remedy, when a person is thus seized, is to beat him violently, and to make him drink cold water from the springs found in all parts of the paramo; but this remedy must be employed immediately after the first symptoms appear.

Numberless persons have perished in this way. A short time before our journey, of a large body of troops attempting to pass through a paramo more than half died; as did some thousand horses and mules intended for the use of Bolivar’s army.

After the account I had heard from the doctor, I begged of Kanimapo that he would not conduct us through a paramo.

“There is no fear of my doing that,” he answered; “to-day we shall not ascend higher than our present position, and we shall remain at night in a well-watered valley.”

We had been for some time traversing a narrow plateau, along the whole length of which we had to proceed, and where, though the air was pleasant, not a drop of water could be found. Most of us, therefore, were beginning to suffer greatly from thirst—the padre and the doctor had not drunk anything since the previous evening—and would have given a good deal for a cup of fresh water. The sides of the plateau were so steep that we could not descend in any part, though occasionally we heard through the trees the sound of rushing water rising from the depths below, or coming down from the mountain on the opposite side. The horses and mules, too, were beginning to exhibit every sign of thirst,—the mules sometimes showing an inclination to bolt off either on one side or the other, as though they thought they could make their way down to the spots from whence the tantalising sound arose.

Our guide cheered us on. “We shall reach a valley before sunset; and I have no fear but we shall there find water enough to quench the thirst of us all,” he observed.

All this time my mother and Norah exhibited wonderful powers of endurance, and never complained of the steepness or dangerous nature of the road; nor did they now of the thirst from which they, in common with us all, were suffering. I was surprised that our guide had not warned us; but, accustomed as he was to go for hours together without eating or drinking, it had not occurred to him that we should suffer any inconvenience.

At length we came to the end of the ridge. As we began to descend by one of the most rugged of paths, the sound of a waterfall reached our ears; and in the course of a few minutes, on going to the edge of a rock, we caught sight of a magnificent cascade issuing from the mountain-side, and dashing down into a large basin in the valley below.

“Hoch! hurrah! there’s the water; and I hope before long to have a gallon down my throat,” cried the doctor; and, unable longer to restrain himself, he set off to run down the steep descent. The padre, excited by the same feeling, rushed after him; while I followed in a somewhat more cautious way, not without considerable fear that my friends, in their eagerness, might tumble over the precipice before they reached the bottom. My father and the rest of the men held back the horses and mules, to prevent them following the doctor’s example, and maybe sending their riders over their heads. Happily, no harm occurred, and we all reached the side of a sparkling stream of considerable volume, which went bounding and foaming away amid the hills, ultimately taking an easterly course and falling into the plain we had left. A hollow in the side of the hill, only a little above the water, afforded us ample camping-ground; and from the numerous luxuriant shrubs which grew around we were able to build some comfortable huts, as well as to cut a sufficient supply of firewood.

“You may remain here without much fear of interruption, my friends,” observed Kanimapo. “But, at the same time, the spot could easily be reached by those in search of you, so I wish to conduct you to a place in which no enemy can find you.”

My father at once agreed to this; indeed, the valley, though it had its attractions, was not the place we should have wished to live in for any length of time. Unless actually tracked, we were not likely to be discovered, as the opposite heights were inaccessible, and we were completely hidden, owing to the form of the rocks and the overhanging trees, from any one passing on the hills above us. We thus considered that we need not apprehend danger during the few hours it was necessary to remain encamped on the spot. There was an abundance of grass, too, for our horses and mules; and the venison we had brought with us was provision sufficient for a couple of days at least.

I have so often described our night-encampments that I need not mention the arrangements we made on the present occasion. I was much struck by the romantic beauty of the scene: the cascade in the distance; the rapid stream rushing and foaming below us; the lofty mountains rising in front, and the rich vegetation which clothed the cliffs behind; the huts nestling under the trees; the blazing fire, surrounded by our party; the animals grazing on the green turf which carpeted the ground. There was sufficient danger to create some excitement, and yet not enough to prevent us from enjoying our supper and entering into an animated conversation. The padre and the doctor chiefly engaged in it, and afforded us much amusement; Kanimapo also occasionally took a part. We were speaking of the monkeys of the country, some of which possess wonderful intelligence; and the padre described one which had learned to sit at table and use a knife and fork, and would drink wine out of a cup, and bow to the company.

“Have you ever heard of the salvaje, or wild man of the woods,—who builds a house for himself, and sometimes carries off people to dwell with him when he wants companionship, and occasionally eats them if he is hungry?” said the padre.

“Has anybody seen him?” asked the doctor; “for until I see him I shall refuse to believe in his existence.”

“I cannot say that I ever saw him,” answered the padre; “but I have known people who have found the traces of his feet, the toes of which are turned backwards; and others have caught sight of him peeping from among the boughs of a tree.”

“Who can doubt about him?” exclaimed the Indian, who had hitherto remained silent. “My people, and those who dwell on the upper waters of the Orinoco to the ocean on the north, know very well all about him. Some call him the achi, others the vasatri, or great devil; and he is exactly like a big man, only covered with dark hair.”

The doctor burst into a fit of laughter. “If you caught him you would find your man of the woods turn out to be a huge bear, whose feet somewhat resemble those of a man. I have never heard of a large monkey in this country—though, of course, such may exist in regions unexplored.”

“I am afraid, doctor, you are very sceptical,” observed the padre.

“Not at all, my friend,” he replied; “I am simply, as a philosopher, bound not to believe unless I have sufficient evidence of a fact: and in this case it appears to me that such evidence is not forthcoming. For instance, as to the fact of a great flood which once covered the earth, independent of the statement made by Scripture—”

“Ignorant as our people are, we know that such an event took place,” broke in the Indian. “Once upon a time the sea flowed over the whole of the plain, and all the people perished with the exception of a man and woman, who floated about in a boat, and at last arrived safely on a high mountain called Tamanaca. On landing they cast behind them over their heads the fruits of the mauritia palm-tree, when the seeds contained in those fruits produced men and women, who repeopled the earth. Some of you may have seen, on the lofty cliffs which rise above the Orinoco and other rivers, curious figures sculptured on their faces, at a height which no human being could now reach. How could they have been carved, unless the waters had risen up to them and thus enabled our fathers to reach them in boats?”

“The belief you entertain, my friend, exists in all parts of the world,” observed the doctor; “and I doubt not that it has its origin in truth.”

The Indian looked satisfied; and then went on to tell us of the wars which his people waged in former days—when they lived near the ocean—with the white men who first came over to their country. The most ferocious and daring of these—indeed, he appears to have been almost a madman—was Lopez de Aguirri. Descending the Amazon from Peru, he made his way along the coast across the mouth of the Orinoco and through the Gulf of Paria, till he entered the Caribbean Sea, and ultimately reached the island of Margarita. From thence he returned to the continent, and established himself in the city of Valencia, where he proclaimed the independence of the country and the deposition of Philip the Second. The native inhabitants made their escape across the lake of Tacarigua, taking with them all their boats, so that Aguirri could only exercise his cruelties on his own people. He at once began to put to death those who opposed him; and in a letter to the king he boasts of the number of officers whom he had killed. Among them was Fernando de Guzman, who had been chosen king; but De Aguirri not liking his rule, killed him and the captain of his guard, his lieutenant-general, his chaplain, a woman, a knight of the Order of Rhodes, two ensigns, and five or six of his domestics. Afterwards, having got himself named king, he appointed captains and sergeants; but these wishing to put him out of the way, they were all afterwards hanged by his orders. He especially points out to Philip the corruption of morals among the monks, whom he intends to chastise severely; he remarks that there is not an ecclesiastic who does not think himself higher than the governor of a province; that they are given up to luxury, acquiring possessions, selling sacraments,—being at once ambitious, violent, and gluttonous. Aguirri—or, as he is still called by the common people, “the tyrant”—was at length abandoned by his own men and put to death. When surrounded by foes, and conscious that his fate was inevitable, he plunged a dagger into the bosom of his only daughter, that she might not have to blush before the Spaniards at the term, “the daughter of a traitor.” The natives still believe that the soul of the tyrant wanders in the savannahs like a flame, which flies on the approach of men.

I wish that I could recollect more of the stories narrated on that evening.

We were interrupted by a rushing sound, as if some animal were breaking through the bushes. The doctor started up, exclaiming,—“An anaconda!—a boa! Be prepared, my friends,” and boldly advanced in the direction of the sound. My father, Gerald, and I, seizing our rifles, followed his example. The padre did not exhibit the same eagerness, but kept his seat, and begged my mother and Norah not to be alarmed, as he very much doubted that any large serpent could have made its way so far up the mountains; and even if it should prove to be a puma or jaguar, we were likely, he said, to give a good account of it. Having quieted their fears, he got up, and taking Tim’s rifle, joined us. Jumbo had been in a state of excitement when he saw what we were about; and losing patience, boldly dashed into the wood. Presently, out there came what at the first glance I took to be a wild boar; but as it passed before us towards the water, I saw that it was an animal of a very different species. The doctor fired, and brought it to the ground; when Jumbo, rushing forward, seized it by the throat. The creature made little or no resistance; and having dragged it up to the fire, we saw that it was a capybara, or water-hog. The doctor remarked that it was the largest of all living rodents, being upwards of three feet in length, and enormously fat. It had a blunt muzzle, with the eyes set high in the head; was destitute of a tail; and its toes were so united as to enable it to swim with ease. It was of a blackish grey hue, with rather long hairs, of a yellow tinge, falling thickly over the body. The doctor exhibited its head, which contained enormous incisor teeth, and curiously-formed molars. He remarked that its webbed feet enable it to swim rapidly, and that when pursued it dives, and can remain nearly eight minutes under water; so that, if not taken unawares, it is able to escape most of its numerous foes. Among the most deadly of these is the jaguar, which preys largely on the poor tailless animal; but man is also its enemy, for its flesh is excellent, and is considered like that of the hog.

As it was important to secure a good supply of food, the capybara was forthwith cut up, and some of its flesh roasted.

“I trust that it will not cost us dear,” observed Kanimapo, as we returned to our seats. “I should have warned you not to fire, unless in a case of great necessity; for should any one be wandering near at hand, it might lead them to our retreat.”

Soon after this he left us, without saying a word. My mother and sister and the children then retired to their bowers, but the rest of the party still sat talking by the fire.

Some time had elapsed when Kanimapo rejoined us. “We must be very cautious,” he observed. “There are strangers in the neighbourhood,—though whether friends or foes I cannot say; but we must take care not to create a bright blaze, lest the reflection on the opposite cliff should betray us. They are not likely to remain where they are, and will probably move on to a more sheltered spot for the night. What has brought them here I cannot tell; but I suspect that they are fugitives from one party or the other. At all events, it will not be safe for us to proceed till they have left the neighbourhood.”

This information made us feel rather anxious; especially when the padre suggested that the strangers might find their way down to our encampment.

“There is no fear of that, as they have already passed the only point where they could descend the cliffs,” answered the Indian. “All we have to do is to remain quiet.”

We agreed not to tell my mother and sister what we had heard, but to keep a vigilant watch, so that should the strangers prove to be foes, and find us out, we might be prepared to resist them.

The thoughts of a possible encounter kept us awake during the greater part of the night; and towards morning the ever active Kanimapo again stole out of the camp. Just before daybreak he returned. He had got sufficiently near to the strangers’ camp to hear what they were talking about; and he had discovered that they were mostly deserters from the Spanish army, who had turned robbers, and were as ready to prey on one party as the other. It would, therefore, be very dangerous to fall into their hands; and Kanimapo advised that we should remain concealed where we were till they had left the neighbourhood.

The time, as may be supposed, was an anxious one: still, it afforded us rest; and as we had plenty of food, we were gaining strength to enable us to perform the more arduous part of the journey which still lay before us.

Kanimapo was absent till the evening, tracking the banditti. He at length saw them cross a lofty ridge to the southward, and disappear; and feeling satisfied that they would no longer molest us, he returned with the intelligence.

The following morning we were again en route. Having reached the foot of a steep mountain, our guide called a halt, and told us that we were near the end of our journey, but that there were portions of the path which no mules or horses could traverse. We could, however, reach our destination by taking a much more circuitous path. He inquired whether we should be content to proceed on foot—in which case we might reach a place of safety in the course of three or four hours; or if we were disposed to take the circuitous path, which would occupy the whole of that day and a portion of the next—while we would also run the risk of discovery, as the high-road passed in view of the track we should have to pursue.

My father at once decided to ascend the mountain on foot; while Tim volunteered, with Chumbo, to conduct the horses and mules round by the way Kanimapo described to him.

Led by the Indian, we therefore recommenced the ascent of the mountain without delay. Fatiguing as it was, the doctor and the padre each insisted on carrying a child, while my father helped up my mother, and I aided Norah—though Kathleen and she declared they felt perfectly able to climb up by themselves. Gerald and I sometimes gave them our hands, at others pushed them from behind.

After ascending a considerable distance, we saw on our right a lofty peak. The clearness of the atmosphere made it appear much nearer than it really was. Kathleen announced her intention of climbing to the top of it, and was much surprised to find that it was some twenty or thirty miles off.

In spite of the fresh air, the heat was great; but the atmosphere was far more exhilarating than I had before found it in the plains. At last the summit was reached; when we went some distance over tolerably level ground, and then had to commence descending by one of the steepest paths I ever met with,—such as even the mules could not have slidden down without the risk of rolling over. On reaching the bottom we found a rapid stream flowing at our feet, along the brink of which Kanimapo now led us; and we continued making our way, amid the rich vegetation which grew on either side, till we saw before us a fine waterfall, and, as far as we could judge, our progress appeared completely barred.

Kanimapo did not hesitate. “Come on, my friends; we are near our resting-place at last,” he said; and turning to the right, he led the way through a thick belt of trees which lined the stream, and began to ascend an almost perpendicular cliff! The roots and branches of the trees which grew out of it, however, formed a sort of natural ladder, or series of steps, up which even my mother found no great difficulty in climbing; and we soon found ourselves on level ground, a small placid lake, out of which the rocks on the opposite side rose abruptly, appearing among the trees. By continuing along the shores of this lake we reached another waterfall, of considerable width and depth, and overhung with magnificent trees, which added greatly to its picturesque beauty.

We now made another ascent, very similar to the first, till we reached a higher level of the same stream. I expected that we were going to continue along it; but instead of doing so Kanimapo led us by a zigzag path till we gained a broad terrace, from whence we could look down into the valley and over the summits of numerous heights beyond. Still the air, though pure and bracing from its dryness, caused no sensation of cold. High as we were, too, there were several mountains in sight which were still higher.

We had proceeded along the terrace; one mountain rose directly in front of us, with a perpendicular face of great height. The rush of water sounded in our ears; and as we advanced we caught sight of the stream flowing across the platform, and proceeding out of the very side of the mountain, as it seemed to us. Advancing for a few hundred yards? more, we discovered that it flowed from beneath a magnificent arch forming the entrance to a vast cavern,—the rocks which surrounded it being covered with superb trees, and rich vegetation of most varied hue, nourished by the ever-flowing stream. Here were the gigantic mammee-tree, and the genipa, with large and shining leaves, raising their branches vertically towards the sky; while others, extending their boughs horizontally, formed a thick canopy of verdure over the entrance. Orchidae, and a host of plants whose names I do not know, grew out of the clefts of the rocks; while creepers waved in the wind, or formed a graceful drapery of festoons hanging from the boughs, decked with flowers of nearly all the colours of the rainbow—some of purple, others of orange colour, many of bright yellow, and numbers perfectly white, glittering like stars amid the dark green of the surrounding foliage. We all stood for a few seconds lost in astonishment at the unexpected scene.

“In the recesses of this cavern, my friends, you may remain as long as you desire, without danger of being discovered by your enemies,” observed Kanimapo. “The Gothos are unacquainted with its existence; and but few of our people, indeed, know the way to it. Abundance of wild fruit is to be found in the woods, and game of all sorts is plentiful; while the cavern itself will manage to afford us an ample supply of food, should we be prevented from going forth to search for it.”

As may be supposed, we were eager to explore the cavern; but my mother and sister, as well as my father and the padre, were too much fatigued to make the attempt. My father suggested, therefore, that we should encamp in a shady spot at the entrance and take some food; after which those who were so disposed might, under the guidance of the Indian, set off on the proposed exploration. The doctor’s eagerness however, would scarcely allow him to consent to this delay; but as he was not disposed to go alone, or accompanied only by Jumbo, he agreed to wait till Gerald and I had had some dinner—after which, we had promised, we would set off with him, provided Kanimapo would act as our guide. The Indian consented to lead the way as far as he had ever before been; but he confessed that he had never penetrated to the end. Indeed, he believed that no human being had ever done so; and he hinted that we should be wise not to make the attempt, as the place was full of the spirits of people who had departed this life, and who might resent our intrusion.

“I’ll take care to settle that matter with them,” observed the doctor, laughing. “I would sooner encounter ten thousand spirits than a single anaconda; and Jumbo has not the slightest fear of them.”

Had the doctor denied the existence of the spirits, he might have offended the Indian; as it was, Kanimapo only looked upon him as a wonderfully courageous person, and treated him with even more respect than before.

We immediately collected sticks, and had a fire blazing, before which Candela exerted his culinary powers in preparing our repast; while we arranged, as usual, some huts for my mother and the rest of the family.

The Indian had, in the meantime, formed a bundle of torches of some resinous wood which he cut with his machete. “We shall require these,” he observed; “for the light of day cannot penetrate beyond a quarter of the length of the cavern.”

As soon as our provisions were cooked, the doctor almost bolted his share, and then proposed setting off. Gerald and I were soon ready; and the Indian, who evidently felt a pride in the cavern, said that he would lead the way. He took a couple of torches himself, and divided the rest among us; inquiring of the doctor whether he had the means of producing a light.

“I am never without these,” was the answer; “lead on, my friend, and we will follow.”

Our astonishment was increased when we found that the vegetation extended far away into the depths of the cavern, growing on both sides of the stream which proceeded out of it,—even palms, arums, and other plants reaching to the height of fifteen or twenty feet.

“Hark to the sound which proceeds from the inner part of the cavern,” said our guide.

As he spoke, strange suppressed cries issued from the interior, but so low that we did not at first remark them, almost drowned as they were by the noise of the rushing waters. From the immense size of the entrance, and the direct course the cavern took into the interior of the mountain, daylight penetrated for a great distance, and we were accordingly able to proceed for upwards of four hundred feet before we found it diminishing to any extent. As we advanced, the sounds we had at first heard so indistinctly increased; and Kanimapo told us that they were produced by birds, which had taken up their abode in the cavern in thousands. The shrill and piercing cries of these denizens of the cavern, striking on the vaulted rock, were repeated by the subterranean echoes till they created such a wild din as is difficult to describe. Well might an ignorant native, entering for the first time, have supposed that they were the shrieks of departed souls.

The farther we went, the louder and more horrible was the noise. Entering a region of darkness, we were at length compelled to light our torches; when, holding them up, we could see birds flitting about in all directions, their long nests fixed in the roof and sides of the cavern.

We walked on slowly and cautiously, to avoid the risk of falling into any hollow which might exist in the ground; but generally it was tolerably smooth and level, covered everywhere with herbage of a pale hue,—evidently, as the doctor observed, the produce of seeds dropped by the birds.

Though not so wide as at the entrance, the magnificence of the cavern was greatly increased by the countless stalactites which hung from the roof; some reaching to the ground, and forming pillars with arches of the most delicate tracery, which often shone brilliantly as the light of our torches fell on them. The farther we got, the more fantastic were the forms they assumed,—till, with a little aid from the imagination, we might have fancied ourselves in some wonderful temple of an Eastern region. So numerous were the columns, we could with difficulty make our way between them—sometimes having to descend into the bed of the river, which was nowhere more than two feet deep, though from twenty to thirty feet wide. All this time the shrieks of the birds sounded in our ears. Occasionally, those near us were silent; and sometimes the noise around us ceased for a few minutes, when we heard at a distance the plaintive cries of the birds roosting in other ramifications of the cavern. It seemed as if different groups answered each other alternately.

At last, after continuing on for a considerable distance, a still more curious and beautiful spectacle than we had yet seen burst on our view. The ground suddenly sloped upwards at a sharp angle, thickly covered with vegetation, in the midst of which the river came rushing over a ledge of rock, forming a cascade which sparkled as the light of our torches fell on it; while the brilliantly white stalactites which descended from the roof were seen against the foliage of the trees.

Having climbed up the rise I have mentioned, we went on as before by the side of the stream, the ground being of a uniform level. As we looked back, the opening of the cavern appeared greatly contracted, the distant light of day forming a strange contrast to the darkness which here surrounded us. The roof now became lower, the sides contracted to little more, perhaps, than forty or fifty feet; while the cries of the birds became more and more shrill. Our Indian guide, though he had shown his bravery on many occasions, seemed unwilling to go much farther; but the doctor urged him to make the attempt, promising to defend him against all evil spirits which we might encounter. While he was speaking, the light attracted some of the birds, which in their eagerness flew towards us; and the doctor and I managed to knock down two, greatly to his delight.

The character of the cavern remained the same, and though our curiosity prompted us to try and reach the end, we began to consider that it would take us a long time to do so, and that our torches must shortly burn done. The same idea had occurred to Kanimapo, who again begged the doctor to return, warning him of the danger we ran in attempting to make our way in the dark over the uneven ground.

“You are right, my friend,” answered the doctor. I agreed with him also, and turning our faces to the entrance we retraced our steps.

Before our eyes became dazzled by the light of day, we saw on the outside of the grotto the water of the river, sparkling amid the foliage of the trees which shaded it. It was like a picture placed in the distance, the mouth of the cavern serving as a frame.

We were welcomed by our friends, who had become somewhat anxious at our long absence; and Gerald, after expatiating on the wonders we had seen, acknowledged that he was glad to get beyond the hearing of the hoarse cries of the birds.

As we seated ourselves by the side of the rivulet in front of the cavern, the doctor examined the birds we had killed; and calling to the Indian, he made inquiries as to what he knew about them. He answered that in another part of the country, where a similar cavern exists inhabited by the same birds, they are called guacharos; that in that other cavern—the cave of Caripe, as he called it—thousands of birds exist, and that the Indians take the young birds for the sake of the oil which they contain. They enter it once a year, armed with long poles, with which they destroy all the nests they can reach; when the old ones, hovering about their heads, attempt to defend their broods, uttering the most terrible cries. The young birds which are thus killed are immediately opened; and the fat being taken out, it is melted in pots of clay over fires lighted at the entrance of the cave. During the oil harvest, as the Indians call that time, they build huts with palm-leaves, in which they live till they have melted down the fat. It is half liquid, transparent, without any smell, and so pure that it may be kept above a year without becoming rancid.

The race of birds would become extinct, were not the natives afraid of entering into the depths of the cavern; as also because there are other and smaller caverns, inaccessible to the hunters, inhabited by colonies of birds from which the larger cavern is peopled. These birds are of the size of ordinary fowls; their mouths resemble those of goat-suckers, and their appearance is somewhat that of small vultures; but, unlike the goat-suckers, they live entirely on fruits of a hard, dry character—and such fruits only were found in the crops of the birds we killed. The natives believe that the seeds found in the birds’ crops are a specific against intermittent fevers, and these are therefore carefully collected and sent to the low regions where such fevers prevail.

The doctor was delighted with the information he had obtained, and declared that, for the sake of it, he would have been ready to undergo ten times as much fatigue and danger as that to which he had been subjected.

We were all well pleased with the romantic beauty of the scenery, but my father was not quite satisfied that the place was secure from attack. Should we be betrayed, there was nothing to prevent our enemies from following us; and there was no position in which we could defend ourselves against them.

Kanimapo confessed that such was the case; but he added,—“There is a spot at hand to which I can lead you, where you will be secure from a whole army of Gothos. It is separated from this by a deep valley, the cliffs above which no armed men can climb. In the side of the mountain there is a cavern, very much smaller than this, but which has the advantage of being perfectly dry, as the sun shines directly into it. There, should enemies approach, we might take refuge, and remain without fear of being reached till they have taken their departure.”

“But how, if the sides are perpendicular, are we to reach it?” asked my father.

“I will find the means of gaining the top,” answered the Indian. “A lofty rock on the opposite side is not more than fifty feet distant from a part of the cliff; at this place I will carry across a rope-bridge, by which you may all pass in safety; and should an enemy attempt to follow, a blow of a machete would hurl him to destruction. You can thus have your choice of either remaining in this large cavern, or taking refuge in the smaller cave I have described to you.”

My father consulted the doctor and the padre—who were both of opinion that we should be perfectly safe where we were; but he thought it wisest to secure a refuge in case we should be pursued, and begged the Indian to lead him to it. Kanimapo replied that he required some time to make preparations, but that as soon as he was ready he would let us know.

Calling Candela, he led him some way down the valley towards a grove of trees, among which were a great variety of creepers. We, meantime, were employed in improving our huts and in making arrangements for a sojourn in the cave, hoping that we might not be disturbed.

After some time Kanimapo and Candela reappeared, carrying between them a coil of stout rope, and a sort of square cradle of network large enough to contain a man. It was by this time too late to commence operations, but Kanimapo undertook to conduct us to the place the first thing the next morning.

“That you may not feel insecure, my friends,” he said, “I will take post at the entrance of the valley during the night, and give you due notice should any danger approach.”

This offer was gladly accepted; and darkness soon coming on, we made up a blazing fire in front of our huts, and prepared to pass the first night in our strange abode.

The scene can be better pictured than described. The night passed quietly away; even the sounds of the birds from the far interior of the cavern scarcely reaching our ears. So high was the vaulted roof, that as we looked upwards it had the appearance of a clouded sky; while the light from the fire, which fell on the trunks and lower branches of the trees by the side of the stream, scarcely reached the opposite walls of the cave.

Soon after daylight Kanimapo appeared. He had climbed to a height from whence he could look far away along the only path by which the valley could be approached, and had failed to make out any fire at night or smoke in the daytime which could indicate a camp of pursuers. As my father was anxious that we should lose no time, after taking a hurried breakfast he and Gerald and I set off, Kanimapo and Candela leading the way up the hill which overhung the valley. After proceeding for some distance we reached the summit of the hill, on which grew a tree of considerable size; while opposite to it rose a perpendicular cliff, surmounted by several pointed rocks. We looked in vain, however, for the entrance to the cavern, which Kanimapo told us was to be found farther round the hill. Having left the thick rope and cradle, he begged us to remain while he descended the valley. A short time afterwards, he appeared, to our surprise, on the summit of the opposite side, with his bow in his hand and an arrow to which he had attached a long thin line. Shouting to us to stand aside, he shot it into the trunk of the tree; and then desired us to fasten the end of the rope to the line with his arrow. On this being done, he hauled the stout rope across, and fastened it to one of the pointed rocks. The other end, I should have said, had already been secured round the tree. Having told Candela to fix the cradle, he again shot the arrow with the thin line; and this being attached to the cradle, by means of the line he drew it across to him.

The desired communication was now established; so placing himself in the cradle, and standing upright, with his hands holding on to the rope, he worked himself backwards till he reached the side on which we were standing.

“But surely, my friend, you don’t expect the ladies to cross over in this conveyance!” said my father. “And I suspect that the padre, and even the doctor, would very much object to it.”

“No; but by its means we can form a bridge of any size and strength,” answered the Indian. “Should it be necessary, I will, during the day, manufacture the ropes requisite for such a bridge. In the meantime, I will leave Candela to carry across a supply of wood for firing, as well as provisions.”

To my surprise, Candela willingly undertook to do this, and, terrific as the bridge appeared, crossed without hesitation; indeed, provided a person has nerve enough, and the rope is sound, there is no difficulty in crossing by one of these aerial bridges, which exist in all parts of this mountainous region. They are formed in a variety of ways—some consisting of six or more ropes—and sometimes even mules and horses are dragged across suspended below them.

Gerald and I, having seen how to work the cradle, went across and visited the cavern; in which, could we store it with provisions, we agreed that we might set a whole host of enemies at defiance—for the mouth was not to be seen from the opposite cliff, and no bullets could reach it. A person might also be stationed, under shelter, close by the rock to which the rope was fastened, so that he could cut it without exposing himself to a shot from the opposite side.

These arrangements having been made, we rejoined our party. From the account we gave of the citadel, as we called it, the general wish was that we might not be compelled to take refuge there.

Gerald laughed at the fears the doctor and the padre expressed that they should not be able to get across.

“It is not a bit worse than taking a good swing,” he answered; “all you have to do is to haul away, keep your eyes fixed on the sky, and forget that you have got two or three hundred feet between you and the earth.”

“That is the very thing, my friend, which it is difficult to do,” observed the doctor. “Neither could I forget that the rope might possibly give way, nor that I might grow giddy and let go my grasp.”

We then explained that the Indian intended to carry over several ropes, and that, consequently, some of the contingencies could not occur.

“That one might happen, would be quite sufficient to make the passage disagreeable,” observed the doctor; “so I heartily hope that we may not have to cross.”

Our friend Kanimapo was indefatigable; he was evidently very proud of the confidence placed in him, and he showed that he was fully equal to the responsibilities he had assumed. He was employed all day—either in shooting birds or monkeys, of which there were several species in the woods, or in watching the approach to the valley of the cavern. The horses and mules could not get to the upper valley, but there was ample pasturage below the second waterfall, in a spot where they might remain concealed; the only risk being that a jaguar might find them out.

“Those brutes roam everywhere,” observed Kanimapo—“over mountains and across plains; and they often come into these higher regions in search of deer, so that we must be on our guard against them. It will be necessary, therefore, either to leave your white slave,” (Tim would have strongly disapproved of being so designated,) “or Chumbo, or Candela, to watch them.”

Another day passed, and Tim and Chumbo not appearing, we began to feel very anxious about them. In other respects, we had every reason to be contented with our lot; the woods produced various wild fruits, which were now in perfection, we had as much game as we required, and the padre and Candela caught an ample supply of fish. The doctor was engaged in botanising and studying various branches of natural history; and my father was thankful that his family were in comparative safety. Perhaps I felt our retirement from the world more than any one else, as I longed to be taking part in the task to which I had pledged myself,—of aiding in the liberation of my country.

Kanimapo at last expressed his surprise that Tim and the mules had not arrived; and assuring us that we should be perfectly safe provided we remained in the valley, he left us, saying that he would go in search of them.

Another day passed, and as neither the Indian nor Tim appeared, Gerald and I agreed to go down the valley, in case they might have missed each other, and Tim should have found his way to the spot to which he had been directed. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the vegetation on the banks of the stream, or the magnificence of the trees which here and there shot up in this oasis among the mountains; while its elevated position gave it a far more temperate and refreshing atmosphere than that to which we were accustomed even in our own district. Our scanty supply of powder made us refrain from shooting any of the numberless birds we saw fluttering amid the trees or skimming along the surface of the water. Among them were several species of beautiful humming-birds, which, as they darted here and there, glittered like gems in the air. Gerald told me that Norah and he were so delighted with the valley, that they intended to try and persuade our father to migrate to it, and build a house where we might all live in happy seclusion from the world.

“You have forgotten that it would be somewhat difficult to obtain supplies in such a sequestered home; and still more so to send the produce of our industry to market,” I observed. “It might do very well for a summer retreat, but I suspect that we should grow very tired of it were we to attempt to live here all the year round.”

We had now reached the end of the valley, and were venturing beyond the boundaries prescribed by our Indian friend, so I proposed turning back.

“Let us go on a little farther,” said Gerald. “I caught a glimpse of an animal through the trees, but we shall get a better sight of it directly.”

We went on, and in another minute saw, directly below us, two fine deer feeding in a small glade. They did not mind us, but remained quietly browsing. I signed to Gerald to aim at one while I tried to shoot the other. My finger was on the trigger, when, as I looked to the left, the head and shoulders of a huge jaguar appeared. So noiselessly did the animal steal through the brushwood, that the deer were not startled; while, intent on seizing its prey, the jaguar did not discover us. The next moment it gave a tremendous spring, crashing through the boughs, and pounced down on the nearest deer. Gerald at the same moment fired, and killed the other. I waited till I could take good aim; and, to my great satisfaction, shot the jaguar through the head.

Having put an end to the sufferings of the deer the jaguar had seized, we lost no time in dragging them both out of the thicket, and hoisting them up to the bough of a tree with some ever-serviceable sepos. We were then on the point of hastening back to obtain the assistance of the doctor and Candela to carry home our prizes, when we caught sight of some objects moving in the distance. We soon made out that they were human beings; but as they might be the banditti from whom we had before so narrowly escaped, we agreed that, till we could ascertain who they really were, it would be prudent to hide ourselves. After hunting about, we found a rock on the side of the hill surrounded by shrubs, which would afford us concealment; so we climbed up to it, and crouching down, watched the strangers. They stopped for some time, as if undecided what road to take—then moving on, they came directly towards us; and before long we made out two men—one leading a couple of horses, and the other the same number of mules.

“Hurrah! they must be Tim and Chumbo,” exclaimed Gerald, jumping up.

“Stay quiet till we are certain,” I answered.

The two men approached, and to my infinite satisfaction I saw that Gerald was right. Still, I wished to see what Tim would do when he arrived at the barrier. He soon got up there, and I saw him looking about in every direction. He then turned round to his companion.

“Faith, Chumbo, I begin to think that, after all, Masther Kanimapo is deceiving us,” exclaimed Tim. “Here we are, after all our troubles and adventures, with a high wall before us, and no means that I can see to get over it. The bastes are hungry, and so am I; but they can pick up their suppers off the grass, while we must hunt about till we can find ours. So I propose that we camp where we are, and while you go and look for fruits and an opossum, or any other baste you can catch, I’ll watch the animals.”

We waited till Chumbo had gone off on his errand; then leaping down from our hiding-place, Gerald shouted out in Spanish, “Your money or your life!” Tim, like a brave fellow, grasped his shillelagh to defend himself against the supposed banditti; but just then discovering us, he threw it down, shouting out, “Erin-go-bragh! shure it’s the young masthers; and a welcome sight they are to me.”

We were soon grasping Tim’s hand, and inquiring how it was he had been so long in reaching us. He told us that he had lost his way, and had caught sight of the banditti, from whom he had been compelled to hide till they had passed to a safe distance; and then, by turning back, he had been fortunate enough to discover the path he and Chumbo ought at first to have followed. We inquired if he had seen Kanimapo; but, as we suspected, he had missed him. We then told him of the proposal that the animals should be left where they were, with Chumbo to look after them; and that should the enemy appear, Chumbo was to hide himself, and let the animals take their chance—though we believed that there was little risk of them being discovered.

Tim was eager to go back with us; indeed, he greatly required rest and food. He had been unable to ride, owing to the badness of the path, any part of the distance; while the food he and Chumbo had taken with them had been for some time exhausted, and they had been hard pressed. Chumbo, however, did not reappear, so I told Gerald and Tim to stay where they were while I went in search of him. I followed in the direction in which Tim had last seen him, and soon found myself among lofty trees growing at the bottom of a deep glen, already shrouded in the shades of evening. I shouted out Chumbo’s name; and in a short time my ears were saluted by a chorus, amid which I thought I distinguished Chumbo’s voice crying for help. I hurried on, and soon saw him before me, struggling with a large bird, which he had grasped round the neck, trying to keep it at arm’s length, while it endeavoured to attack him with its talons and beak. Numberless other birds of the same description were perched on the boughs of the neighbouring trees, apparently watching the fight. I was afraid to risk a shot at the one with which Chumbo was engaged in combat, lest I might injure him; I therefore rushed forward and dealt it a blow on the head with the butt of my rifle, which fortunately stunned it, and enabled Chumbo to cast it from him to a distance—just at the moment that one of its claws had reached his legs.

I then took aim at one of the birds perched on the boughs, which I happily brought to the ground.

“Now run, Chumbo! run! before the rest of the creatures come down upon us,” I shouted out.

“Let me get hold of this one first, Massa Barry,” he answered; and seizing his late antagonist by the neck he dragged it along, while I treated the one I had just shot after the same manner.

The report of my gun at first startled them, but on their discovering that no other bird of their community had suffered, they flew after us, uttering loud shrieks. I defended myself by using my gun as a cudgel; while Chumbo, picking up a thick stick, fought them bravely, swinging it round and round his head so that none of them ventured within its reach. So persevering were their attacks that they gave me no time to load, or I might have brought another to the ground; as it was, I had considerable difficulty in protecting my head from their sharp beaks and talons. Still, we would not let go our prey, and each time we beat them off we ran on, so as to gain a farther distance; till at length, after sweeping round our heads several times, they flew back to finish the carrion feast at which Chumbo had disturbed them, and we carried off their two dead companions in triumph.

I knew the birds, from the rich scarlet on their heads, their lemon-coloured necks, the satiny white of their backs, tinged with fawn, the black pinions of the wings, and their neck surrounded with a ruff of grey feathers, to be king-vultures. Those we had killed were full-grown, and were about the size of an ordinary goose. As I saw them perched on the branches, tearing away at huge masses of flesh, I must say that, notwithstanding their regal titles, they had a very repulsive appearance. Chumbo told me how, in despair of getting any supper, he had rushed in and attacked the vulture with which I had found him struggling. Happily, he had come off without any material injury.

On our way back to where I had left Gerald and Tim, I showed him the two deer we had killed, and this reconciled him to remaining with the horses and mules. Before leaving him, however, Tim and I built him a hut and collected an ample supply of wood for a fire, so that he might pass the night in security, provided he could manage to awake at intervals and replenish his fire. We then cut up one of the deer; and leaving a portion of the flesh for Chumbo, loaded ourselves with as much of the rest as we could carry. Tim added one of the vultures to his cargo, as a present to the doctor; and without further delay we set off for our settlement, as we called the huts we had erected at the entrance of the cave.

Tim received a hearty welcome; Candela clapped his hands as he saw the venison; and the doctor was highly pleased to have the king-vulture to examine. He remarked that it was unusual to find the bird in such high regions, as it generally inhabits the low, thickly-wooded districts on the banks of the rivers; but though birds and beasts of all sorts found out our happy valley and made it their abode, it would be satisfactory to believe that no anaconda or boa-constrictor had wriggled its way over the mountains to get to it, or any vicious little peccaries. We had a proof, however, that we must be on our guard against jaguars and pumas, which have a wide range, and do not hesitate to climb mountains and ford streams in search of their prey,—especially pumas, which are met with throughout Central America, and far away in the western parts of the northern continent.

The next morning the doctor accompanied us back to skin the jaguar I had shot, and to bring home the remainder of the venison—with the exception of a portion left for Chumbo, which he cut up into strips and dried in the sun, so that it might keep good for some time.

In the course of a few days we had become quite accustomed to our mode of life, though we were somewhat anxious at the non-appearance of Kanimapo. We could not suppose, after the faithful way in which he had behaved, that he had purposely deserted us, so we began to fear that he must have been captured by the Spaniards, or had met with some accident. We believed, however, that we should have no difficulty in making our way out of our happy valley, whenever we might wish to quit it. The question was, how we should obtain information as to the state of affairs in the country, and when it might be prudent for us to return home.

At last I made up my mind to set off and learn how things were going on, and either to make my way to our village, or to try and reach the residence of Don Fernando. The doctor had no wish to quit the valley, as he observed that he could spend many months in it, with infinite satisfaction to himself and to the advantage of the scientific world; but when, one day, I mentioned my resolution, he magnanimously offered to accompany me.

“I, as a foreigner and a medical man, shall run no risk,” he observed; “and you can pass for my attendant or guide, and we shall be able to go wherever you wish.”

I thanked him for his offer, and said that I would try and obtain my father’s leave to set off; but still I waited, hoping that Kanimapo would come back before long.

In the meantime we rambled at liberty through the valley, Gerald and I often escorting Norah and Kathleen—sometimes even the children, with Margarita, the younger nurse, accompanying us. One day, not content with our ramble through the upper valley, Norah proposed that we should visit the lower one, as she wished to make a sketch of the waterfall. She forgot that, though Kanimapo considered it tolerably secure, he had advised that the ladies, at all events, should limit their walks to the upper valley.

“We will not go far,” said Norah; “and we shall be sure to see Chumbo, should he by chance come with a warning that danger is at hand.”

The baby, I should say, had remained with our mother; Kathleen and Mary had come with Margarita.

We managed, without much difficulty, to help our sisters to scramble down the cliffs. Gerald said he would go forward and learn how Chumbo was getting on; and as I wished to shoot some birds or any large game I could meet with for our larder, I left my sisters seated in the shade, at a spot from which Norah wished to make her view of the waterfall. I had brought but a small supply of powder, and having shot some birds, I loaded my gun with my last charge, resolved not to fire it except in case of necessity. I was tempted, however, to break through my resolution on seeing a deer burst from the wood and offer a shot I could not resist. But my gun, for the first time during the day, hung fire; and when I again pulled the trigger, though it went off, the deer escaped.

Vexed with my ill-luck, I turned my face up the valley, and arrived almost close to the spot where I knew my sisters were seated; but what was my horror to see a huge jaguar stealing through the brushwood, and on the point of springing towards where I had left them! I mechanically lifted my gun to my shoulder, but recollected that it was not loaded. I felt like a person in a dreadful dream, endeavouring to shriek out, but unable to utter a sound; when, just as the savage brute was about to make its spring, I caught a glimpse of the tall figure of an Indian on the opposite bank, and at the same moment an arrow, whizzing through the air, pierced the jaguar to the heart, and it fell over dead.

I rushed forward, and found Kathleen with her arms thrown round Margarita’s neck, within ten paces of where the jaguar lay. They had seen the creature, when Margarita had fixed her gaze on its eyes; and by thus preventing it from making the fatal spring, had given time to the Indian to shoot it.

On looking out to see what had become of my young sisters’ preserver, I observed him crossing the river; and in another minute he came up to us, and I recognised our missing friend Kanimapo.

“I warned you not to descend into this valley, my friend,” he observed; “and thankful am I to have preserved you from the jaws of yonder savage brute. You may have been surprised at my long absence, but it could not be avoided. I was pursued by my enemies, and compelled to fly towards the south; when I received intelligence that my own people, supposing that I had been killed, were about to elect another chief, and that unless I returned at once I should find a rival, and lose my influence over them. Instigated by Spanish priests and others, their intention was to attack the house of Don Fernando, where they expected to find a rich booty. I arrived in time to prevent them from making the attack, or electing a chief in my stead. But I must speedily return, as I fear that, under evil influence, they may endeavour to injure your friends; and, as I have sworn to you, your friends shall ever be mine. I also bring you intelligence that the Spaniards have been driven out of this part of the country, and that General Bermudez, with a large body of horsemen, occupies the señor padre’s village, so that you and he may return to your homes with safety.”

He gave us this information while we were hastening back through the valley, Gerald having by this time rejoined us. As may be supposed, it was received with great satisfaction by our party—especially by the padre, who was anxious to get back among his people, and to be actively engaged in forwarding the cause to which he had devoted himself.

Fortunately, our animals had not suffered from the jaguars, though Chumbo had seen the very creature which was so nearly pouncing down on Kathleen, but had driven it off with firebrands. We at once, therefore, made preparations for our departure.

“I am indeed thankful that we have suffered so little hardship,” said my mother; adding, as she looked up at the mountain above us, “and especially so that we have not had to cross that terrible rope-bridge to our citadel.”

Though Kanimapo did not understand her remark, he observed her gesture. “We may some day have to make use of yonder retreat,” he said to me; “and before we go I will remove the bridge, that none of our enemies may discover it.”

Calling to Candela, he at once descended the hill; and they returned soon after with the rope and cradle, which they hid away in the cavern.

We were busily employed for the remainder of the day in collecting fruit, killing game, and preparing for our journey.

Chapter Eight.

Return journey commenced—Norah’s confession—A bamboo-bridge—Unexpectedly prevented from crossing—Foes and friends appear—The bridge gained—A fierce struggle—I take part in it—We defeat the enemy—My family return homewards under an escort—I join General Bermudez—The doctor and the padre promise to follow us—I accompany the army, and we encamp on the plains—The doctor appears, and remains with the army—Our numerous exploits—Capture of Caracas—I am sent with despatches to Bolivar—Discovered by the enemy—A race for life—I am wounded and captured—Carried to La Guayra—Thrown into prison.

The description I have given of the mountain-scenery amid which we travelled on our flight from home, will in many respects serve for that through which we passed on our return, by a different and somewhat more easy route. Though the sides of the mountains were steep and rugged, the valleys were fertile, with streams meandering through them, and in many places we saw herds of deer, among which were two or three beautiful milk-white animals; but having exhausted nearly all our powder, we were unable to shoot them, even had we wished to do so. We saw also a number of wild turkeys: and in the woods we heard micos—a small species of monkey—whistling to each other; but the moment the rogues caught sight of us, they disappeared among the branches. The roughness of the paths we followed prevented the horses from going beyond a slow walk; and even Norah, though a good horsewoman, was glad to have me at the head of her steed. I told her how much I wished to join General Bermudez.

“I shall be sorry to lose you, Barry,” she rejoined; “still, I believe that it is your duty to go. I only wish that I could serve my country as you have the power of doing. Still more do I wish that the hateful Spaniards were driven from our shores, and the blessings of peace restored.”

I then told her—for I had never before done so—how much I admired Don Fernando’s young ward, Isabella Monterola. “Perhaps, if I return from the wars crowned with laurels, she’ll have me,” I said, laughing.

She sighed, and the colour, I observed, mounted to her brow.

“Don Carlos Serrano has other sons besides the one I met under the name of Colonel Acosta,” I remarked.

“Yes,” she answered; “his second son, Carlos, is as brave and devoted as his brother. Should you meet, Barry, make yourself known to him, and I am sure that he will be glad to give you his friendship. In appearance he is very like his elder brother, though perhaps handsomer, and you cannot fail to recognise him.”

I began to suspect, from the way in which Norah spoke of the young Don Carlos, that she was deeply interested in him; and soon afterwards I had reason to know that I was not mistaken.

We stopped to rest and take our noonday meal near a small clump of trees on the borders of a wide stream, which we were afterwards to pass. Across it was thrown a curious bamboo-bridge, the lower portion of which rested on the calm water beneath it. The bamboos of which it was composed were securely lashed together by sepos, making it very elastic. The sides were so steep as to form rather a sharp angle with each other; while so great was the ascent and descent, that, to enable people and animals to pass along it without slipping, pieces of bamboo in which to fix the feet were placed at short intervals across the footway. Slight as was the bridge in appearance, owing to its yielding nature there was no danger of its breaking; and we saw two or three persons crossing it with mules, so that we had no fear about going over it ourselves.

We were about to recommence our journey, when Candela and Chumbo, who had been attending to our animals at a little distance, came hurrying up, and said that they had seen a large body of men appearing above a ridge on our side of the river; and urged that we should lose no time in moving. I ran to a slight hillock near where we had been seated, and from thence I could distinguish the men they spoke of: they were evidently infantry, and in considerable force, as I caught the gleam of their bayonets forming a long line as they surmounted the ridge.

I was assisting Norah to mount, while the doctor was putting the children into the panniers, when he cried out,—“We are in a trap! See! there are troops on the opposite side coming this way; and if we cross we may fall into their hands.”

“But they may be friends,” I said.

“Yes! they are friends,” cried the padre; “they are cavalry, the llañeros of the plain—I can make out their lances against the sky. They are dashing on at full speed; none but they could ride over that rough ground. Paez, or perchance Bermudez, is at their head.”

“You are right, friend padre; they are pushing on to gain the bridge before yonder infantry can reach it,” cried my father, his martial enthusiasm kindling. “The enemy’s object is to gain the bank of the river first, and dispute their passage before they can cross and form on this side. See! the Spaniards are advancing at the double, scrambling over all impediments; it is a question which will reach the river first. There will be some warm work anon.”

“If you will be advised by me, Mr Desmond, in that case you will retreat to a safe distance, and place the ladies and children under shelter,” observed the doctor. “Bullets make no distinction of persons; and they will be flying pretty thickly about our ears, if we venture to remain here much longer.”

“Thank you, doctor, for your advice,” answered my father; and he forthwith placed my mother on horseback. The children had been meantime tumbled into their panniers, and the nurse mounted on her mule.

Leading the animals, we hurried along the bank of the river, hoping to reach some sheltering rock which would afford protection to the helpless ones under our care. Happily, before long we found what we were in search of.

As soon as I had seen my family in safety, I sprang out again and hurried back towards the spot we had left, eager to watch what was going forward, and to take a part in the strife if I had the opportunity. As I reached it, I saw that the front rank of the Spanish infantry had got to within two or three hundred yards of the bank; while the Republican cavalry came thundering down the hill, their leader, on a powerful charger, considerably in advance. As he came nearer I recognised my proposed chief, General Bermudez. He was making directly for the bridge, lance in hand, and couched, as if he were already within reach of the foe.

Onward he dashed—the bridge was nearly won. The commander of the infantry saw that the advantage he had hoped to gain was on the point of being lost, and waving his sword, sprang forward in front of his men. But the brave Bermudez was not to be disappointed. Without pulling rein, he galloped his horse on to the fragile bridge,—which bent beneath the weight of the steed and its rider, and every instant I expected to see it give way. Soon he reached the shore on which I stood, and urged his horse up the steep bank; and one by one the llañeros came rattling after him, and formed rapidly by his side. Already a score had crossed before the infantry had got within musket-shot of them, and the Spaniards saw that the advantage they had hoped to gain was almost lost; still, by a well-directed discharge they might annihilate the small band opposed to them. As they got within range of the horsemen, therefore, they opened fire along their whole line; the shot came whistling through the air like a hail-shower, and two of the llañeros fell from their horses, dead.

Seized by an impulse I could not withstand, I caught one of the animals, and, dashing forward to where the dead man’s lance lay on the ground, I seized it and galloped up to the side of the general. As I did so, he gave me a glance of recognition; and at the same moment the order to charge burst in a loud ringing voice from his lips. Couching my lance, I gave my steed the rein, and our small but compact body advanced like an avalanche against the foe. In vain those who had fired attempted to reload; their bayonets were all they had to depend on. Had they been British troops, the case would have been different; but as they saw the bristling line of spears come down like lightning upon them, the front rank sprang up from their knees, and, seized with a panic, turned to fly. It would have been better to die like men, with their faces to the foe. Piercing them through and through, we drove them before us; and they, pressing on the rear-ranks, carried confusion into their midst. Still, the officers did their utmost to induce them to stand, and I saw them cut down several of the fugitives; but it was in vain. Our party, too, was every instant increased by fresh bands of llañeros as they crossed the bridge; while the confusion among the enemy became rapidly greater. No lives were spared. Bermudez appeared to be everywhere; now in the centre of his men, now on one flank, now on the other. The unevenness of the ground did not stop us; on we went, our lances dealing death around.

I take no delight in describing horrors, or I might vividly paint this, my first battle-field. The lance of General Bermudez pierced the Spanish commander. Not an officer escaped. A few of the men managed to scramble up some almost inaccessible heights, but of the rest every man was killed; no quarter was asked, and none was given.

I had kept close to the side of the general, and on several occasions had used my pistols when he had been almost overmatched. Having seen the last of the fugitives disappear, he turned round to me, and putting out his hand, exclaimed in a hearty voice,—“You have done good service, my friend. I remember you well; you are welcome—very welcome. We have met at length, and, I hope, not to part for many a day.”

He then, as I rode alongside of him, told me that he appointed me lieutenant in his band, and that I must accept the horse I had ridden, and the lance which I had wielded so well.

I, of course, felt highly flattered at the encomiums passed on me, and told him how glad I should be to accompany him for the future, but that I could not leave my parents without their permission.

“Go and get it at once, then,” said the general; “had I known where to find you, I should have sent for you before. You have shown that you are well able to take a part in our glorious struggle.”

The llañeros having picketed their horses in a meadow close to the bank of the river, had begun to cook their provisions in the rough fashion they usually adopt. On my telling the general where my family were, he desired me to offer them an escort for the rest of their journey, to make amends for my absence, as he wished me to continue with him.

I accordingly rode back to where I had left my party. They were much astonished to see me mounted on a strong horse, with a long lance in my hand, and to hear how I had been engaged; for they had feared that I might have been entangled among the combatants, and perhaps killed. My father did not hesitate for a moment to give me the permission I asked, and gladly accepted the general’s offer of an escort. My mother and Norah were somewhat agitated, but still they had no objections.

“Go, Barry,” said my mother; “and may Heaven protect you during the dangers to which you may be exposed; for I cannot hide them from my eyes.”

Norah pressed her lips to my cheek. “You will come back, Barry, crowned with laurels, and with a colonel’s commission, I feel sure,” she said; “and, my brother, remember the message I gave you yesterday.”

The padre and the doctor expressed their intention of following me back to the general, as they both wished to offer their services. “I have vowed to support the cause of true religion—and I am sure such will never exist while the Spaniards are in the land,” exclaimed the padre. “I therefore feel bound to do my best to drive them out; and having got rid of all extra flesh, I am as fit for a campaign as any of those fighting in the cause.”

I replied that I would tell the general of their intentions.

Gerald kept alongside my horse for some little distance. “Do tell him that I wish he would take me too,” he said; “I will ask our father’s leave—and I think he will give it. If I can’t handle a lance as well as a grown man, I can use a carbine and pistols, and might do duty as an ensign.”

I told him that I would mention his wish to the general, but that I thought he ought to remain and assist our father in protecting the family; indeed, I had no wish, young as he was, that he should be exposed to the dangers he would inevitably have to go through. At last, wringing his hand, I told him to go back, while I galloped on.

The general was pleased with my alacrity. He immediately ordered six of his own guard to escort my father, and afterwards to rejoin him at the foot of the hills.

I set off at the head of the men. My family had in the meantime recommenced their journey, and I met them approaching the bamboo-bridge. Soon afterwards I had the satisfaction of seeing them cross it in safety, under the escort of the llañeros; for it was still entire, notwithstanding the severe strain put on it.

The doctor and the padre had meanwhile arrived; and having paid their respects to the general, they promised to rejoin him in the plains, and then hastened after my family. The doctor, as he was going, told me that he could not bring himself to abandon his chests, and that he hoped to find means to carry them in safety down the Orinoco to Angostura, whence he could ship them to Europe, he having learned that the whole of that part of the country was in the hands of the patriots.

For a few days I felt very strange with my wild, untutored associates, but I soon got into their ways; and by never hesitating to perform any deed however daring, by activity, and unfailing attention to my duties, I gained their respect, and found that, young as I was, they obeyed me willingly. I had the satisfaction, too, of receiving the very kind commendations of the general, which encouraged me to persevere.

By rapid marches and desperate onslaughts we beat the Spaniards wherever we encountered them; though they were better clothed and disciplined, according to military notions, and often more numerous, than we were. By a sudden dash we gained the city of Bogotà; and the Spaniards being driven to the sea-coast, the whole of the mountainous part of the country declared for the Republican cause. We then descended into the plains, and lay encamped not far from the banks of the Rio Mita,—one of the numerous streams which, having their source in the Andes, flow into the Orinoco. The region was wild in the extreme; the river made its way between lofty cliffs rising perpendicularly out of the stream, which rushed down in a succession of cataracts between them.

The troops were engaged in getting ready for the coming campaign, which, it was expected, would be a brilliant one; repairing saddles, polishing up their arms and appointments, and breaking-in fresh horses. I was fully occupied in my various duties; still, I was occasionally able to take my gun and go into the woods, with one or two companions, for a few hours. Neither the doctor nor the padre had yet made their appearance—possibly from not being able to find us—so I had not for long heard of my family, and was feeling somewhat anxious about them.

I had taken my gun, one day, and was making my way along the bank of the river, when I stopped to observe one of the curious nests hanging at the extreme end of a palm-branch. Its structure was very curious; and I observed that it had a small hole in the side, which served as a doorway to the owner, a black bird—with an orange-yellow tail—about the size of a dove. I watched one bringing food to his mate; who put out her beak to receive it, and then fed her nestlings within. These nests are equally secure from snakes or monkeys, as neither can descend the delicate boughs to which they are pendent—nor can, indeed, climb the smooth stems of the trees. Before me rose a perpendicular cliff, like a wall of cyclopean masonry, surmounted by trees and shrubs; all around hung from the wide-stretching boughs a rich tracery of sepos and creepers of all sorts; vast arums hung suspended in the air, and numberless gay-coloured flowers; while at my feet rushed, boiling and foaming, the rapid stream, amid rocks, against which the water broke in masses of spray.

It was a place where I could scarcely have believed it possible that any boat, however strongly-built, could have ventured to descend; yet, as I looked, I saw a canoe or pongo, guided by two natives with long poles—the one in the bow and the other in the stern—while in the centre sat composedly, amidst a cargo of cases, a passenger, with his gun placed before him ready for use. In this passenger, as the canoe shot by, I recognised my friend the doctor. I shouted and waved to him, and then pointed down the stream, to let him understand that I would hurry on to the nearest landing-place and meet him. He waved in return; but the roar of the waters prevented our voices being heard by each other.

In a moment he was out of sight, so I hastened on, in the hope of finding before long some calm water where the canoe could have ventured to put in to the shore. I went on and on, but the water was still rushing as furiously as at first. In vain did I look for the canoe; nothing could I see of her, and I began to fear that she had been dashed to pieces against some of the ugly dark rocks whose tops rose above the surface.

I had gone a mile or more, when I saw a person approaching, and soon afterwards the doctor and I were shaking hands.

“I have been a long time in coming,” he said; “but I could find no men to convey my chests to the river: and when, at length, I did find them, and reached the first navigable portion, no canoe was forthcoming. However, I was able at last to embark, having engaged two faithful fellows who promised to pilot me to the ocean, if I wished to go as far. So you see me here: and if General Bermudez is still willing to accept my services, I will remain with him.”

I replied that, as we were about to recommence operations against the enemy, I was sure that the general would be glad that he should remain. I then eagerly inquired about my family.

“They are living in a cottage hastily put up near your old house, which your father is engaged in rebuilding,” answered the doctor; “and I understand that your uncles are re-roofing and repairing Castle Concannan.”

I asked him if my father had received any intelligence from Don Fernando Serrano—whether his house had escaped an attack from Aqualonga.

“Yes,” he said. “The very day before I left, a messenger arrived from Don Fernando, bringing an invitation to the ladies of your family to stay with him while your house is rebuilding; and I believe it was accepted by your sister Norah, though your mother preferred remaining with the children in their present abode. The messenger told us that they had been greatly alarmed by the near approach of the bandit chief; but that, happily, he was encountered by some of the patriot troops and put to flight—though he is supposed to be still in arms in the mountains. Our friend Kanimapo has returned to his tribe, many of his people, influenced by Spanish emissaries, being in a state of insubordination.”

“I trust that Norah will have a good escort, if she undertakes the journey,” I observed. “I wish that I could have been at home to accompany her; for with these banditti still in arms on the one side, and the wild Indians on the other, she would run a greater risk than I should like her to be exposed to.”

The doctor laughed at what he called my brotherly anxiety, and remarked that the distance was but short; that my father would certainly send Tim, and probably Gerald, with two or three trustworthy, well-armed blacks to escort her.

On reaching the pongo, the doctor directed his men to remain where they were while he accompanied me to the camp. The general was pleased to see him, and at once sent a mule to bring back his portmanteau, medicine-chest, and surgical instruments; giving him a free pass for his men, with a letter to a store-keeper at Angostura, to whom he recommended him to confide his cases till he could despatch them to Europe.

Soon after this we were on the march, and were joined by other bodies of cavalry. I was gratified to see that none surpassed those of General Bermudez, however, either in their appointments, discipline, or the appearance of the horses and men.

General Bolivar was at Angostura with most of the infantry regiments of the Republic, with General Paez and other leaders of distinction; while the Spaniards held most of the towns on the northern coast. Our object was to harass the enemy in every possible way: to cut off their supplies of provisions; to attack their foraging-parties; and prevent them from communicating with each other. For this work our llañeros were specially suited.

It was wild work in which we were engaged. Sometimes, in the darkness of night, we discovered the enemy’s position by their camp-fires,—when, advancing at a slow pace, so that our horses’ hoofs might not be heard till we were close upon them, at a signal from our chief we dashed forward like a whirlwind, swooping down upon our sleeping foe; and before a man had time to seize his arms, we were in their midst, cutting down all we encountered, traversing the camp from end to end, and carrying off all the horses we could capture,—then galloping off to a distance, out of the reach of their musketry.

We now heard that the Spanish generals, Morillo and La Torre, had drawn off their forces from Caracas,—the first to Valencia, and the latter to Calabozo; leaving but a small garrison in the former city. No sooner did our active general receive this information, than he resolved to attempt the capture of the chief city of the province.

Our forces were at once put in motion. Each one carried his own provisions in his haversack, and forage of some sort was always to be obtained for our hardy steeds, so that we marched across the country with incredible rapidity. As the inhabitants of the district through which we passed were in our favour, no one gave information of our movements to the enemy; and in a few days we reached the neighbourhood of the beautiful city—just at nightfall. The greater part of the night was spent in recruiting our horses and ourselves; and before dawn we were again in the saddle, pushing on at a rapid rate towards our destination. We halted but for a few moments, to form our ranks, as the city appeared in sight. Then the order to advance was given; and almost before the garrison were aware of our approach, we were rushing through the gates. But little or no opposition was offered, for the Spanish troops threw down their arms and endeavoured to conceal themselves. Those who were discovered were, I am sorry to say, slain without mercy; and in a few minutes the city was ours.

Most of the inhabitants were in our favour, so that we had no difficulty in holding it till some infantry regiments arrived to relieve us and garrison the place.

General Bermudez then led us into the plains of Apure, where the Independent army was preparing to go in search of the Spanish forces.

On the march the general sent for me, and told me that he wished to send some important despatches to Bolivar, and asked if I would undertake to convey them. “There is some danger in the undertaking, for you will have to pass near places occupied by the Spaniards; but I trust to your courage and sagacity to avoid them,” he observed.

“I am ready to go wherever you desire to send me, general,” I answered.

“I knew that I could count on you,” he replied in a satisfied tone.

“When will the despatches be ready?” I asked.

“They are already written. Here they are!” he said, putting them into my hand.

I took them, and placed them in a leathern case slung over my back.

“I will lose no time in starting,” I remarked, as I left him.

On the way to my quarters I met the doctor, and told him where I was going.

“I wish I could accompany you,” he said; “for I have little or nothing to do among your fellows. They are so hardy that not one is sick in a month; and even the wounds they receive heal without my aid.”

“I should like your company, my dear doctor,” I replied; “but I doubt if your horse would carry you as fast as I must make mine go. And I would rather you remained behind, that you may inform my family as to what you suppose has become of me, should I not return.”

“Don’t talk of that, Harry,” he exclaimed. “You must take care not to be captured by those bloodthirsty Spaniards; for if you are, they will certainly put you to death.”

“You may depend on my doing my best to escape them,” I said, laughing—not that I had any fears on the subject.

I was quickly ready, and off I set, making my horse move over the ground as llañeros are wont to do when work is before them. I had not gone far, however, before I learned from the peasantry that there were numerous parties of Spaniards stationed in all directions, to cut off the supplies of the patriot army; and that the undertaking in which I was engaged was likely to prove far more dangerous than I had expected. Accordingly, I had to use the greatest caution—galloping on only at night, and concealing myself and my horse during the day in any clump of trees I could find, or in some recess of the mountains, except when the country appeared sufficiently open to enable me to put forth the powers of my steed, and trust to his speed for escape.

I had gone on for several leagues, and, believing that I had passed the last party of Spaniards, I was proceeding rather more leisurely than at first, along a zigzag path cut in the side of a mountain, with a steep precipice below me, when I saw a strong body of men posted on a height at some distance above me. To turn back was as full of risk as to push forward. I determined on the latter course, therefore; and digging the spurs into my horse’s flanks, I dashed at headlong speed along the road. I had already placed the Spaniards behind me, when they, suspecting that I was an enemy, opened fire, and their shot whizzed thickly about my ears. On I dashed; but a false step might have sent me and my horse into the abyss below, down which the stones clattered. Suddenly I heard a thud, such as a bullet produces when striking a substance; and feeling my gallant steed give a convulsive spring, I knew he was wounded. Still, he went on for nearly a hundred yards; then he began to stagger; and I had just time to clear my feet of the stirrups, and throw myself off his back, ere he rolled over into the rocky ravine. I did not stop a moment to see what became of him, but ran forward as fast as my legs could carry me; unslinging my despatch-case as I did so, and taking out the despatches, which I hid beneath my shirt. I then gave the case a whirl in the air, so that my pursuers might see it, and swung it from me into the ravine.

Having still some hopes of escaping, as it was possible my pursuers might attempt to secure the leathern case, and allow me time to distance them before they could discover that it was empty, I dashed on,—not even looking back to ascertain if they were following. At length I stopped; but what was my dismay, on taking a glance over my shoulder, to see that half-a-dozen of the most active of the party were pressing hard after me! Had the path continued down-hill, I should have succeeded in escaping; but, unhappily, I found that the only way I could follow led directly up the steep side of a mountain, where I must be exposed to the view of my pursuers. Could I, however, reach the top, so that I might once more have only to run down-hill, I might be safe; and I knew that I could climb up-hill faster than they could. I held on, therefore. Their object had probably been to take me alive, that they might obtain information from me as to the movements of the combatants; but seeing that I might escape them, they halted, and brought their muskets to their shoulders.

As I turned my head for an instant, I saw what they were about. Yet even then I did not despair, and on I bounded up the hill. The next moment I heard the bullets strike the ground round me, and at the same time felt a peculiar sensation in my leg, as if the cold end of a lance had entered it. I knew that I was hit, but that no bone or muscle worth speaking of had been injured. Though wounded, I felt capable of considerable exertion; and so, casting another look behind me, to ascertain what my enemies were about,—not dreaming of giving in,—I saw that they were reloading. Still, I might gain the top of the hill.

Once more the rattle of musketry sounded in my ears; and a very unpleasant sound it is, for the person at whom the balls are aimed. “A miss, however, is as good as a mile;” and though two or three bullets whistled close to my ears, and another went through the sleeve of my jacket, I was sure that I had escaped this second salvo.

The top of the hill appeared just above me, when I felt myself seized with faintness, against which I struggled in vain. I staggered for a few yards farther, and then sank on the ground. I must have lost consciousness; for the next moment, as it seemed to me, when I opened my eyes I saw my enemies standing round me.

“He is an Englishman,” I heard one of them say.

“We must not kill him now; he has made a brave attempt to escape,” remarked another.

“Young as he looks, he will probably know some thing our general would like to hear,” observed a third. “We must carry him with us.” And another, still more considerate, advised that my wound should be bound up, or I might bleed to death.

Thanking them for their good intentions, I produced a handkerchief, with which, the last speaker assisting me, I bound up my leg. Happily, the wound was not so serious as it might have been; for the bullet had passed through the flesh without cutting any considerable artery or blood-vessel, and gone out again—carrying with it the piece of cloth it had cut from my trousers.

The men, with more consideration than I should have expected from them, then lifted me up on their shoulders and conveyed me to the hut which had served as their guard-house. After I had been there some time an officer appeared, who asked if I was ready to give any information about the movements of the patriots; but I replied that I was merely the bearer of despatches—with the contents of which I was unacquainted—and that I had, as in duty bound, thrown away my despatch-case. I guessed, from various questions put to me, that it had not been discovered; which was, at all events, satisfactory, as they were less likely to suppose that I had the letters concealed about me. The officer then told me that, as I was strong enough to sit a mule, he would send me to General Morillo, who might possibly find means of eliciting information. I begged that I might remain a few days in quiet, to give my wound an opportunity of healing. He answered that I must consider myself fortunate in not being immediately put to death, as would have been the fate of most people; but that, as I had shown courage, and was an Englishman, he would give me a chance of saving my life and regaining my liberty: though he warned me that, should I refuse to give all the information I might possess, the general would shoot or hang me without scruple.

Of course I thanked the officer for his courtesy, and expressed my readiness to set out, and sit my mule as long as I could; not that I had the slightest intention of giving General Morillo any information, but I hoped, during the journey, to find some opportunity of escaping.

As Caracas was still held by the Republicans, I was to be taken, I found, to La Guayra, on the coast, and from thence sent to wherever the general happened to be. It occurred to me that by the time I could reach him, even should I tell him everything I knew it would be of little use, as the patriot leaders might by that time have completely changed their plans.

From an unusual oversight on their part, my captors had not thought of searching me, as they supposed all the letters I was carrying had been thrown away in the case. I determined, however, to destroy the despatches on the first opportunity.

I cannot attempt to describe my journey, for my wound pained me so much that I could think of little else. I was constantly on the watch for an opportunity of destroying the papers hidden in my bosom, and was now sorry that I had taken them out of the despatch-case. We sometimes slept in the open air; and my wound, as I lay on the hard ground, caused me so much pain that I could scarcely sleep. At other times we stopped at guard-houses, where I was devoured by fleas and other insects; for the men who escorted me were afraid of entering the villages, the inhabitants being generally favourable to the patriot cause. We of course kept at a distance from Caracas, but I heard from my guards that General Morales was marching from Valencia with a powerful force for the purpose of recapturing it; and on the very day that we reached La Guayra, I was further informed that he had entered the city and put the whole of the patriot garrison to the sword. “Such will be the fate,” added my informant in a triumphant tone, “of all who oppose our rightful sovereign, the King of Spain.” I thought it wise to make no reply to this remark.

Shortly afterwards we reached a strong castle, close to the sea,—to the governor of which I was delivered up. Though a Spaniard, he cast, I thought, a glance of commiseration at me; and he whispered to an officer in attendance—“Poor youth! he looks ill and weak. He has but a few days to live, I suspect.”

I had, indeed, suffered much from the pain of my wound and the fatigue of the journey; the food, also, with which I had been furnished, was insufficient and coarse. I was nevertheless placed in a dungeon, but I was supplied with a bed and bedding, and a chair and table, by the compassionate governor. There was also a small window, strongly barred, through which the fresh sea-breeze blew into my cell, so that I was better off than I had expected.

All this time I had never been searched, and had still the despatches about me. Better food than I had hitherto been able to obtain was brought to me; and had I not known that the fate of most prisoners captured as I had been was to be put to death, I should have been tolerably contented, in the hope of recovering, and of some day or other regaining my liberty.

Chapter Nine.

In prison—My jailer gives me unpleasant information—Sufferings from my wound—I ask for a surgeon—The doctor appears—Plan for escaping—The doctor again comes to me—The jailer informs me that I am to be strangled—Visited by a friar, who proves to be an old friend—Escape—Reach the “Flying Fish”—Joined by the doctor and padre—Voyage up the Orinoco—Land at Angostura—Proceed on in a canoe—Scenes on the river—Adventure with peccaries—Turtle-catching at night—Hunt for turtles’ eggs—Mode of obtaining oil from them—Alligators and vultures—Land and proceed to the camp.

In spite of the kindness I was receiving from the governor, I could not help recollecting that I might at any time be led out and shot, or be put to death in a more ignoble way. My wound, too, did not heal; and at last I tried to persuade the jailer to take a message to the governor, requesting that I might be attended by a surgeon. The man shrugged his shoulders,—observing that he believed no surgeons were to be found in the place, and, as far as he could judge, a father-confessor would be a more fitting visitor.

“You think, then, that I am about to die?” I asked.

“To tell you the truth, señor, I believe that if you don’t die of your wound, you will, very shortly, in some other way,” he replied, giving a sardonic grin. “General Morillo is expected here. He is sure to order a jail delivery, as we cannot take charge of more than a certain number of prisoners; and it is said that we shall soon have a fresh arrival of captured rebels.”

This information was not very consolatory; it made me doubly anxious to get well, that I might try to effect my escape, so I again pressed the jailer to obtain the favour I asked. He consented; and next day, when he visited my cell, he told me that the commandant had sent into the town to ascertain if a surgeon was to be found, and if so that he would be allowed to visit me. The jailer, however, again urged me to see a confessor, in case I should die. I did not say that I certainly should not confess to him if he came, but merely remarked that I would prefer having a surgeon; who might at all events let me know should he think my case hopeless—and if not, try to cure me.

Some days passed by; and my wound remained in the same state as before, causing me much suffering. At last, one forenoon the door opened, and instead of my jailer, whom I had expected, I saw a tall figure, with a cloak over his shoulders, and a slouched hat, standing in the doorway.

“Here is the surgeon come to do what he can for you,” said the jailer, who put his head in behind the stranger. “Take my advice, and as soon as he is gone let me bring the father-confessor to you.—He will be of most service in the end. Now, señor surgeon, you will not be long about it.”

“I may take half an hour, or possibly an hour,” answered the stranger, in execrably bad Spanish.

I knew the voice,—it was that of Doctor Stutterheim. I had difficulty in restraining myself from jumping up and shaking him by the hand; but I had sense enough to wait till the jailer had closed the door and retired.

“Why, Barry, my boy—Barry! it is you, then! I thought it must be, from the account I heard,” said the doctor in a low voice as he approached me.

“I am indeed Barry, my kind friend,” I exclaimed, stretching out my hand. “How did you manage to discover me?”

“Because I looked for you, Barry,” answered the doctor. “We heard at the camp that a young officer carrying despatches had been captured; and when, after a time, you did not turn up, I resolved to endeavour to find out where you were imprisoned. ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ and I soon ascertained in what direction you had gone. As it was not known that I had been with the patriots, I reassumed without difficulty my character of a travelling philosopher, and managed at length to reach this place. I at once gave out that I was ready to exercise my skill on any sick people who desired to recover from their maladies, of every sort and description; and as I demanded very small fees, I soon had numbers flocking to consult me. I made inquiries of all who came, and thus learned that a young Englishman, whom I knew must be you, was shut up in the castle. I was turning over in my mind various plans for getting access to you, when I heard that the commandant was inquiring for a surgeon. I presented myself before him, and from what he told me I had no longer any doubt that it was you he wished me to visit. He observed that I might try to heal your wound, though he believed that it was of little use, as you would probably be taken out and shot in a few days. I would not have told you this unless I had hoped, in the first place, to cure you, and then to enable you to escape—as I have determined in some way or other to do. Now let me examine your wound.”

The doctor at once set to work; but I need not describe his mode of operation. Though I at first suffered some pain, I ultimately felt more comfortable than I had done for a long time. He then gave me some medicines to strengthen me, and promised that he would obtain leave from the commandant to send me some better food, without which his remedies would be of little use.

While he was dressing my wound he talked over various plans by which I might effect my escape. “I believe, Barry, that a golden key will not answer. It may be dangerous to employ it. You must endeavour to get out there,” he said, pointing up to the window. “If one of those iron bars can be removed, you will have no difficulty in squeezing through. I can bring a file in my instrument-case the next time, as the cutting through those bars may prove a tedious business. But let me see! Your bedstead is of iron, and by wrenching off the side-rail you will have the means of working much more rapidly than with a file.”

“But how shall I reach the window?” I observed.

“Turn your bedstead up on end, and you will have a ladder well fitted for your object,” he replied. “You must begin to-night, for you may not have much time to lose. Replace it at daylight; and if you have not succeeded, go to work again directly the jailer has left you at night. You will find yourself, I hope, strong enough for that; and before I come again to-morrow, I hope to have made some arrangements to facilitate your escape after you have got out of prison. I will report unfavourably of your case, so that your guards may probably relax their watch over you, and not suspect you of endeavouring to escape.”

After we had had a little more conversation the jailer appeared, and inquired whether the doctor was ready to go.

“I should be glad to remain longer with my poor young patient,” he answered, shaking his head as he looked at me. “His is a desperate case; you ought to have sent for me two weeks ago.”

As may be supposed, I waited with anxiety till night came. Though I was still somewhat weak, as soon as the jailer had gone his last round I rose from my couch, and managed to break off a piece of iron, as the doctor had advised. I then placed the bedstead against the wall, in a position which enabled me to stand on it so that I could work at the bars. Next I looked out to ascertain where the sentries were posted, and was thankful to see that none were opposite my cell window. By working away into the masonry, I found that I could clear one of the bars out of its socket, both above and below. The particles of stone and mortar which I dug out, I carefully brushed off into my hand and placed on the ground where my bed stood. By morning, to my great joy, I found that the bar moved, and that it could be wrenched out without much difficulty.

As dawn broke I replaced my bedstead, hiding the place where I had broken out the piece of iron with the bedclothes. I then got in, and, overcome with my exertions, was soon asleep.

When the jailer appeared, he placed a small basket of provisions, in addition to the usual prison fare, on my table.

“I thought I was right,” he said, looking at me. “You are paler than yesterday. The doctor has done you no good. You had better let me send for a confessor. But, before long, he will be sure to come. Prisoners of your rank are never sent out of the world without a visit from him.”

“When he comes, I will do my best to satisfy him,” I answered, evasively; and the jailer, with a shake of the head, took his departure.

Later in the day the doctor appeared. “Your young prisoner requires a severe operation,” he observed, as he entered. “I won’t ask you to wait, as I can perform it alone; but you need not be in a hurry to return.”

Without looking to see whether the jailer had gone away, he approached me, and in a rough voice told me to show him my wound. He then dressed it as he had done before, and whispered,—“It is going on favourably; but we must not let the commandant know that. I have good and bad news to give you; good if you manage to make your escape, but otherwise bad. I yesterday met an old friend of yours, who commands a schooner which has come in here under English colours. Finding him a bold, dashing fellow, I told him that a young Englishman in whom I was interested was shut up in prison, and would very likely be put to death if not rescued. When I mentioned your name, he exclaimed,—‘I know him well! He came out with his uncle not long ago from England. I will run every risk to save the lad’s life. With my brave fellows we might take the castle by surprise, and, before the Spaniards could collect to oppose us, carry him off.’ I talked the matter over with Captain Longswill, and dissuaded him from following the plan he proposed, feeling sure that it would be much safer for you to try and effect your escape as before intended. Finally, the captain agreed to get a plan of the fort and surrounding ground, that you might be the better able to direct your course should you succeed in getting out of prison. The next day he brought it to me—and here it is;” and the doctor put a paper carefully folded up into my hand. “Study it well,” he added, as I unfolded it; “on the night that you may fix, a boat will be sent in to this point, where she can lie concealed among the rocks. If you can manage to drop from the ramparts on to the sand, you may make your way to the spot without much risk of being observed. Remark this place: the sea has thrown up a bank of sand which is very soft, and will assist to break your fall. Should you by any chance be recaptured, Captain Longswill will land with his crew and storm the fort, and attempt to set you free. I have given him a plan of the interior as far as I can make it out, so that he will know where to find you. Nil desperandum; keep up your courage, and all will go well. Perhaps, too, I may have an opportunity of giving a narcotic to some of your guards. Several of the fellows have come to me complaining of being sick, and I will be very liberal of my medicines,—depend on that.”

I thanked the doctor heartily for the interest he took in me, and told him that I was convinced it would be far better for me to try and escape secretly, than be the cause of bloodshed—as many lives would probably be sacrificed.

The doctor was at last obliged to summon the jailer to let him out. He shook his head as the man appeared.

“The poor young Englishman is in a bad way,” he whispered, pretending to wish that I should not hear what he said; “you should give him more food, to afford him a chance of recovering.”

“It matters very little,” answered the man; “a day or two hence it will probably be much the same to him whether he is well or ill.”

“It is my business to get him well,” observed the doctor; “after that, I have nothing more to say on the subject. If your general chooses to shoot or strangle him, that is no affair of mine—though I should be sorry to see so fine a youth put to death.”

Saying this, the doctor walked out, and the jailer closed the door behind him. I wished, after what I had heard, that I had arranged to try and escape that very night; and I determined that the next time the doctor came we should fix the time for making the attempt.

As soon as it was dark I set to work on the bar, and managed to get it completely out of its socket, so that I could move it in a moment without making any noise. I then put my bed to rights, and getting in, went to sleep.

So sound were my slumbers, I did not awake till I found the jailer leaning over me, and shaking me by the shoulders. I looked up, and asked him what was the matter.

“Only that I have come to tell you that you are to be put to death to-morrow—which is a very unpleasant announcement,” he answered. “However, the commandant, being a religious man, will send a padre to you, that you may confess to him, and prepare yourself for your inevitable fate.”

“Am I to be shot?” I asked, in a tone as full of alarm as I could assume.

“No,” he answered. “A new machine has just arrived from Spain, called a garotte. From what I hear, it is a very clever invention. You will only have to sit down in a chair which has a hollow in the back, and a piece of wood which is also hollowed out comes in front; then, by turning a large screw, the two are pressed together till the windpipe is stopped up. In consequence, you will cease to breathe; but do not be alarmed, you will find it very easy, if not agreeable. You will afterwards be cut up, and the portions of your body will be exposed in various parts of the town, to show our brave soldiers how traitors are treated; but that will be a matter of indifference to you, I suppose. I only mention it that you may give a full description to your friends of what is to happen, to whom I would advise you to write during the day. You will be furnished with paper and ink for the purpose. In the meantime, the padre will visit you, and you will be wise to make a clean breast to him.”

The man spoke with a sardonic grin on his countenance, which would have been very trying had I not fully expected to disappoint him. Leaving me an ample supply of provisions, he went away, chuckling at my fancied alarm.

As soon as he closed the door, I got up and made a capital breakfast, and then prepared to receive the padre whenever he should come. My chief fear was that the doctor might not be allowed again to visit me, and that I should lose the opportunity of fixing a time with Captain Longswill for making my escape. I did not wish to offend the padre; at the same time, I determined not to make a confession of any sort to him. He might prove a kind-hearted man; and if so, I would spend the time of his visit in trying to get him to intercede for me.

I had just finished my meal, when a friar with a cowl over his head entered the cell.

“I can give you half an hour, señor padre. That will be long enough to shrive the young Englishman,” observed the jailer, as he closed the door.

“You are in a bad case, my son, I fear,” said the monk as he approached me.

I knew the voice, though the cowl, in the gloom of the cell, prevented me from seeing my visitor’s features.

“What, Padre Pacheco!” I exclaimed. “My dear padre! how could you have risked your safety by coming here?”

“For your sake, Barry, I would go through much greater danger,” he answered. “I followed you to this place, being resolved to attempt your liberation; and I have heard all about you from our friend the doctor. It being reported that you and others are to be put to death to-morrow, on finding that he would not be allowed to visit you again I boldly came to the prison, letting the jailer suppose that the commandant had sent for me to shrive you. He at once admitted me; and here I am to tell you that your friend the English captain will send a boat in to-night at eleven o’clock, when all the garrison, with the exception of the guards, will be asleep. The doctor will come to visit his patients late in the day, and will then find out who is to be on guard, and will do his best to give them sleeping potions, so that you may boldly pass between them and scramble over the wall. I do not, therefore, consider that you will have to run any great risk.”

The padre talked on in a low voice. When I expressed my fears that he would compromise his own safety, he answered that as soon as he knew that I had escaped he intended to get away, if possible, on board the Flying Fish, and that he had engaged a boat to take him off. This much relieved my mind.

We were still conversing when we heard the jailer turn the key in the lock. On this the padre got up and went towards the door. “He has made as good a confession as I could have expected,” he observed to the jailer as he went out; “I hope, my friend, you will be as prepared to die, when your time comes, as he is.”

I was after this left alone for the greater part of the day; and towards evening the jailer brought me some more food. I was very thankful to see his back as he went out, and heartily trusted that I might never set eyes on him again.

I could only calculate the time by hearing the guards changed. At last, believing that it was nearly eleven o’clock, I prepared for my adventure. Putting up my bedstead as before, I climbed to the window, from which I noiselessly removed the bar; then getting outside, I replaced it, and dropped a height of ten feet or so into a sort of inner ditch. It was perfectly dry, and as the ground was hard I felt somewhat shaken; but recovering myself, I crawled along till I could mount the bank at a spot whence I could observe the sentries on either side. One, as he did not move, had, as I hoped, taken the doctor’s potion; but the other still walked backwards and forwards, evidently wide-awake. At last he sat down, and as I watched him I saw that he was overcome with drowsiness. I at once crept across the intervening space, and gained the top of the wall without being seen. Glancing downwards, the height appeared considerable; but hesitation might prove my destruction, so throwing myself over, I dropped a height of not much under thirty feet,—happily alighting on the soft sand which the doctor had told me of.

I had still some distance to run along the beach: on I went, hoping that the two sentries would not awake till I had gained the shelter of some rocks. I then stopped an instant to ascertain whether I was taking the right direction. There was sufficient light to enable me to discern the point where the boat was to meet me. No noises proceeded from the fort. I made my way among the rocks with caution, to avoid the risk of slipping down and hurting myself; and at length, to my infinite satisfaction, I heard Captain Longswill’s voice.

“All right, Barry,” he said; “we are here. Give me your hand, and I will show you the boat.”

Never did I more thankfully grasp a man’s hand; and in a few seconds I was seated in the stern-sheets of his boat, and we were pulling off for the Flying Fish, which lay in the offing.

I told the captain of my anxiety about the doctor and Padre Pacheco.

“They will be all right,” he answered; “I promised to burn a blue light as soon as you were safe on board, when they were immediately to shove off. It may puzzle the Spaniards somewhat to know what it means; but as they are not fond of turning out of their beds, we shall be away long before they come to look after us.”

The schooner was under way, standing on and off shore, when we got on board. We afterwards ran in closer, and, to my great joy, made out a boat pulling towards us, out of which presently stepped the doctor and the padre. The boat then pulled away; and we ran to the northward, so that we might be out of sight of land before the morning.

I asked the captain where he was going.

“I have received directions to proceed up the Orinoco to Angostura,” he answered. “As that city is in the hands of your friends, I conclude that you would wish to go there. If not, I will keep you on board and land you at Jamaica, or any other English island where you may desire to remain.”

“By all means let me go on shore at Angostura,” I said, “for I am as anxious as ever to help to drive the Spaniards out of the country.”

The doctor and the padre were greatly pleased when they found that the schooner was about to proceed up the Orinoco.

“I shall thus be able to recover my chests,” observed the former; “it would have broken my heart to leave them. I shall also, I hope, be able to remain till I see the patriotic cause triumphant, and you, Barry, settled happily at home. You make a very good soldier; but you are cut out for something better than shooting your fellow-creatures, and running the risk of being shot in return.”

“And I shall be able to get back to my people; and, I hope, have liberty to preach the gospel to them in quiet,” observed the padre.

We were soon out of the Caribbean Sea, when, the wind shifting to the north-east, we ran along the eastern shore of the beautiful island of Trinidad. The yellow water amid which we afterwards sailed showed us that we were off the mouth of the mighty Orinoco. The shores on both sides of the river were so low that we could see only the mangrove bushes rising out of the water, with tall trees farther off. Having taken a pilot on board, and the wind being from the eastward, we sailed rapidly up the stream, notwithstanding the strong current running against us. The river being in the hands of the patriots, who commanded it with strong flotillas of flecheras or gun-boats, we sailed on without molestation from the Spaniards, and at last, after a voyage of ten days or more, reached Angostura.

Hearing that General Bolivar had already left the place with his forces, and was marching towards the plains of Apure, my friends and I determined to follow him. Finding that we could perform two or three hundred miles or so of the distance by water, we engaged a canoe to take us up.

When bidding farewell to my friend Captain Longswill, he put a purse into my hand; observing,—“You are in want of funds, and you or your uncle can repay me some day if you have the opportunity. If not, you are welcome to the money; I have made a successful voyage, and can spare it.”

I thanked him much for his generosity, for I was unwilling to be indebted either to the doctor or the padre,—who would, however, I am sure, have been ready to help me. I was thus able to purchase a rifle and other weapons. The doctor had preserved his; and the padre supplied himself with arms at the same time.

We set off towards the middle of the day, and had thus made some progress before sunset. Our life was very similar to that which we led when coming up the Magdalena. We landed at night on the shore, where we built some huts for shelter, lighted a fire, cooked our provisions, and then lay down to rest.

I was on foot before my companions the next morning; and rambling, gun in hand, along the bank of a small stream which ran into the main river, was much struck with the calm beauty of the scene, so different from anything I had witnessed for many months. The vegetation was rich in the extreme,—creepers with gay colours hanging from all the branches, with graceful reed-like plants springing up at the water’s edge, while on the surface floated large green leaves,—on which I saw a long-footed jacana standing while engaged in fishing for her breakfast. The idea came across my mind, How much happier it would be to live amid scenes like this, instead of having to go back to the wild turmoil of the camp or engage in the heady fight; but while my country remained enslaved, it was my duty to risk life and limb, and to sacrifice everything else, to set her free,—so I quickly banished the thought, and hastened back to my friends.

Having breakfasted, we proceeded on our voyage. Our canoe was a curious craft: she was formed of a single vast trunk (hollowed out by fire and the axe), forty feet in length, and scarcely more than three in beam, with upper works added to her; and on the after part was a platform projecting over the sides, on which was erected a small low cabin or toldo. The deck, if I may so term it, was covered with jaguar-skins, on which we could stretch ourselves when we wished to escape from the heat of the sun. A dozen Indian rowers sat, two and two, in the fore part, with paddles three feet long in the form of spoons; and they kept very regular stroke by singing songs, which were of a somewhat sad and monotonous character.

Our craft was so crank that one of us could not venture to lean over on one side unless we gave notice to balance the boat by inclining on the other. Still we made very good progress, considering the current that was against us.

During the excessive heat of the day, we landed to allow the crew to take some rest. The doctor on these occasions bade me remark the silence which reigned over nature. The beasts of the forest had retired to the thickets; the birds had hidden themselves beneath the foliage of the trees. Yet when we ceased speaking our ears caught a dull vibration, a continual murmur,—the hum of insects filling all the lower strata of the air, while a confused noise issued from every bush, from the decayed trunks of the trees, from the clefts of the rocks, and from the ground undermined by lizards, crickets, millipedes, and other creatures. Myriads of insects were creeping upon the soil and fluttering round the plants parched by the heat of the sun,—showing us by their countless voices that all nature was breathing, and that under a thousand different forms life was diffused throughout the cracked and dusty soil, as well as in the bosom of the waters and in the air circulating round us.

We landed one night on a sand-bank, when, finding no tree, we stuck some long poles in the ground, to which we fastened our hammocks, with blazing fires around. It was a beautiful moonlight night, calm and serene. We observed numerous alligators with their heads above the surface; others were stretched along the opposite shore, with their eyes turned towards the fire, which seemed to attract them as it does fish and other inhabitants of the water.

The first part of the evening passed away quietly enough, but an hour before midnight so terrific a noise arose in the neighbouring forest that we in vain tried to sleep. It appeared as if all the wild beasts of the continent had collected together in an endeavour to out-howl each other. We could not distinguish one from the other; but the Indians, by listening attentively, caught the voices of those which sounded for an instant at intervals while the rest ceased. Among the strange cries were those of the sapajous, the moans of the alouati monkeys, the howlings of jaguars and pumas, the shrieks and grunts of peccaries, the calls of the curassow, the paraka, and other fowls. Jumbo added his voice to the turmoil, barking furiously; but suddenly he ceased; then again began to howl, and tried to jump into his master’s hammock.

“He knows that a jaguar is approaching,” observed the doctor. “I only hope that the brute will show his ugly nose here.”

“Take care that he does not leap into your hammock,” I remarked.

“Not while I keep my weather-eye open,” observed the doctor.

As a precautionary measure, however, the doctor got out of his hammock and piled wood on all the fires. These, I suppose, kept the jaguars from actually attacking us; but the next morning we found the traces of several which had come down to the river to drink.

Continuing our voyage, the men, after having paddled against a strong current, begged for a noonday rest, which we were compelled to allow them. The forest appeared tolerably open, so the doctor proposed that we should take our guns and shoot any animals we might come across. The padre, he, and I accordingly landed; and observing that the ground rose to some height inland, we pushed forward in that direction. In addition to my gun, I had armed myself with a long spear,—a useful weapon under most circumstances in that region, although it could not be employed to much effect in a thick forest.

We shot a paca and several birds, and had got some way up the hill, which was densely covered with trees to the summit, when the doctor suggested that it was time to return.

“Gladly, my friends,” answered the padre; “hill-climbing does not quite suit me, unless on the back of a stout mule; and I am, besides, very hungry. I hope our people will have prepared dinner for us. Hark! what is that noise?”

We listened, and could distinguish a confused sound of grunting and squeaking coming from a distance amid the trees.

“Pigs, I suspect,” observed the padre. “We may shoot one or two, and they will prove a welcome addition to our larder.”

“Pigs they certainly are; but of a species which I have no wish to encounter unless I am safe out of their reach,” exclaimed the doctor. “My friends, it is no joke; if they once get up to us, we are as good as dead men. They are peccaries,—terrible little brutes, with tusks as sharp as lancets, savage as jaguars, and too stupid to know fear. Were we to shoot down half-a-dozen of them, the rest would come on as fiercely as at first. Here, señor padre, let me hoist you up into the fork of this tree. Don’t hesitate, as you value your life.”

Saying this, the doctor seized the padre round the legs, and together we lifted him up till his hands could reach a branch, when by further efforts we enabled him to seat himself safely in the tree.

We were going to follow, when the doctor remarked that it would be as well to divide our foes; and observing another tree at a little distance, he ran towards it, when, giving such a spring as I scarcely believed him capable of, he caught hold of a branch and hoisted himself up.

“Quick, quick, Barry!” he cried out, stooping down and giving me his hand.

Turning one glance over my shoulder, there I saw a herd of apparently harmless little pigs tearing through the forest, as if possessed by some uncontrollable impulse. I had barely time to get my feet off the ground, with the doctor’s help, when a dozen or more, aiming at my legs, dashed their snouts against the trunk of the tree; and others, turning round, began leaping up at me, uttering all the time the most fearful grunts and squeaks, indicative of savage rage. As they did so they opened their jaws, exhibiting the sharp, terrible little tusks of which the doctor had spoken. The herd now divided; some, having espied or smelled out the padre, surrounded the tree in which he had taken refuge, while others endeavoured to reach us. Having my lance, which had assisted me in getting on to the branch, I darted it down and transfixed one of the fierce little monsters; but this produced not the slightest effect on the rest, even though the doctor fired and killed another. The padre, meantime, was blazing away, at each shot bringing down one of the peccaries besieging him; but the rest continued as furious as before the fall of their companions. There were a hundred or more, but as they kept rushing about it was difficult to count them. It was also clear that, unless we could manage to kill every one of them, it would be unsafe for us to descend from our perches. The question was, whether our powder and shot would last out the siege. That I might husband mine, I made good use of my lance, and was thankful that I had brought it.

“How are you getting on, señor padre?” shouted the doctor.

“I have killed a dozen; and I should be glad if I could get a few slices off one of them roasted, and handed up to me, for the exercise and excitement have increased my hunger wonderfully,” answered the padre; and he again fired, and sent a peccary rolling over on its back.

It appeared, after all, that though he had killed so many, the furious herd was as numerous as ever. The matter was growing serious; our boatmen would not know what had become of us, and might possibly take it into their heads that we had been attacked and killed by Indians, jaguars, or snakes, and might return to Angostura and leave us to our fate. We had no great confidence in them, though they behaved well enough when we were present to keep them in order. The doctor’s and the padre’s ammunition was already running short, too; though I, having used my lance, had a larger supply. I calculated that I had what would kill twenty peccaries; but still there would remain several dozens to be disposed of. At last the doctor told me he had only a couple of charges left; and shouting to the padre, we ascertained that he had the same number. It would not do to expend these, as on our way back we might have to defend ourselves against other wild beasts.

The doctor now took my lance, which he used with pretty good effect, piercing five or six more of our enemies. He had pinned another to the ground through the side, but in its struggles it snapped off the head of the lance, and we had now only the charges which I had reserved for the destruction of some of the remainder. Each time I fired I killed a peccary; but we calculated that when I had fired the last shot I could venture on, there would still remain upwards of forty of our fierce little assailants—a number sufficient to kill every one of us, should we descend to the ground.

We sat still for some minutes, considering what was best to be done. Hunger, independent of the wish to continue our voyage, made us anxious to get down; but the doctor warned the padre and me on no account to make the attempt.

“I would sooner face a couple of jaguars than those little brutes,” he observed.

We were seated on our perches, disconsolate enough, it may be supposed, when we heard a sound of cracking boughs, as if some creature was making its way through the underwood, and presently we caught sight of a large tapir with a jaguar on its back, dashing at headlong speed through the forest. It attracted the attention of the peccaries, and they, for the moment forgetting us, darted off in pursuit, possibly with the hope of making both animals their prey.

“Now’s our time,” cried the doctor; “come, señor padre, descend from your tree—quick!—quick!—and we’ll make our way to the canoe.”

The padre eagerly obeyed the summons; and came rolling, rather than leaping, down to the ground, nearly dislocating his ankle. We each of us took hold of his hands, and together, in spite of the pain he was suffering, ran through the forest. As we did so, I looked back pretty often to ascertain whether the terrible little monsters were following us.

The padre begged us at last to stop, that he might recover breath and rub his ankle. As we rested, he fancied that he again heard the grunts and squeaks, and urged us to go on. We willingly obeyed him, and continued our night till we saw the broad river close in front of us. We shouted to our crew, but neither they nor the canoe were to be seen.

“The fellows can’t have put off already,” exclaimed the doctor; “they deserve hanging or shooting if they have.”

“Perhaps they are hidden by the bank,” observed the padre; “come on. I still hear those horrible grunts in the distance; I shall never get the sound out of my ears as long as I live.”

Presently we saw a hat rising above the bank; it was that of our captain. Another and another appeared. The fellows had been fast asleep, and had not discovered now quickly the time had gone by. When they heard of our encounter, they congratulated us, assuring us that they had known of numbers of people being killed by herds of peccaries; and they asserted that the creatures will attack and destroy a jaguar, though many of the herd may first lose their lives in the battle. Our men, on hearing of the peccaries we had killed, were eager to obtain some of the flesh, and coolly asked us to go with them, that we might defend them. This we declined doing, for even a dozen men would have been no match for the remainder of the herd, should we encounter them. Our fellows looked very sulky at our refusal, though they were afraid to go alone; so we ordered them to shove off, and proceeded on our voyage, leaving the slain peccaries to become the food of jaguars and pumas, or armadilloes and vultures,—which, before the nest day’s sun arose, would devour the whole of them.

Some days after this we reached a long, low sand-bank, which the falling waters had left dry. We were about to pass close to it, when a voice from the shore hailed us to “keep off in the middle of the stream;” and on looking in the direction from whence it came, we perceived a large encampment of Indians, and in the midst of them recognised a Franciscan monk.

To recompense our crew for the loss of the peccaries, we agreed to land, in the hope of obtaining some fresh provisions. Padre Pacheco told us not to mention who he was; and certainly no one could have discovered him by his dress.

On landing we were welcomed by the friar, who introduced himself as Padre Bobo. He had come with his people, from some place in the interior, to the harvest of eggs. The turtles, he said, had already begun laying them; and his people proposed digging them up the following morning, when they would supply us with as many as we required. We accordingly agreed to remain till then.

The padre seemed a jovial old gentleman, though he complained of his solitary life. He had got his Indians under tolerable subjection, but he appeared to me to have advanced them very slightly in the scale of civilisation; while their religion consisted chiefly in crossing themselves, and bowing to the crucifix which he held up when he performed mass. However, as Padre Pacheco observed, they had given up some of their worst customs, and that was something.

Padre Bobo gave us much information about the habits of these turtles. They invariably lay their eggs during the night. In the evening they may be seen with their heads above water, eager for the moment of the sun’s setting; then, directly it is dark, they land and commence operations. The animal first digs a hole, three feet in diameter and four in depth, with its hind feet, which are very long, and furnished with crooked claws. So anxious is it to lay its eggs that it often descends into a hole that has been dug by another, still uncovered with sand, where it deposits a new layer of eggs on that which has been recently laid. Numbers of eggs are thus broken. All night long they continue working on the beach, and daylight often surprises many of them before the laying of their eggs is terminated. They now labour with double eagerness, having not only to deposit their eggs, but to close the holes they have dug, that they may not be perceived by the jaguars which are sure to be waiting in the neighbourhood; and many on these occasions are captured.

The padre gave us an ample supper, consisting of turtle dressed in a variety of ways, and several wild fruits, washed down with some of the doctor’s aguadiente, which had been brought up from the canoe. He then produced a bundle of tobacco, with some long pipes, for those who smoked; after which he brought out an exceedingly greasy pack of cards, and invited us to join him in a game, observing that he was rarely visited by white gentlemen with whom he could enjoy that pleasure. As I nearly fell asleep during the game, I have not the slightest recollection of what it was; indeed, having a dislike to cards, I was utterly ignorant how the game was played.

We then turned into our hammocks, slung between the trees, and slept soundly without fear of interruption; for the Indians kept unusually quiet lest they should alarm the turtles, while they were also on the watch to guard against a surprise from jaguars.

At daybreak the next morning we went out with Padre Bobo and his chief man, who carried a long pole with which to search for the eggs. Digging it into the sand as he went along, he discovered each nest by finding no opposition to the pole as he struck it downwards, generally to about the depth of three or four feet. The Indians then followed, and, removing the sand with their hands, placed the eggs they collected in small baskets, in which they carried them to their encampment, and threw them into long wooden troughs filled with water. In these troughs the eggs, broken and stirred with shovels, remained exposed to the sun till the oily part rose to the surface. As fast as this oil collected, it was skimmed off and boiled over a quick fire.

The Indians called it turtle butter; and the padre told us that it keeps better than olive or any other oil. When well prepared, it is limpid, inodorous, and almost white; and can then be used not only for burning in lamps, but also for cooking.

Notwithstanding the vast quantity of eggs laid, in consequence of the persecution to which the poor turtles are exposed, their numbers have decreased of late years. The jaguars are their most inveterate enemies, next to man; they pounce upon them, and turn one after the other on their backs, so that they may afterwards devour them at their ease. From the suppleness of the jaguar’s paw, it is able to remove the double armour of the creature, and to scrape out the flesh with the greatest neatness. It will even pursue the turtle into the water when not very deep. It also digs up its eggs; and, together with the alligator, the heron, and the gallinazo vulture, captures large numbers of the little turtles recently hatched.

Our crew half-filled the boat with small live turtles, and eggs dried in the sun.

The alligators, which are among the principal persecutors of the turtles, find their own young attacked by vultures. Unlike the turtle, however, the savage little creatures attempt to defend themselves, and as soon as they perceive their enemy they raise themselves on their fore paws, bend their backs, and lift up their heads; opening their wide jaws, they turn continually, though slowly, towards their assailant, to show him their teeth, which, even when the animal has but recently issued from the egg, are very long and sharp. Often, while the attention of a small alligator is engaged by one of the vultures, another pounces down, grasps it by the neck, and bears it off to his eyrie.

We at length reached the mouth of the Apure, and having happily escaped an overturn of our crank craft, we landed at a large village. Here obtaining horses, we pushed forward towards the camp of the Republicans, where I hoped to rejoin my brave commander, General Bermudez.

Chapter Ten.

Journey to the camp—Sleep at a cattle-farm—Obtain a guide—Mode of catching electric eels—Reach the camp—Our life in camp—Carne con Cuero—The doctor and the wild boar—Alarming news about Norah—March on Carabobo—Intelligence from Norah—Important information given by the messenger—The defile cleared—We pass through it—Battle of Carabobo—The padre does his part—Horrible slaughter—Gallantry of a Spanish officer—Death of Colonel Acosta—Glorious result of the battle—We set off in search of Norah—Meet her attended by Kanimapo—Fierce skirmish—Aqualonga captured—Norah’s adventures—Continue our march to Don Fernando’s—Another adventure—Meet with our friends—Arrival—Grief for the death of Colonel Acosta—Aqualonga shot—Further campaigning—Return—Friendly meeting with Kanimapo’s tribe—Happy marriages—Conclusion.

After passing through a thickly-wooded region bordering the banks of the river, we emerged on an open country, the celebrated llaños of Venezuela, which extended far away beyond human ken. As the best part of the day was spent, we agreed that it would be folly to attempt pushing forward without a guide; so, as a hato, or cattle-farm, was seen in the distance, we resolved to ride towards it for the purpose of obtaining one.

With the exception of the rich grass which covered the surface of the ground, the only vegetation visible consisted of a few clumps of palm-trees, with fan-like leaves, scattered here and there over the wide expanse. The farm-buildings consisted of palm-thatched huts surrounded by a fence of palm-trunks, beyond which were the corrals or cattle enclosures. Countless herds dotted the plain, even to the horizon.

On reaching the gate, the overseer, a fine-looking elderly negro, came out and inquired our business. On hearing who we were he invited us in, promising to supply all our wants. He had not much to offer in the way of accommodation, but such as it was he gladly put it at our disposal. Such luxuries as beds did not exist, but a long table and benches and chairs were found in the principal hut; also an ample supply of beef, which an old negress immediately began to prepare for us. Suffice it to say that we had a substantial supper, and could sleep secure from the attacks of foes.

The next morning, our breakfast having been a repetition of the evening meal, we prepared to start, the overseer having selected a trusty llañero as our guide. It was difficult to say to what race he belonged. He called himself a white, but his complexion and features betokened Indian and African progenitors. He was a fine, athletic-looking fellow, lithe yet muscular, and evidently capable of enduring continued and violent exercise without fatigue. A broad-brimmed hat, a shirt and trousers, and a coloured poncho over his shoulders, completed his attire; his weapons being a long lance and a large-mouthed blunderbuss. Of his steed, which he had caught and broken-in himself, he was excessively proud; and he boasted that, mounted on its back, there was not a bull on the plains, however fierce, which he could not overtake and capture with his lasso. He would conduct us without fail to the camp, though streams and marshes intervened, over a wide extent of the llaños.

We set off, therefore, without anxiety, either keeping alongside our guide or following close at his heels; now galloping along the borders of a marsh, now plunging through places where I should have expected to be smothered, had I not trusted to his experience to lead the way. I am afraid to say how many miles we covered without pulling rein. Our hardy steeds requiring no food till the end of the day’s journey, we only stopped for a few minutes by the side of a pool to allow them to drink, and then went on again.

Towards nightfall we arrived at another farm, very similar to the one we had left. The padre complained much of the fatigue of riding at a rate to which he had been so long unaccustomed. Even the doctor declared that he had no wish to travel the same distance another day. Our guide laughed at their complaints, observing that they were welcome to rest as long as they liked. He looked with more respect at me, as I had endured the fatigue better than my companions.

During the evening he told me that some of the men at the farm were going out next morning to catch fish; and, should I wish it, I might accompany them, as they would return before the time we had fixed for setting out. I gladly accepted the offer; as did the doctor, who was curious to see the mode of fishing adopted by those sons of the desert.

We accordingly rode forth, with our llañero, Pablo, as guide—the servants having set out some time before. We overtook them just as they had arrived at a large pond—or lake, rather—surrounded by reeds, with a few trees scattered here and there in the neighbourhood. They had driven before them a small herd of horses and mules, many of which appeared to be broken-down animals, such as I should not have supposed were to be found on the llaños. As we approached the pond, we saw several heads, resembling those of large serpents, just lifted above the surface; and now and then I caught sight of a huge, thick-bodied, snake-like creature gliding through the water, seven or eight feet in length.

“What are they?” I asked of Pablo.

“The fish we are going to catch,” he answered.

“Fish, my friend, they really are,” observed the doctor, “though known as gymnoti, or electric eels; and truly glad I am that I came to see them caught.”

The men were armed with harpoons and long slender rods. They now collected the horses and mules, and with loud shouts drove them into the lake. The combined effect of the horses’ hoofs and the men’s shrieks was, that numbers of the hideous-looking gymnoti issued from the mud in which they lay hid and came to the surface of the water, when they simultaneously made a dash at the unfortunate animals swimming and floundering about. The scene was a most extraordinary one. Several of the horses, being struck by these electric eels, succumbed to the violence of the invisible strokes which they were receiving from all sides, and disappeared beneath the water; others, with manes erect and eyeballs wild with pain, strove to escape from their enemies, but were driven back again by the Indians with their long rods; while several of the gymnoti, approaching the shore, were harpooned and dragged to land. The livid, yellow eels, like great water-snakes, swam after the unfortunate horses which were attempting to make their way to the opposite shore. But in a short time I observed that the animals appeared less alarmed; they no longer erected their manes, while their eyes expressed less pain and terror. The eels, at the same time, instead of following them, swam slowly towards the shore, when they, like those first caught, were harpooned, and, by a line fastened to the weapon, jerked on to the bank.

The doctor observed that they had lost much of their electric force; also, that the natives took care that the lines should not get wet. I wished to try my hand in catching one of the creatures, but they warned me that should I allow the line to touch the water, I would feel a shock which would well-nigh knock me down.

The doctor then invited some of the men to join hands, which he and I did with several of them; then touching one of the eels with the point of his long knife, a shock passed through the whole of us, which made the natives jump and shriek out—one or two of them falling to the ground, overcome with astonishment at the unexpected sensation rather than by the force of the shock.

Hideous as the creatures are, the natives declared that they were very good for food, and a number of them were packed up and carried back to the farm.

So powerful is the electric force possessed by the eels, that several of the horses were killed immediately; and our companions assured us that the strongest man, if struck by one of them when crossing a river, would become so benumbed that he would certainly lose his life.

The doctor told me how the employment of their electric powers is spontaneous; and this exhausts the nervous energy, so that they need repose and an abundance of nourishment before a fresh accumulation of electricity is produced. These curious creatures have the power of making holes for themselves in the marshes and mud of watercourses which remain filled with moisture during the rainy season; and they are thus able to support existence in their usual localities until the return of rain, when they come forth and prey upon all living animals within their reach.

It took us several days after this to reach the camp. I was warmly greeted by my gallant chief, who heartily congratulated me on having escaped the dangers to which I had been exposed. My companions, also, had a kindly welcome.

“Though we have been inactive for some time, we shall soon have work for all of you,” he remarked, laughing: “you, Barry, to take a part in the fighting; you, señor doctor, to attend the wounded; and you, señor padre, to shrive the dying. Each man to his trade,—though, to confess the truth, I shall be very glad when our part of the business is over, and we have driven the Gothos into the sea. That, I feel confident, will be before long.”

I had received no intelligence from my family since the doctor joined me, and I was becoming very anxious to hear from them. At that time, it will be remembered, Norah was setting out to visit our relative Don Fernando; so I eagerly sought out my cousin, Don Carlos, fully expecting that he would have heard of her arrival. Greatly to my disappointment, he told me that one letter alone had reached him,—in which it was mentioned that Norah was expected, but that some time had passed since they hoped to see her, and that she had not arrived.

On talking over the matter and comparing notes, we both became greatly alarmed for her safety. I was sure, from what the doctor had told me, that she fully intended to go at the time he spoke of, and ought to have arrived before the date of this letter. Don Carlos told me that on one important account his family hoped that Norah would not have set out: the Guahibos (gained over, as they believed, by Spanish emissaries) had become more than ever threatening in their conduct. Their chief and some of the principal men, who were supposed to be friendly to the patriots, were absent, and the rest were thus left to their own devices. They were not likely to make any hostile movement without their regular leaders; but should these return and prove unable to restrain them, or be themselves gained over by the Spaniards, serious consequences, might ensue.

Had we not expected shortly to encounter the enemy, we would both have obtained leave to return home and ascertain the truth; but under the circumstances this was impossible, and we had, therefore, to restrain our impatience and hope for the best. Don Carlos became very unhappy, and a high sense of duty alone prevented him from asking permission to quit the army for a short period. We in vain endeavoured to find a trusty messenger who would convey letters to our friends and return with an answer; those we sent by the couriers—who had a circuitous route to take—might not reach their destination for a long time, and answers would be equally tardy in their transit.

As it was not in my nature to look on the dark side of things, I quickly recovered my spirits, trusting that all would turn out right.

When I told the padre what we had heard, he promised that on his return home he would visit the Guahibos and try to win them over. “I have before paid them a visit, when they received me in a friendly way,” he observed. “I know how to treat them; and though they are still heathens, they look upon me with respect, and may listen to what I say, however little inclined they are to renounce their idolatrous practices.”

I might give a graphic description of our life in the camp. Our time, however, was too much taken up with amusements,—the discipline and organisation of the troops being but little attended to. We had shooting and hunting excursions nearly every day. If we could not obtain smaller game, the llañeros with their lassos or bolas quickly captured as many head of cattle as they required. The chase of a wild bull afforded, indeed, excellent sport, though it was not without its dangers, for the savage animal, irritated by its pursuers, would often turn and attempt to gore them with its horns. These, however, the llañeros dexterously avoided; and throwing the lasso over the animal’s head, brought it with a violent jerk to the ground, when a thrust of the lance quickly finished its career.

To give an idea of the rough style in which we lived, I may describe the mode of cooking the beef thus killed. A joint was selected, which may be termed the saddle—it being formed of the two rumps, which are never divided. The hide was not stripped off, but the hair was singed by the application of a burning brand, which rendered the skin hard and nearly impenetrable. Several of these joints were placed in a large hole dug in the ground, about five feet deep, and of a length and breadth in proportion to the quantity of meat to be dressed. The inside of the hole having been previously lined with flat stones, and a brisk fire maintained in it till it had become sufficiently hot, the ashes were then raked out, and the meat was placed, with the hide downwards, on sticks fastened from side to side horizontally; and the hole being covered over with large stones to exclude the air, it was thus baked. The hide was drawn by the heat from the centre of the meat, but the sides being bent up, the juices were preserved, and the use of dishes rendered unnecessary. Joints thus prepared are termed “carne con cuero.”

Another dish on which we regaled ourselves was a sheep or goat with the skin left on,—as in the way I have described,—and with the inside filled with turkeys, fowls, ducks, wild geese, pieces of pork, plantains, yams, calvanasses, cassava, bread powdered, boiled maize, oranges, lemons, and such other ingredients as could be obtained; the whole being cut up into small pieces, and duly seasoned. The animal thus stuffed is skewered together, and baked in the same manner as the beef.

When the cook considered that the viands were sufficiently dressed, a trumpeter proclaimed the important fact to the officers, who immediately ranged themselves in a ring to enjoy the repast. One of the men, acting as waiter, used to stick his lance into the meat, and thus conveyed it to our chief, who helped himself; after which it went the rounds, on the point of the lance, to the rest of us.

The doctor’s office was a sinecure so long as no fighting was going forward, as the hardy llañeros were seldom sick, or preferred their own remedies to those he could administer. He accordingly generally joined in our hunting expeditions. I can fancy I see him now—a large handkerchief bound round his hat and fluttering in the breeze—as, lance in hand, he one day came on a herd of wild hogs, and set off after them with a shout which had often echoed in his younger days amid the forests of his fatherland. The animal he had singled out took to flight, and showing good bottom, led him a long chase amid the tangled brushwood; till, finding that running would not avail it, the creature turned at bay, and with its sharp tusks made a rush at the legs of the doctor’s steed. The animal at that moment gave an unexpected hound, and the doctor was thrown ignominiously to the ground,—happily, on the opposite side to that on which stood the enraged boar.

We saw the accident, but were too far off to render him assistance before the boar could reach him. Springing up, however, and shortening his lance, of which he had not let go, he stood ready to receive the savage animal; and loud shouts of applause burst from the throats of our men as he was seen to plunge his spear into the body of the boar.

“Carne con cuero!” he shouted out; “we’ll have this fellow baked in his skin, and I’ll eat him in revenge for the fall he has given me.”

The doctor’s steed being caught, he remounted; and the llañeros carrying the hog in front of him, with several others which had been killed, we returned to the camp. It was one of the last days we spent there.

On arriving at the camp Don Carlos met me, and I saw by his countenance that he was much agitated. He put into my hand a letter from my father.

“It will give you terrible news, I fear,” he said, “as mine did to me. Your sister never reached our house, though she undoubtedly left her home about the time you expected she would do. Don Fernando, after waiting for some time and not seeing her, sent to your father to ascertain if she was coming, and received the intelligence that she had already set off! It was at first hoped that she might have gone to Castle Concannan; but though she called there to pay a visit to our aunts, she again left it; and after that no traces of her or her attendants could be discovered. Oh, what can have happened to her? Cannot you suggest anything to relieve the anguish of my mind?”

“I will see what my father says,” I answered; but, alas! his letter only confirmed the account Don Carlos had given me.

We then told my elder cousin of the alarming intelligence we had received; but he could afford no hope: broken-hearted himself, he could only fancy that some dreadful fate had overtaken my young sister.

We had no time, however, to dwell on our anxiety, for news was received that the Spanish generals Morales and La Torre had concentrated their forces on the plains of Carabobo; and in a council of war it was decided that they should be immediately followed and attacked. Marching at a speed which hardy troops such as ours alone could have accomplished, late at night we reached the foot of a range of hills lying between us and the Spanish army—which amounted to above seven thousand men, while our forces numbered little more than five thousand. We had a British legion, commanded by the gallant Colonel McIntosh; and our llañeros, we flattered ourselves, counted for something.

The intervening ground consisted of rocky hills, densely covered with trees, through which one narrow path alone was known as leading to the plains of Carabobo. The enemy having obtained notice of our approach, had, our spies informed us, so placed their artillery as completely to command it.

I was seated in the evening round the camp-fire, with Don Carlos, his brother, the doctor, the padre, and several of my brother-officers, when I saw an Indian approaching. At first I thought he was one of those who had accompanied the army as guides across the plain, but as he made his way directly up to me I recognised him by his appearance as belonging to the tribe of our friend Kanimapo.

“I would speak to you, Señor Barry,” he said—“for I know you, though you may not recollect me. I bring you a written message; here it is;” and he put a paper into my hand.

Kneeling down, I read it eagerly by the light of the fire. It was written hurriedly, in pencil, and signed “Norah.”

“I have been captured by Aqualonga’s band, and he himself is with them; I have twice seen him, though he has not visited me. I am treated with respect, but compelled to travel wherever they go. Their object is, I believe, to obtain a ransom. I asked them to send to my father; they replied that Señor Desmond was ruined, and could not pay the sum they require. I suspect, therefore, that they intend to deliver me up to the Spaniards. They will hold me as a hostage for you and Carlos, whom they know to be serving with the patriots. You will, I am sure, try and arrange some plan to rescue me. The bearer, who is attached to his chief, will inform him how I am situated; and he also will endeavour, I think, to help me. Aqualonga is marching to join the Spaniards; and, from the intelligence I can gain, I believe that we are not far off from where you are. Whatever plan you propose should be carried out speedily. Consult Carlos.”

I instantly called my cousin aside and read the contents to him. On hearing the message, he was even more agitated and anxious than I had been. We then called up the Indian and questioned him. He had found his chief, he said, and faithfully delivered the message entrusted to him. Kanimapo had, he added, bidden him hasten on to me, saying that he himself would risk everything to rescue my sister.

“This will make me doubly anxious to defeat the Spaniards,” observed Don Carlos, after he had somewhat recovered from the agitation into which this intelligence had thrown him.

We both promised the Indian a reward for his faithfulness in delivering the message.

“I require none,” he answered; “my desire is to obey the wishes of my chief.”

He then inquired whether we expected soon to be engaged with the enemy, of whose position he was well aware.

“Why do you wish to know?” I asked.

“Because I am acquainted with a defile through these hills, of which, perhaps, your leaders are ignorant,” he replied. “It is thickly overgrown with brushwood and trees, so as to be completely concealed from view; but if these impediments were cleared away, you might descend suddenly on the enemy and take them by surprise. It was here that my people once fought a fierce battle with the Castilians; and though ages have since passed away, the memory of it still survives among us.”

Carlos and I were fully satisfied, after further conversation with the Indian, that the account he gave us was correct,—the more so as he undertook to lead us to the entrance of the defile. We at once set off, therefore, discussing as we went plans for rescuing Norah, in case Kanimapo should not have succeeded in doing so. But even for her sake we could not leave the army till the battle was over; and, indeed, it would have been impossible to obtain men to accompany us.

Quitting the camp, the Indian led us some way to the right of our position, along the foot of the wooded hill; after which he struck off directly towards it. Instead of having steep rocks to climb, as would have been the case in every other part except the before-mentioned passage, we ascended a gentle slope, and then continued over tolerably level ground till we found ourselves on the top of another slope reaching down to the plain below. From the position we had gained, we could distinguish between the trees the camp-fires of the Spanish army extending for a considerable way to our left.

We at once saw the importance of this pass, and hastened back to General Bermudez with the information we had obtained. He had lain down to sleep, but on hearing what we had to say he hurried with us to General Bolivar. The commander-in-chief, after complimenting us on the intelligence we had displayed, immediately issued orders for a party of his men, with their machetes and axes, to proceed into the defile and clear it of wood, so as to allow of the passage of cavalry. They were thus employed during the whole of the night, under the command of a gallant young Englishman.

After a few hours’ sleep, by the time morning broke Carlos and I were in the saddle. The blacks had nearly completed their work; and the only reward the Sambos asked was to be allowed to lead the assault. They were followed by the British legion, under Colonel McIntosh.

As the last trees were cleared away, their position was shown to the Spaniards, who opened a tremendous fire on them, through which they ran down to the attack, numbers falling as they advanced; but nothing stopped them. The British legion, six hundred strong, next rushed through the defile, with the steadiness for which they have been so long famed, and attacked the enemy; who, thus taken by surprise, had not time to bring their artillery to bear upon us. A smaller force of newly-arrived English troops, under Colonel Ferrier, was fearfully cut to pieces; their gallant commander being killed just as he had succeeded in recovering his colours taken by the Spaniards. I am sorry to say that some of the llañeros under General Paez, unable to withstand the repeated volleys of musketry which the well-formed ranks of the Spaniards poured into them, for a few minutes showed the white feather, and began to retreat; but the general, after lancing a dozen or more, succeeded in rallying them and leading them against the enemy.

We meanwhile got through, with our well-trained cavalry; and while the British, supported by the ferocious Sambos, charged with the bayonet into the thickest of the Spanish lines, we, led by Bermudez, sprang forward at headlong speed, with lances in rest; and Paez and his men again attacking the remaining part of the enemy’s line, they now went down before us like chaff before the wind. The British legion, with their black supporters, had already forced the centre, bayoneting hundreds of their opponents; and now, when Paez and our party charged upon the devoted Royalists, horrible indeed was the destruction which overtook them.

Again and again we charged, each time adding to the fearful slaughter. Fresh troops now came pouring through the defile, and cut off those portions of the Spanish army which had separated from the main body,—invariably putting them to death. Several times I got glimpses of the padre leading on a band of horsemen against the ranks of the enemy, flourishing a huge sword, but never once, to my belief, striking with it; conscientiously allowing his followers to do the killing work with their lances. He seemed to bear a charmed life, for, though in the thickest of the fight, the bullets whizzed harmlessly by him.

In one hour from the time Colonel McIntosh entered the plain, five entire battalions of the enemy had laid down their arms; whilst, with one exception, the survivors of the remaining regiments had taken to flight.

I feel called upon to speak of the gallantry of one young Spanish officer, who, at the head of his regiment, remained on the field fighting to the last; then, perceiving that he had no longer a chance of contending successfully against us, he moved his men off in a cool and regular manner. So struck was General Paez with the bravery he displayed, that he would not allow him to be attacked in his retreat.

I was returning from our last charge, when I saw a wounded officer whom I recognised even at a distance as one of our party. On dismounting to ascertain what assistance I could give him, I found, to my sorrow, that it was my cousin, whom I had so long known as Colonel Acosta. He recognised me; and pressing my hand, in a faint voice he asked me to take a locket from his neck. I did as he desired; and holding it in his hand, he gazed steadfastly at it with eyes rapidly becoming dim as the chill of death stole over him.

“Paola!—Paola! I would have died to save you,” he murmured. “Let this be buried with me,” he whispered. “Take care of it, lest any sacrilegious hands should tear it from me.”

I lifted him up, meanwhile shouting to some of my men to try and find a surgeon, in case it might not be too late to save his life. But even then his spirit was departing; and ere another minute had passed I found that I held his lifeless form in my arms.

Ordering a party of men to carry the body to the camp, I next went in search of Carlos, to give him the sad information; and that night we buried the betrothed of the unfortunate Donna Paola Salabriata beneath a lofty palm-tree, with her miniature, as he had desired, placed on his breast.

That battle decided the fate of the Spanish power in Venezuela; and though in some places along the sea-coast isolated bands held out in the hope of receiving succour from Spain, ere long every Spanish soldier was driven from the land, and the cause of Liberty triumphed.

We had no difficulty in obtaining from General Bermudez a strong troop of horsemen, with which to proceed, under the guidance of the Indian, in search of the band who held Norah in captivity.

The padre and the doctor, too, on hearing of our expedition, insisted on accompanying us.

“But I fear that you, señor padre, will not be able to endure the fatigues we may have to undergo,” I observed.

“In such a cause I shall be insensible to fatigue,” answered the padre in a spirited tone. “Perhaps, too, I can be of use in influencing some of the rascals who know me, and may be willing to listen to what I say. Go I must, Barry, so say no more about it.”

The doctor was equally determined. “There are plenty of surgeons belonging to the British legion in the camp to attend to the wounded; and your fair sister may be ill, and require my aid,” he answered, “so I intend to form one of your party. If there is any fighting, you shall see that I can wield a sword or lance as well as my reverend friend here. Ah, señor padre! you did wonderful execution among the enemy yesterday.”

“Heaven forgive me for the deaths I caused!” answered the padre, with a sigh. “My blood was up, and I fought for liberty and my country. I thought of nothing else; and where the odds were so much against us, I knew that no true man could be spared.”

Carlos and I, with our two stalwart friends, set off without loss of time at the head of our brave llañeros. Caution was necessary, however. The banditti might not have heard of the defeat of the Spaniards; and should we discover and attack them, they might retaliate on my hapless sister.

We pushed forward as rapidly as we could, eager to release her; and as we proceeded we sent out scouts, to ascertain, if possible, the position of Aqualonga and his band of cut-throats. Though we took a wide range, we could nowhere hear of them, and were satisfied therefore that they had not passed us. Night and day we were on the watch, whether resting in camp or galloping forward; and relying on the hardihood of our steeds, we advanced at a rate that no ordinary cavalry could have done.

One day, about noon, we reached a slight elevation of the ground, scarcely to be called a hill, to the top of which we rode, that we might obtain a wider look-out over the country ahead of us. Near at hand was a stream, bordered by a thick copse of a height sufficient, when we dismounted, to conceal us and our horses. It was a spot well suited for an ambush. Scarcely had we gained the top of the hillock, when we saw in the far distance what appeared to us the leading files of a party of horsemen. Both the doctor and the padre declared that this must be Aqualonga’s party, and advised that we should conceal ourselves behind the brushwood, and rush out upon them as they passed by.

Supposing that the approaching strangers were enemies, the suggestion was a good one: we therefore ordered our men to ride round the foot of the mount, while we, hoping that we had not been seen, descended and joined them.

For some time we did not regain sight of the strangers; but at length we observed, instead of the large body we expected to see, two figures galloping across the savannah, while behind them came a number of Indians on foot, running at headlong speed, with a party of horsemen coming quickly up in the distance. As they drew nearer, one appeared to be a female; and from the plume of feathers in her hair, the doctor declared that she must be an Indian, as undoubtedly, from his costume, was her companion.

“An Indian! No, no! that she is not!” exclaimed Don Carlos, springing to his horse. “It is Donna Norah!”

The idea that such was the case had flashed across my mind; and, convinced that he was right, I followed his example. In another instant, breaking from our cover, we were galloping across the plain towards them, followed by our entire party. They saw us coming, and the Indian for an instant altered his course, as if to avoid us; but soon seeing who we were, he and Norah came galloping on. I then recognised our friend Kanimapo; though, dressed as he was, in all the war-trappings of a chief, I had certainly not known him at first.

He and Norah were soon in our midst. I need scarcely describe the joy of the meeting. But there was short time for exchange of greetings.

“Those you see are our foes, from whom we have just escaped,” exclaimed Kanimapo. “They will endeavour to recapture us; but your band, if you can trust your men, will be sufficient to defeat them should they venture to attack you.”

As he spoke, the men on foot, who were all Indians, drew up on one side to allow the horsemen to advance—which they did, shouting loudly and flourishing their weapons. Begging the padre and the doctor to guard Norah, Carlos and I put our men in order; then, joined by Kanimapo, and with our lances couched, we dashed on to meet the foe. A swarthy man of hideous aspect was at their head, whom I recognised as Aqualonga himself. His men wavered as they saw us coming; and in vain did he endeavour to cheer them on, galloping forward at headlong speed, as if resolved to conquer or meet a soldier’s death. Some of his men, inspirited by his example, continued to urge on their steeds; but the rear-ranks, panic-stricken, wheeled round, and galloped off to save their lives.

The lance of Don Carlos caught the guerilla chief in the shoulder, and forced him from his saddle. Most of those who followed him were pierced through or cut down; the rest sought safety in flight, leaving us masters of the field, and their famed leader a prisoner in our hands. Several of our men, leaping to the ground, bound him hand and foot, and placed him on horseback; but it would have been dangerous to pursue the defeated foe, as we could not leave my sister without protection.

Having already performed nearly half the distance to Don Fernando’s house, we agreed to proceed thither, it being somewhat nearer than my father’s—though I was anxious to inform my parents of Norah’s safety. But we remembered that our arrival, though we should be welcomed by our friends, would bring sorrow to the household.

Norah, though pale and thin from the fatigue and alarm she had undergone, soon recovered her spirits; her happiness being increased by finding that Don Carlos had escaped the dangers to which he had been exposed, albeit she was grieved at hearing of the death of his brother.

She very briefly, at that time, narrated her adventures. After leaving Castle Concannan on her way to Don Fernando’s house, while she was riding on ahead a party of banditti pounced out of a wood and surrounded her and her attendants, and made them all prisoners. She before long discovered that Aqualonga was the leader of the party. He was, she believed, going to carry her off across the mountains; but, from some intelligence he obtained, he changed his plan and proceeded across the savannah. He left her at a solitary rancho, under the charge of a negress, and a party of men to guard her. She received no insult, but she was coarsely fed, and no attention was paid to her comforts. She was, however, allowed to stroll about the rancho; and one day, to her surprise, she saw an Indian whom she recognised as belonging to Kanimapo’s tribe. She found an opportunity of communicating with him, and persuaded him to inform his chief where she was. He promised to do so, and to return with any message she might give him.

After some time Aqualonga and his band returned, whereupon they set out to the north-west, carrying her with them; so her hopes of being rescued vanished.

One evening, however, Kanimapo fearlessly entered the camp, and introduced himself to Aqualonga, succeeding by the account he gave in winning his confidence. He soon found means of communicating with Norah; when he told her that he had a disguise ready for her, and a couple of fleet horses, and that if she would agree to escape with him he would conduct her to the patriot camp. Feeling confidence in his honour, she consented; and the following night, accompanied by her faithful attendant, she stole out unperceived by any one, dressed as an Indian girl, with a plume of feathers in her hair, and a cloak of skins over her shoulders. The horses were found behind a clump of trees; and mounting, they first took a westerly direction,—then circling round, they finally, giving the reins to their horses, galloped at full speed to the eastward, and happily met with us in the way I have described.

Norah was a good horsewoman, and declared herself well able to move on without further delay. We accordingly proceeded eastward, till the approach of night warned us to encamp. We of course took every precaution against surprise; for though the Spaniards had been so signally defeated, some roving bands of Indians attached to their cause might possibly discover and attack us. We had not only sentries placed round the camp, but we sent out vedettes to patrol the neighbourhood, and thus give due notice of the approach of an enemy. A hut was built for Norah; and Don Carlos and I lay down outside, that, in case of any sudden surprise, we might be at hand to protect her.

The first watch of the night had passed by, when a shot was heard, and one of the vedettes came galloping in with the announcement that he had descried a body of men approaching the camp, and that, as he galloped off, he had been pursued by several horsemen. We of course ordered the men to be ready to leap into their saddles for the attack which we fully expected to be made; and Norah’s horse was brought up, that she might be able to mount, if necessary, at a moment’s notice. She took the announcement very calmly, as if it was quite a matter of course.

While these preparations were being made, the padre rode up and offered to go forth in the direction in which the strangers had been seen, and ascertain who they were.

“They may be enemies, but they may possibly be friends; and unless we learn the truth, we may be knocking our heads together before we discover it,” he observed. “I have had so many bullets flying about my ears of late, and have got off scot-free, that I am not afraid of any they may fire at me.”

Though we were unwilling to expose the padre to danger, his offer was of too much value to be refused. We accordingly begged him to do as he proposed; and bidding us not to be anxious about him, he rode off in the direction from which the vedette had come.

We waited, fearing every instant to hear the sound of a shot; but the silence of night remained unbroken. I had directed my men not to fire till they received my order to do so, to prevent the risk of the padre being shot at on his return to the camp.

Some time had passed away, when a horseman was seen coming over the plain, and the padre’s voice was heard shouting,—“All right! They are friends, and will be here anon!”

In another minute he had reached us. “Who do you think they are?” he exclaimed. “The labourers of your father and Señor Concannan, with a number of villagers and blacks; and some of my people, headed by Señor Denis, your young brother, and your Irish servant. They knew my voice, which I took care to let them hear before I approached; and I told them that I would ride back and inform you, lest you should begin peppering at them as they marched here to embrace you. They have come in search of Aqualonga and his band, whom they had traced in this direction, having ascertained that he it was who had carried off Donna Norah.”

My uncle and the whole party were thankful to have recovered her without having to fight, as they had expected; though Gerald declared that he was sorry not to be able to break a lance in her service, against the renowned tawny-skinned chieftain Aqualonga.

“Faith, Masther Gerald, it’s much betther as it is,” observed Tim, “as the savage might have managed to run his lance into you; and Miss Norah, depend on it, is a mighty deal more pleased to have no blood spilt in her cause.”

We were now—our two parties forming one camp—capable of setting at defiance any enemies likely to approach us.

The next morning we continued our journey; and at length, after a somewhat fatiguing march over the wide-extended plain,—having to cross several rivers and swamps, sometimes fording them, and at others passing over in hide-formed canoes, while the horses swam behind us,—we reached Don Fernando’s. Our welcome was such as might have been expected: Norah was received as a daughter, and Don Carlos and I were treated as heroes; and by none more so than by Isabella Monterola,—who has since, to my great happiness, become my wife. My cousin, Colonel Acosta, as I will still call him, was truly mourned for. “Poor fellow!” said Don Fernando; “the loss is ours. He would never have recovered the death of Donna Paola.”

The next day the bandit chief, whose safe-keeping cost us much anxiety, was sent off under a strong escort to Popayan; where he was, soon after, ordered to be shot. An immense crowd collected to gaze on an Indian who had been the terror of the country for so many years; and one man, as he observed his short figure and coarse and ugly features, exclaimed,—“Is that the hideous little fellow who has alarmed us so long?”

“Yes,” replied Aqualonga, darting a fierce look at him from his black eyes; “in this small body is the heart of a giant.”

At his request he was allowed to die in his colonel’s uniform; and just before he was shot, he declared that had he twenty lives, he would have been ready to sacrifice them all for the king he served.

But to return to the time I was describing. We all of us endeavoured, by every means in our power, to express our gratitude to Kanimapo for the service he had rendered us.

“I have but done my duty,” he answered, “and tried to prove that I am grateful for the kindness I received at your hands. I wish to render you still further service. I must now go back to my people, who have so long shown enmity to you and your family; and I hope to teach them that it is their duty, as it is assuredly to their interests, to be on friendly terms with those who truly wish to benefit them.”

“And I, my friend,” said the padre, “will accompany you. I may be able to counteract the evil effects produced on their minds by the Spanish emissaries, and tell them of a purer faith than any they have hitherto heard of.”

“And I will go also,” exclaimed the doctor. “I should like to study their habits and customs; and I may be able, by healing them of their complaints, to support my friend the padre in his endeavours to enlighten the minds of the poor savages, and thus show practically that our wish is to benefit them.”

Kanimapo accordingly set off, accompanied by the padre and the doctor; the former having resumed his clerical robes, while the latter was attended by his faithful dog Jumbo.

We had, of course, immediately on our arrival, despatched a messenger to my father to announce the recovery of Norah, and my safety. The next day Uncle Denis, with Gerald and Tim, went home with their followers.

After spending a few days with my friends, I was compelled to conduct my llañeros back to rejoin the army.

I need not mention the other events of the campaign. At the end of a couple of months, Don Carlos and I again got leave to return home; and I accompanied him to his father’s house, where Norah had since been staying, and where the whole of my family—who had been invited to pay a long visit—were assembled. It was to be terminated, I found, by my sister’s marriage.

The day after our arrival had been fixed, Don Fernando informed me, for a meeting with Kanimapo and his tribe; which was to take place in a beautiful spot at the foot of the mountains. They set off at daybreak,—Don Fernando, with his sons and grandsons habited in full Spanish costume to do honour to the occasion. My father, uncles, and I, with some others, accompanied them,—making in all a party of about twenty.

Although our meeting was to be of a pacific character, we went armed as usual, no one moving about in that region without weapons. As we approached the spot, Don Fernando and his immediate relatives dismounted and advanced on foot towards a circle formed by a number of arrows stuck in the ground, beyond which stood Kanimapo and his tribe. He approached, and putting out his hand, grasped that of Don Fernando.

“My people,” he said, “have hitherto been enemies to you, who desired to do them good; but henceforth, as the points of yonder arrows are concealed in the ground, so let all enmity be buried.”

On this the Indians waved their hands, and uttered loud shouts, indicative of approval of what had been said. The speech, by-the-by, was much longer than I have reported it. Don Fernando replied in appropriate language; and the Indians again shouted, and held up their children to gaze at the white men who had now become their friends.

I must not dwell longer on the scene. It appeared to afford infinite satisfaction to all parties; and after other speeches had been made by inferior chiefs, and replied to by our friends, we returned home, while the Indians retired to their camp.

Kanimapo paid us a private visit soon afterwards, and assured me that the padre and the doctor had been mainly instrumental in bringing about the change of sentiment in his people.

After my sister’s marriage with Don Carlos, we returned to my father’s house, which had been substantially rebuilt.

The padre, in the meantime, had been engaged in further instructing the Indians, and in establishing a school; having also procured an enlightened young Creole and his wife to act as master and mistress. He had begun, also, to translate portions of the Bible; which he was convinced, he said, was the only book by which their heathen darkness could be dispelled. He afterwards became one of the warmest advocates for its dissemination throughout the Republic, where a Bible Society soon after that period was established and flourished.

The doctor, who had been adding greatly to his knowledge of the natural history of the country, returned home with us; and, to his infinite satisfaction, found his boxes uninjured. At length he departed, with the fruits of his labours, to his beloved fatherland. He wrote me word of his safe arrival, and promised some day or other to pay us another visit.

The independence of Columbia being at length acknowledged by Spain, peace was established; and those who keep free of the political disputes which have so frequently broken out, impeding the moral and material progress of the country, have enjoyed, as we and our friends have done, as much happiness as frail mortals can expect to find here below.

On the cessation of hostilities I sheathed my sword, which I have never since drawn; and though I have given some brief descriptions of the battles and skirmishes in which I was engaged during the most eventful period of the history of Venezuela, I wish to impress on the minds of all the readers of my narrative that War is a terrible thing,—which Satan for his own ends encourages, but which wise men, and Christians especially, should endeavour by every means in their power to avoid.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Young Rajah"

Chapter One.

The “Glamorgan Castle” on her Voyage to India—Her Passengers—Our Hero—Combined Effects of a Kick and a Roll—Violet Ross—Cupid at Work—Our Hero’s Gallant Exploit—The Ship reaches the Hooghly—Parting of Reginald and Violet.

The stout old Glamorgan Castle, with studding-sails on either side, was running before the trade-wind on her course to India. The passengers were lounging about on the poop, sheltered by an awning from the burning rays of the sun, which struck down with no inconsiderable force, making even the well-seasoned Indians grumble and incline to be quarrelsome. Of passengers the ship had her full complement, for all the cabins were full. There were among them generals, and judges, and officers of all ranks; as well as married dames returning to their husbands, and young ladies committed to their care; but few of them need be noticed. There were Colonel Ross, with his sweet, blooming daughter Violet; and Major Molony and his pretty little round wife, to whom he had lately been married; and Captain Hawkesford, going out to rejoin his regiment,—a handsome-looking man, but with a countenance not altogether prepossessing, for it betokened selfishness and want of feeling, or the lines about his firm set mouth, and large grey eyes, belied him.

The commander, Captain Lyford, was a fine specimen of a sailor. He made himself agreeable to his passengers, and kept his ship’s company in good order. When nothing occurred to excite him, his face was calm and unimpassioned; but it lighted up in a moment, and his clear, ringing voice when issuing an order to the crew showed that there was no lack of courage and determination in his composition.

There were the usual disputes and misunderstandings on board, which gave the good skipper, who always acted as peacemaker, no little trouble to settle. The ladies not infrequently fell out; and their quarrels, he confessed, were the hardest matters to put to rights, especially when jealousy set them by the ears. Mrs Brigadier Bomanjoy considered that she did not receive the same attention which was paid to Mrs Lexicon, the wife of the judge; and Miss Martha Pelican, who was making her second expedition to the East, complained that the officers neglected her, while they devoted themselves to silly Miss Prettyman, who had no other qualifications than her pink cheeks and blue eyes to recommend her. The “griffins” not infrequently had warm disputes; but the captain quickly managed to settle their more noisy quarrels, and restore them to good-humour.

“Come, come, lads,” he used to say, “let’s hear what it’s all about, and then we will get the whole matter into a nut-shell. It can be stowed away in less space than that, I’ve no doubt; and when it’s there, we’ll heave it overboard. Now then, shake hands, and forget all about it.”

He did not, however, venture to interfere when husband and wife fell out, considering that a third person would only make matters worse; and more especially did he avoid interfering in the everlasting squabbles of Major and Mrs Molony—which were indeed rather amusing than otherwise, the object of the little lady being apparently to bring her lord and master under the complete subjection of her imperious will, to which he, good-tempered as he was, had no intention of yielding.

There were several very nice girls, of whom Miss Violet Ross was universally considered the most charming. She was young, and very pretty; fair as a lily, with blue eyes and rich auburn hair. But she had a good deal more than her beauty to recommend her. She was sweet-tempered, gentle, and high principled. Mrs Brigadier Bomanjoy declared that she was puritanical and prudish; but she was in reality truly religious and modest, without a particle of nonsense in her composition. Captain Hawkesford, generally supposed to be indifferent to female charms,—at least, to those of his own countrywomen,—paid her more attention than he did to any one else, although she evidently offered him no encouragement.

There was another person on board who must now be mentioned. Many inquiries had been made of the captain who he was, but no satisfactory answer had been given. His costume was that of a seaman, but no one could suppose that he was a common sailor. His manner was distinguished, his good looks remarkable, and the tone of his voice and language refined. He was still very young, being scarcely more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. He was on familiar terms with the officers of the ship, and mingled with the passengers without any objection being made by the captain. He spoke Hindostanee fluently, and addressed the Lascars in their own tongue; while he showed an intimate acquaintance with Indian manners and customs, as well as with those of China and the East generally. The hot suns of Eastern seas had tanned his cheeks and given him almost the appearance of an Oriental. The only account the captain gave of him was that his name was Reginald Hamerton, and that he had come home with him from India on his last voyage, and had, during a heavy gale, exhibited much courage and nautical knowledge. Many thought, from his dark skin, classical features, and flashing eye, that there was Indian blood in his veins; and it was whispered that he was the son of a resident at the court of some native prince, and that his mother was the rajah’s daughter: but of this the captain said he knew nothing. He spoke English perfectly, was well educated, and had the manners of a young man accustomed to the best society. He conversed freely with every one, but it was observed that he was extremely reticent about himself, never alluding to his past life or his future prospects. Still he seemed perfectly at his ease about them; nor did he speak like a person who had any doubts as to what he should do on his arrival in India.

Altogether, there was a perfect mystery about him, which increased the interest his personal appearance was calculated to excite,—at all events, among the fairer portion of the passengers. He was courteous and attentive to all the ladies; but it was remarked at length that he was more frequently seen in conversation with Violet Ross than with any one else. If her eye brightened when he came near, that was but natural; as also that she should prefer talking to him to listening to the remarks made to her by the cynical Captain Hawkesford,—who evidently regarded young Hamerton with a feeling of dislike, which he exhibited whenever he had an opportunity by a haughty and contemptuous manner towards him. Colonel Ross, on the contrary, treated Reginald in a kind and friendly way, and appeared to have no objection to his conversing with Violet on deck, or to any of the attentions he paid her. The third officer being ill, young Hamerton, as he was generally called, took his place; and few could have failed to remark the officer-like style in which he carried on duty, or the clear, ringing voice in which he issued his orders,—displaying to advantage his well-knit figure as he walked the deck with telescope under his arm, or with his hand to his mouth, his fine head thrown back, shouting to the crew. Violet’s eye was wont to watch him as he moved about the deck, and a gentle flush mounted on her cheek whenever he came near and bent down to speak to her.

Captain Hawkesford scarcely concealed his jealousy, and expressed it in remarks which he seemed to wish should reach Reginald’s ear. “As the young sailor was to all appearance working his passage, he should not venture to make himself so familiar with those who were above him in rank and position. For his part, he was surprised that Captain Lyford allowed him to dine in the cabin, when he ought to mess with the other junior officers.”

If Reginald did hear what was said, he took no notice of Captain Hawkesford’s remarks, but appeared to be quite as much at his ease as at first.

One day while he was attending to some duty forward, Captain Hawkesford took a seat near Violet, and endeavoured to make himself agreeable to the best of his power. She listened, for without rudeness she could not avoid doing so; but no smile played around her mouth, while her answers were mostly in monosyllables. Colonel Ross at length coming near, she jumped up and took his arm, saying that she should like to enjoy a walk for a few minutes. Captain Hawkesford looked excessively annoyed, but did not attempt to accompany her. After a short time Reginald came aft, when the gong sounded for dinner. She said a few words to him as she went below; upon which he followed with a haste he seldom exhibited, and, as the passengers took their seats, slipped into a chair on one side of Violet, while her father sat on the other. Captain Hawkesford, on returning from his cabin, found the place he had intended to occupy already filled, and with an angry frown on his brow he went to the further end of the table. Most of the passengers had collected, when some one remarked that the chairs of Major and Mrs Molony were vacant.

“Why did they not come down?” asked Mrs Brigadier Bomanjoy.

“The little lady is in one of her tantrums,” answered Miss Pelican. “The gallant major is endeavouring to bring her round, but she won’t because she won’t.”

Just then the voice of the little lady was heard, mingled with the expostulations of her liege lord, coming down the open skylight, on the coamings of which she was seated, directly over the head of the table.

“Come, ladies and gentlemen, we must commence operations or the meat will get cold,” observed the captain; and having said grace, he was about to begin carving a leg of mutton swimming in gravy placed before him, when there came a wild scream and a shout from the major,—“Arrah, my darling, where are you after going to?” though, before the words were well out of the speaker’s mouth, down came flop on the top of the leg of mutton the rotund form of Mrs Major Molony, fortunately head uppermost, in a semi-sitting posture,—the joint of meat serving as a cushion to that part of her body which is usually thus accommodated, while one of her feet stuck into a dish of potatoes and the other into one of curry and rice, the gravy flying on all sides like the contents of a bursting bomb.

“Oh, where have I got to?” cried the little lady, panting and screaming with terror, though she was sufficiently aware of what had happened to make an endeavour to cover up her little round legs, which were more exposed than her modesty would have allowed.

Captain Lyford, with all the delicacy imaginable, though his sides were splitting with laughter, placed his arms under the little lady, and lifted her up ready to present to the major, who came rushing down wild with alarm, under the belief that she must have either broken her neck, or have been spitted on the carving knife and fork.

“Arrah now, my darling, is it killed you are entirely?” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of her.

The shouts of laughter proceeding from all sides, and in which even Violet and Reginald could not help joining, prevented her answer from being heard, as the major, taking her in his arms, bore her off to her cabin, that she might put a fresh skirt on in lieu of her gravy-bespattered dress.

The steward had in the meantime picked up the leg of mutton, which had been sent spinning out of the dish; and its tenderness was accounted for by the unusual pressure to which it had been subjected by the fair little dame.

It appeared, from the conversation of the major, who soon returned to the table, that at the moment his wife was kicking at him pettishly with her foot the ship gave a roll, and she, losing her balance, the catastrophe lately witnessed had occurred; a lesson, as he observed with a wink, by which he piously hoped she would in future profit.

“I congratulate you, my dear, that it did not happen to you,” observed the brigadier to his better half.

“I never kick at my husband,” answered the lady.

For the sake of the feelings of Mrs Molony the conversation was changed, when she at length appeared, considerably crestfallen, and took her seat meekly by her husband’s side. Dinner was proceeded with; but every now and then some of the young ensigns burst out into uncontrollable fits of laughter, joined in by the rest like the fire of skirmishers, as one of them happened to recall the incident to mind,—the only one hitherto worth noting during the voyage, which promised to terminate without the occurrence of any of greater importance.

Some days had passed after this event, when, as the ship was still running before the wind, making eight or nine knots an hour, with a somewhat heavy sea on, a fine young lad—going out to join his father and mother, who had obtained some employment for him in the uncovenanted service—was skylarking aloft with some other youngsters, when, losing his hold, he fell into the foaming sea.

“Man overboard!” was the cry.

Captain Lyford was on deck in a moment, issuing orders to shorten sail and bring the ship to, that a boat might be lowered. The lad could swim, but suddenly finding himself plunged amid the foaming seas, he lost his presence of mind, and it appeared doubtful whether he would keep afloat. A couple of chairs and a hen-coop had been hove to him, but not till he had been left some way astern. Reginald, on hearing the cry, ran aft, and without waiting to take off even his hat, lowered himself into the water and struck out towards the wellnigh drowning lad. It was evening, and darkness was rapidly coming on. Intense was the excitement of all on board. Violet Ross did not exhibit her feelings, as some of the other ladies did, by shrieking and crying out, but she was seen standing on the poop, her gaze fixed on the two young swimmers.

Running at the rate the ship was going, they were soon lost to sight; for though the crew were under good discipline, it was not to be expected that sail could be shortened as rapidly as on board a man-of-war.

Opinions of all sorts were being hazarded. Some gave them up for lost, declaring that the best of swimmers could not keep afloat in such a sea.

“The young fellow may drown, for what I care,” muttered Captain Hawkesford, as he turned forward, away from the rest of the lookers-on. The captain and officers were too busy to answer the questions put to them on the subject.

At length the ship was hove-to, and a boat with the first mate and a crew of volunteers was lowered. Away she pulled in the direction in which the swimmers had been last seen, the thick gathering gloom and the foaming seas surrounding her, and quickly hiding her from sight. The excitement on board was intense, even the captain could scarcely retain his composure. It would have been great had Jack Andrews, the lad who had fallen overboard, been alone; but young Hamerton had excited the interest of all, and even the stern old brigadier declared that he would be ready to give up all the loot he had bagged at the taking of Mooltan for the sake of recovering the lad; and those who knew the old soldier best, were aware that his feelings must have been highly excited to induce him to say so. Poor little Violet! Her father could not fail to remark her agitation, but believed that she would have felt the same if any other among her fellow-creatures had been placed in the fearful peril to which young Hamerton was exposed.

The moments seemed minutes, the minutes hours, as those on board watched anxiously for the return of the boat. At length the captain began to fear for her safety, as well as for that of the swimmers.

“Silence on deck,” he cried. “Does any one see her?”

No reply was made. The ship had for some time been hove-to. The wind whistled through her rigging, and the seas washed up her sides as she surged slowly forward.

“Burn a blue light, Mr Timmins,” he shouted to the boatswain, who had got one all ready; and as the bright fire burst forth it cast a lurid glare on the masts and rigging, and the countenances of the lookers-on, giving them the hue of death.

Colonel Ross, forgetting for a moment the effect always produced by the light, thought that his daughter was going off into a swoon. But her trembling voice reassured him.

“I am thankful to see that signal,” she observed. “It will surely enable them to find their way to the ship.”

“I hope that they will bring back our young friend, and the lad he has so gallantly hazarded his own life to save,” said the colonel; “but the difficulty of finding them in the dark must be very great, unless they retain strength sufficient to make their position known by their voices.”

“They will come! They will come!” exclaimed Violet. “Oh, father, it is very dreadful!” She could say no more.

The time went on. More blue lights were burned. Again and again the captain shouted, “Does any one see the boat?”

At length a seaman exclaimed, “There she is! There she is!” and others declared that they saw her. A cheer arose, joined in by most on board, but it was silenced by the captain. He now himself observed the boat approaching slowly, tossing up and down on the heaving seas. Oh, the horrible suspense to be endured till it could be got alongside, for it was impossible to see who was in her!

“Have you got them safe?” asked the captain, unable longer to restrain his anxiety. No answer came. Possibly the dashing of the seas drowned his voice. The boat came nearer and nearer, and willing hands stood ready to lift on board those she brought back. On she came. The oars were thrown in. The bowman caught the rope hove to him. Eager faces peered down into her to ascertain if the lads had been saved.

“All right; we have them safe!” at length cried a voice from the boat.

“They are saved! They are saved!” was echoed along the deck; and even the most phlegmatic of the passengers shook each other’s hands, and expressed their satisfaction; while several of the ladies burst into tears,—as did one of the officers, as gallant a young fellow as ever lived. Violet darted forward, followed by the colonel, as Reginald was hoisted on deck. Though evidently exhausted, he was able to stand leaning on the shoulder of honest Dick Thuddichum, a seaman who had gone off in the boat, and had assisted him up the side. (Dick ought before to have been introduced. He was a fine specimen of a sailor, with his broad shoulders and big bushy beard and whiskers. He had come on board with the young officer, and, judging by the eager way in which he had leaped into the boat going off to his rescue, was attached to him with no ordinary attachment.) Violet stopped short as she got close to Reginald, for already he was surrounded by most of the officers and passengers, eager to shake him by the hand and compliment him on his intrepidity. Reginald saw her, and would have sprung forward, when, just as she had faintly murmured an expression of thankfulness, her father came up in time to save her, overcome by her feelings, from sinking on the deck. He then, after heartily congratulating Reginald, led his daughter into the cabin.

“Though I am thankful that the young man has been saved, I may have cause to regret that we have met him, if you allow too great an admiration of his gallantry and personal qualities to take possession of your heart,” remarked the colonel. “Be cautious in future. We know nothing of his birth or position; and, attractive as are his manners, he may be merely an unprincipled adventurer—though I hope I should wrong him by thinking so. Now lie down and rest, for it may be better not to appear at the tea-table.”

Violet promised to do as her father advised; but before throwing herself on her bed, she knelt down and poured out her grateful thanks to Heaven for Reginald’s preservation.

The latter, meanwhile, nearly overwhelmed with compliments and congratulations, had been led by the doctor to his berth.

“Come, come, Mr Hamerton,” said the medico; “I have looked after young Andrews, and I must now see to you. You may think yourself made of iron, but the human frame cannot endure the strain you have put on it without reaction; and we shall have you on the sick-list to-morrow, unless you take due precautions.”

An unwonted sensation of weakness warned Reginald that the doctor was right; and following his advice, he turned in—inclined to be obedient also for the sake of avoiding the further compliments he felt sure the ladies would be disposed to pay him. The only gentleman who had not spoken to him was Captain Hawkesford, who had turned away when he saw that he was safe, uttering an expression of bitter ill-feeling.

“She will think more of the fellow than ever,” he muttered. “Would that he were fathoms deep beneath the water!”

Thanks to the doctor’s care, Reginald by the next morning was quite himself again; and as soon as he appeared on deck, young Andrews, who had also recovered, came to him and thanked him with hearty expressions of gratitude for saving his life.

“If it had not been for you, I should very soon have gone down. My great wish now is to serve you as long as I live; and I only hope that I may have the opportunity of doing so,” he exclaimed.

“I only did for you what I would have done for any other man or boy,” said Reginald; “but at the same time I shall be glad of your friendship, for, whatever our respective positions, we may be able to help each other.”

Reginald, it must be confessed, looked with more than usual eagerness for the appearance of Violet, who had not yet come on deck—scarcely heeding the compliments he received from the other ladies, or being able to give any very clear answers to the numerous questions put to him about his gallant exploit, as they were pleased to call it. He did his best, however, to explain how, after having succeeded in reaching young Andrews, he had towed him to the hen-coop, to which he held him fast till the arrival of the boat.

“Yes, it was trying,” he added; “but I never lost hope. My great fear was that the lad would sink from exhaustion, though I felt capable of holding on till the morning. I was sure, too, that the captain would not leave the spot till he had searched for us by daylight.”

Violet at length came on deck. A blush rose to her cheek as she put out her hand to welcome Reginald. She said but little, however, her eyes speaking more eloquently than words. Her father remained by her side, and took an opportunity, as soon as he could do so without making his object too evident, of leading her to the other side among the ladies on deck. The gallant young officer was naturally the subject of conversation, and she heard with inward satisfaction his praises repeated by all around her. Much as Colonel Ross liked Reginald, he could not help regretting that Violet had ever met him. He could not be blind to his personal appearance and manners, but he naturally disliked the thought of his daughter marrying a man of whose birth and fortune he knew nothing; and he resolved to break off all connection with the young stranger as soon as they landed at Calcutta. Reginald, he supposed, was not likely to remain long in that city, and would be either again going to sea, or proceeding up the country; at least he fancied, from some remarks the young man let drop, such would be the case. Violet, too, was not likely to remain long without receiving an eligible offer, which he trusted she would have the sense to accept—although he was not the man to force her to do so against her inclination.

During the remainder of the voyage Reginald enjoyed frequent opportunities of conversing with Violet, though, by the colonel’s management, they were but seldom left alone. They perfectly understood each other, however; and the day before the ship was off the Sunderbunds, Reginald told Violet that he loved her better than life; and although he confessed there was a mystery about his birth, he said he hoped ere long to clear it up, and to be in a position to offer her his hand.

“If I succeed, as I have every reason to hope I may, your father will have no cause to refuse me on account of my birth and fortune. More I may not tell you; but you will confide in my honour, dearest Violet: I know you will!” He took her hand, which she did not withdraw.

“I trust you implicitly. I know my kind father has a sincere regard for you, and he is only at present unwilling to sanction our engagement because he believes that it would not conduce to my happiness,” she answered.

The following day the Glamorgan Castle dropped her anchor in the Hooghly. Shortly afterwards a man-of-war steamer hove in sight, and brought-to at a short distance from the ship. A boat from her came alongside, when Reginald came up to Colonel and Miss Ross.

“I must bid you farewell; but I hope that I may be allowed to call on you in Calcutta,” he said with tolerable calmness.

The colonel hesitated in his reply.

“I cannot say where my duty will call me; but you may be assured, Mr Hamerton, that I shall not forget you,” he at length answered evasively. “Farewell! I see your attendant at the gangway waiting for you.”

Violet, pained at her father’s manner, said but little. Reginald, however, understood her look and manner; and paying a hurried adieu to the rest of the passengers, he went towards the gangway, passing, as he did so, Captain Hawkesford, who cast at him a supercilious and angry glance, without returning his salute. Followed by Dick Thuddichum, he descended to the boat, which pulled towards the steamer.

Violet watched the vessel as she glided up the river, and observed Reginald, after shaking hands with the officers, standing on the paddle-box, with his eyes fixed on the Glamorgan Castle. She little thought at the time how long it would be before they would again meet!

Chapter Two.

Reginald meets Burnett—A Bitter Disappointment—Voyage up the Ganges—Tiger-shooting at Night—Tiger Anecdotes—Tiger-Shooting from the Back of an Elephant—Reginald saves Faithful from a Crocodile—Her Gratitude—Journey to Allahapoor—Reception by the Rajah—The Beautiful Nuna—A Banquet, and Barbaric Entertainments—Cochût Khan’s Jealousy—Faithful watches over Reginald.

Reginald having ascertained where Colonel and Miss Ross were living, was making his way through the broad streets of the “city of palaces,” intending to pay his respects to them, when he met a military-looking man in an undress suit, who, regarding him earnestly, advanced towards him with his hand extended.

“My dear boy, I am delighted to see you!” exclaimed the stranger. “Have you been successful? I long to hear.”

“I am in a fair way, I trust, of succeeding, although there may be not a few difficulties in my path,” answered Reginald. “I am truly thankful, however, to find you here, as I thought that you were far away—either in Pegu or at Delhi. Are you at liberty, my dear Burnett, or can you get leave of absence? If you could accompany me, you would be of the greatest possible assistance.”

“Most fortunately, I obtained leave of absence for six months, only yesterday, and was contemplating making a shooting excursion with Knox and Jones; but they must excuse me, and I will devote myself to your service,” answered Captain Burnett.

“Thank you, my dear fellow; thank you,” exclaimed Reginald. “Your experience and knowledge of the people will smooth away many difficulties which beset my path, and I gladly accept your kind offer. I feel somewhat selfish, as I know you sacrifice your own convenience for my sake.”

“Don’t talk about that, Reginald,” said Captain Burnett. “If you have nothing better to do, come to my quarters and inspect my sporting gear. We may get some shooting on the way; I always try to combine amusement with business.”

“I will join you before long; but I have a visit to pay first to some friends who came out in the ship with me, and unless they detain me I shall soon be at liberty.”

“You can easily excuse yourself; and I shall expect you at dinner, at all events,” said Captain Burnett.

“But I would, I confess, rather dine with them, if they ask me,” answered Reginald. “You would excuse me if you knew how I am circumstanced.”

“Is a fair lady in the case?” asked Captain Burnett. “You need not say so; I am sure of it. Take care, Reginald; don’t get entangled. Young fellows are apt to do so, and to be sorry for it afterwards. Come, let me advise you to leave your card at your friends, with a message that you are bound up country; and that will settle the matter. The lady will be married by the time you come back again.”

“That I am sure she will not,” exclaimed Reginald. “She is totally unlike the ordinary run of girls.”

“Well, well! Take my advice in this matter, as you are ready to do in others, and retain your freedom of action,” said Captain Burnett, in a serious tone.

Reginald, parting from his friend, hurried on, hoping to find Violet alone. A dark-skinned porter, in white dress and with turban on head, opened the door, and inquired his name. The sahib was not at home, and Miss Ross could receive no visitors, said the servant.

“Take up my card, and say that I am waiting,” replied Reginald.

The porter, after carefully examining the card, gave it to another servant. The man gave a peculiar look as he obeyed the order. He was some time absent, and when he returned he delivered a note addressed to Reginald in Violet’s handwriting. He did not venture to open it in the presence of the servants; but as soon as he got outside the house he eagerly scanned the few lines it contained.

“My father has positively forbidden me to see you,” she wrote. “He hopes that time will obliterate your image; but that is impossible. Trust to me, as I do to you.—Yours, Violet.”

Reginald was naturally bitterly disappointed; but yet he had faith in woman’s constancy, and he went his way with hopes unabated, feeling sure, from what he knew of Colonel Ross, that he would use no harsh measures to compel his daughter to act contrary to her own inclinations. Still, he could not feel otherwise than pained and anxious. By the time, however, that he reached his friend’s quarters, he had somewhat recovered his serenity of mind. He kept his own counsel, simply observing that Colonel Ross, on whom he had called, was not at home; and Captain Burnett forbore to ask further questions.

He had plenty of amusement in examining the rifles and various articles which Captain Burnett had prepared for his intended shooting expedition.

“You must accept this rifle from me, Reginald,” he said, presenting a first-rate weapon; “and this brace of pistols. You may depend on their never missing fire, if properly attended to. And let me advise you always to load them yourself; never trust to a servant. I always do as I advise; one’s life may be sacrificed from carelessness.”

The following day the friends, attended by Dick Thuddichum and four native servants, were on their road to the north-west.

They had to proceed, for a considerable distance, up the river Ganges, in a budgerow. Though rudely built, she skimmed merrily over the water when the breeze was favourable. She was decked all over with bamboo; and on the after-part was erected a cottage of bamboo, which served as a cabin and baggage-room. In the fore-part were two small ranges of brick-work, raised a few inches above the deck, with small round holes, shaped like a lime-kiln, for holding charcoal, on which provisions were dressed. Above the cabin, and supported on upright bamboos, was a grating, on which the crew sat or stood to work the vessel. A long bamboo, with a circular board at the end fixed astern, served as a rudder; the oars also being long bamboos of the same description. The mast was a stout bamboo, carrying a squaresail and topsail of a coarse and flimsy canvas.

In this clumsy-looking craft the travellers made themselves comfortable, however. They had also a small canoe towing astern, in which, when the wind was contrary, and the budgerow had to bring up alongside the bank, they made excursions to the other side of the river or up one of its affluents.

Burnett, who was really a keen sportsman, never failed to take his gun, and generally came back with a good supply of game. One day, however, he was unwell, and Reginald started by himself to visit some interesting ruins a short distance ahead, the canoe being paddled by two of the crew. They had got some distance when he found that he had brought neither his rifle nor pistols: however, he did not think it worth while to return for them. They were at some little distance from the bank, when one of the crew cried out—

“See, sahib, see! Here comes a tiger!”

On looking in the direction in which the man pointed, he caught sight, not of a tiger, but of a huge panther, and a native about a hundred yards before him rushing at headlong speed, bounding and springing towards the river, while the panther with rapid leaps pursued its hoped-for prey. Reginald ordered the men to paddle in towards the shore, in the hope of rescuing the panting wretch from the jaws of the panther. Just before they reached the bank, the native bounded into the water, which rose up to his neck; but he was apparently too exhausted to swim towards the canoe, though with imploring accents he entreated the sahib to come to his rescue.

At that instant the dark snout of an enormous crocodile rose above the surface—the saurian, to Reginald’s horror, making its way towards the struggling native.

“Crocodile! Crocodile!” shouted Reginald to the native; who, hearing him, after a moment’s hesitation rushed back towards the bank, thus again facing the panther. The creature for a moment appeared disconcerted at the sudden movement of its expected victim and the approach of the canoe, towards which the man made a desperate spring; but the savage panther, eager for its prey, at the same moment leaped forward and seized the unhappy man by the leg, while Reginald grasped his arm. At that instant the crocodile, which had retreated a short distance, dashed up, and catching the miserable being—who gave vent to the most fearful shrieks—by the other leg, with one snap of its jaws bit it off.

In vain Reginald shouted to the crew to attack the creatures with their oars. The cowardly wretches, instead of moving, shrank down at the further end of the canoe; while the panther, peeling off the flesh of the leg, reached at length the ankle, where with a horrid crunch it severed the bone, and galloped away with the fearful mouthful.

Reginald drew the poor man—now quite senseless—into the canoe, and endeavoured to stanch the blood flowing from his wounds by tourniquets, formed of pieces of wood, round the upper parts of his legs; but his efforts were in vain, and before the canoe reached the budgerow the man was dead.

Continuing their course up the Ganges, visiting on their way several of the numerous towns, temples, and ruins of various sorts which adorn its banks, they at length landed, and continued their route by land. They were now in a woody district, bordering the banks of a river, when Captain Burnett’s “shikaree wallah,” or huntsman, informed them that it abounded in tigers, and that if they wished to kill a few they would have an opportunity of doing so. Although Reginald would gladly have pushed on, he sacrificed his own wishes for the sake of allowing his friend to enjoy a few days’ sport.

Burnett had a friend (Major Sandford) living at a village not far off, who, hearing of their arrival, invited them to take up their abode at his bungalow. He confirmed the report of the abundance of tigers, which the superstitious Hindoos took no pains to destroy; observing—

“They believe that the souls of men pass after their death into the bodies of animals, and that it must be the soul of some great personage alone which is allowed to inhabit the ferocious tiger. They therefore allow the creatures to range about as they please; and when any poor fellow is seized by one of the brutes—as is frequently the case—he will humbly beg the tiger sahib to set him free, or to finish him mercifully. The natives, however, have no objection to my killing any of their lordships; and we will this evening go to a fort on the banks of the Ganges near which they are wont to pass on their way to drink at the river. We will carry provisions and liquor, so that we may pass our time agreeably till one of the brutes appears.”

The party accordingly, accompanied by several natives of rank, with their servants, set out, and were not long in reaching their destination. The top of the fort offered a safe spot whence any number of wild beasts could be shot down without the slightest risk to the sportsmen of being attacked in return. A table and chairs were placed on the roof of the fort, and the English gentlemen and Hindoos sat in the cool of the evening quaffing their claret and conversing on various topics, with their rifles ready loaded placed against the parapet, while a lookout kept watch for the approach of a tiger, panther, or any other denizen of the forest.

“Few men have more narrowly escaped becoming tiger’s meat than I have,” said Major Sandford. “I carry some ugly marks about me to bear witness to the fact; besides having the slight ‘halt’ in my walk which you may have observed. I was, some eight years ago, out shooting with several companions, and being somewhat tired, I sat down on the side of the bank, having left my gun a few feet from me. The rest of the party had gone to a little distance, when, suddenly looking up, I saw a huge tiger spring out of the jungle, and before I had time to reach my gun the brute had seized me by the leg,—which I thought, by the fearful way he held it, he would have bitten off. The rest of the party, seeing my fearful condition, began to shout at the top of their voices, hoping to drive off the beast. They were afraid to fire, for fear of killing me. But the tiger was not to be disappointed of his expected dinner; so, throwing me over his back with one jerk, off he trotted. I did not, however, lose my presence of mind; but recollecting that I had a brace of pistols in my belt, I drew one and pulled the trigger. To my horror, it missed fire! I had still another. I managed to get hold of it, well knowing that if that missed my fate was sealed. Pointing the muzzle at the brute’s head, I fired. The tiger gave a leap, and opening its mouth, let me drop, while it fell down dead by my side. I scrambled away as fast as I could, scarcely believing that I was safe, till my friends coming up assured me of the fact, and congratulated me on my merciful escape.”

The subject of the “power of the human eye?” over the most savage animals was touched on.

“There can be no doubt about it,” observed Captain Burnett. “I was once a short distance from a village, accompanied by my shikaree wallah, when we heard the cry of ‘Help! Help!—a tiger! A tiger!’ resounding through the forest. Having loaded our guns with bullets, and seen that our pistols were primed, we hurried towards the spot, when we came in sight of a native who stood facing a huge tiger. From our relative positions, it was somewhat difficult to shoot without running the risk of hitting the man; we therefore shouted together, to try and make the tiger move. He did so, and I at length got a shot at him; but though he was hit, off he went without his expected meal. The native then told us that while in the jungle he had suddenly caught sight of a beast about to spring on him, when, with admirable presence of mind, instead of running, he stood with his eye steadily fixed on the savage monster. The tiger, wavering before the human eye, slunk behind a bush; but every now and then he peered forth to see whether the man’s glance was still fixed on him. The brute continued moving from bush to bush, as if endeavouring to avoid the undaunted gaze of his adversary, that he might have an opportunity of springing out and seizing him. Each time the tiger moved, the native turned facing his cunning foe, and shouting at the top of his voice, in the hope that assistance might come to him.”

“I can narrate a still more wonderful instance of the same power,” observed one of the native gentlemen.

But as he spoke the lookout, turning round, said in a low whisper—

“Here comes the tiger, sahib!” and the sportsmen, springing from their seats, seized their guns, ready to fire at the monster as soon as it should come within range. At a leisurely pace the tiger trotted on, the outline of its form seen clearly in the moonlight. It had just got close to the water, when, Burnett firing, the monstrous brute rolled over, casting a glance of defiance at the foe it had only then discovered. A second shot laid it lifeless on the ground. Both gentlemen reloaded; and Reginald proposed hurrying down to secure the skin.

“We may very likely, if we do so, lose our own,” observed the major. “Let us wait, and before long we may add a few more tigers to our bag.”

They were not disappointed. Another tiger and two panthers were shot. This being the most accessible part of the bank for some distance, it was evidently the watering-place of numerous wild animals. They had just killed their third tiger, and were agreeing that it was time to secure the skins and return home, when a fourth tiger appeared, stalking leisurely out of the jungle towards the water, coming much nearer the fort than any of the others had done. It stopped for a moment and looked up at its foes, without exhibiting the alarm which the others had displayed. Reginald declared that he caught the gleam of gold on its neck.

“It may be an enchanted prince, then,” said Burnett; “or, as our friends here believe, the habitat of the soul of some great maharajah, who has not laid aside all the trappings of royalty;—but we shall soon learn.”

As he spoke, he raised his rifle to fire. The tiger at that moment, however, gave a sudden bound and escaped the ball, and turning round, frightened by the noise, sprang back quick as lightning into the jungle, before any of the rest of the party could take steady aim.

No other wild beast appearing, the party descended; and while some kept watch to shoot any which might come out of the jungle, the others secured the skins of the beasts which had been slain. Packing them up on the backs of the elephants, they returned to Major Sandford’s bungalow, well satisfied with their night’s sport.

The next day they set out to visit the more distant part of the forest. The party had four elephants. Reginald and Burnett, with their friend, and several native gentlemen, were seated in howdahs on the backs of the elephants. The howdah is something like the body of a carriage, with an awning to shield the occupants from the heat of the sun. Gorgeously-ornamented cloths covered the backs of the huge animals, while the mahouts sat on their necks, to direct them where to go and what to do. Reginald, not accustomed to that style of shooting, thought it very dull work, and longed to be on foot, where he could encounter the savage monsters face to face.

On reaching the jungle, the elephants moved along the borders to some distance, while beaters, with loud shouts, endeavoured to dislodge any tiger which might be lurking there. At length up went the trunks of the elephants,—a sure sign that they had discovered a tiger at no great distance. The brute, seeing so many enemies, had apparently no stomach for the fight, and was observed stealing off amid the jungle. Three or four shots were fired at it, but so rapid and eccentric were its movements that it escaped them all. As no other tiger appeared, Reginald at last proposed to Burnett that they should seek the savage brutes in their lairs. Burnett agreed, but cautioned him to be on the alert, and to keep his attendants close to him, with their rifles loaded, that he might have another weapon at hand should he fail to kill the animal at the first shot.

“Remember, your life may depend on it; for, believe me, a wounded tiger is the most dangerous of antagonists.”

Dismounting from the elephants which had carried them to the borders of the jungle, each gentleman, attended by a native carrying an additional gun, approached the jungle, into which the beaters fearlessly threw themselves. The forest was tolerably thick, so that they soon by some chance became separated. Reginald, hearing the beaters, and believing that they were driving a tiger towards him, made his way onward to a spot from whence he believed that he should have an opportunity of firing to advantage. It was near the river, with a small open space in front of him, through which there was every probability that the tiger would make its way. He took his post behind a thick tree, which would afford him shelter should he fail to bring down the animal at the first shot; while he charged his attendants to keep a watchful eye around, lest the creature might come out behind him. Scarcely had he taken up his post, when he heard a loud chattering, and looking up, saw that the trees were alive with monkeys, which were peering down upon him, wondering what had brought so strange-looking an animal into their domain. As he did not move, they grew bolder, and began frolicking about, swinging backwards and forwards, some with both paws, others with one, turning somersaults, and performing all sorts of strange antics.

“See, sahib! What is that?” said the shikaree wallah in a low voice, pointing to a sunny spot at no great distance off, where Reginald caught sight of the huge head of a crocodile, with its jaws open. The creature was apparently fast asleep, basking in the sun. Reginald raised his rifle, intending to shoot the saurian, when at that moment there was a rustling in the bush, and a magnificent young tigress walked out on her way to drink at the river. The creature had not advanced far when her eye fell on the crocodile, towards which she stealthily crept, her soft padded feet making not the slightest noise as they trod the ground. Reginald was thankful that he had not fired at the crocodile, as it probably would have brought the tigress upon himself at the very moment that he was unarmed. He considered whether he should shoot the magnificent creature, but he was curious to see what she would do with the crocodile. On she went, till she got within a little distance of the saurian, when, making a spring, she seized the creature’s tongue, evidently with the intention of dragging it out. The attempt was a dangerous one. The instant the crocodile felt her paw in its mouth, it closed its huge jaws, and holding her foot fast, began to crawl towards the water. So great was the agony she suffered that she was unable to make any resistance, or to seize the head of the crocodile in her mouth. While she shrieked with pain, the crocodile slowly drew her on towards the river, into which, her instinct told her, should the saurian once dive, her fate would be sealed. In vain the tigress struggled to free herself, and drag back the crocodile. The monkeys, meantime, seemed to think the affair great fun; and seeing their two enemies engaged, began to descend the branches close to the ground; and one of them, more daring than the rest, actually tried to get hold of the ear of the tigress. She, however, lifting up her paw, was about to give it a blow which would have finished its existence, when, nimbly climbing up again, it got out of her way. Meanwhile, the crocodile was dragging the unfortunate tigress still nearer and nearer the river. She turned her eyes round, as if to look for some branch which she might grasp, and save herself from her impending fate. At that moment they fell on Reginald, when she gave him a look which seemed to implore his pity, as he thought. In a few seconds the crocodile would have reached the water; but just then the tigress caught a firm hold of the trunk of a tree projecting into the river, to which she held on, at the risk of having her paw bitten off. Possibly the saurian might, at the same time, have seen its human foes, or it might have been that the sudden jerk it received in consequence of the powerful resistance put forth by its captive, made it open its mouth. The tigress on this quickly drew out her fearfully-mangled paw, leaving the crocodile to plunge with a loud flop into the water, deprived of its expected prey; while she, fearing perhaps that it might again return to seize her, crawled back howling with pain towards the thicket.

“Shoot, sahib! Shoot!” exclaimed the shikaree wallah; but Reginald had not the heart to do so. Slowly the tigress crawled on, probably fearing him more than she had her late enemy, and turning a glance towards him, in which defiance was mingled with dread. Feeling herself unable to fight, it was evidently her intention to escape if she could; but overcome at length with the fearful pain she was suffering, she sank down exhausted on the ground. The native huntsman seemed to think it a piece of folly on the part of Reginald not at once to despatch her.

“No, I will not do that,” said Reginald in answer to his expostulations. “It is not the custom of white men to slaughter a fallen foe. See! The poor tigress looks up as if imploring my assistance.”

“As you think fit, sahib,” answered the huntsman; “but if she recovers she will become the mother of numberless tigers and tigresses; and who can tell how many people they will destroy?”

This argument would have prevailed with Reginald, and he would, at all events, have allowed the huntsman to kill the tigress, had she not at that moment cast at him a look, which he seemed to fancy implored his mercy. As he approached, however, while she lay on the ground unable to move, she uttered a loud snarl of anger, and ground her teeth, and opened out the claws of her uninjured feet, as the feline race are wont to do, as if about to seize him. Still he persevered, wishing, if possible, to capture the animal alive. Speaking to her in a soothing voice, he got near her head, holding his rifle in such a position that he might fire in a moment, should she turn round and attempt to seize him; she was, however, too much hurt to move. Gradually he got close to her head, when, stooping down, he first patted it gently, still uttering the same soothing words. At first, while he continued to stroke it, she looked up suspiciously at him, as if to ask what he wanted; but soon understanding that his motives were friendly, she ceased her cries. At length she put out her lacerated limb, and seemed to ask him to do what he could to relieve her pain. He fortunately had a flask of spirits in his pocket, with which he bathed her foot; and then, taking out a handkerchief, he carefully bound it up. It seemed at once to relieve the animal of pain; and all the natural ferocity of her countenance disappearing, she cast at him a look full of gratitude, while she attempted to lick his hand.

Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the shikaree wallah and his companion,—who had during the time retired to a respectful distance,—when they saw the tigress get up and slowly follow Reginald, as a dog does its master. She, however, would not allow them to approach her, but snarled in a way which made them immediately take to flight. Reginald on this called them back, and stroking the head of the tigress, tried to make her understand that she was to treat them as friends. She understood him; and when they came near she no longer showed any signs of wishing to hurt them.

“Why, sahib,” exclaimed the shikaree wallah, “see! She is not a wild tigress after all. There is a golden collar round her neck. She must have belonged to some great rajah, and made her escape from his palace.”

On a closer examination, Reginald discovered what the quick eye of the native had detected, a band of gold, partly hidden by the creature’s hair.

“There cannot be a doubt, then, that she is the very animal we saw last night,” observed Reginald. “She is my property now, at all events; and I feel very sure that she will follow no one else.”

By this time the shouts and cries of the beaters ceased to reach their ears, and Reginald knew that they must have gone in a different direction to that which he had followed. Several shots, however, the sound of which came from a distance, showed him that Burnett and his party had met with game; but as he found no real pleasure in tiger-shooting, he was anxious to get back to the bungalow, where they intended to stop till the next evening before resuming their journey. He wished, indeed, to astonish his friend, by exhibiting his prize, when Burnett was boasting, as he probably would, of the number of tigers he had killed. Leaving word with the elephant drivers that he had returned on foot, and bidding them say nothing about his captive, he hastened homeward, followed by his two astonished attendants.

“He is indeed a wonderful young man,” observed the shikaree wallah. “How courageously he walked up to the tiger; it makes my knees even now tremble to think of it. Wallah, he is a brave youth.”

As Reginald walked on, with his hand on the tigress’s head, he considered what name he should give the animal. “She has evidently become attached to me, and will follow me about like a dog,” he said to himself. “Very likely she may be of use, too, for I suspect that no robbers, nor even Thugs, would dare attack a man with a tigress as his protector. What shall I call her? Violet? Violet? No, certainly not. There is nothing in common, except I may say affection for me. Faithful? Yes, Faithful. That, I am sure, will prove the chief characteristic of the creature. Faithful shall be her name!”

By the time he had arrived at this decision he reached Major Sandford’s bungalow. The sitting-room was of large extent, ornamented with the skins of antelopes, bison, and stag horns of various kinds, and with native swords, bows, arrows, spears, and battle-axes; while the floor was covered with the hides of bears, leopards, tigers, and deer; and a number of tables, sofas, and chairs of all shapes were scattered about on it. Placing three of the chairs in a row, Reginald covered them with skins, so as to form a screen; and calling to Faithful, he bade her lie down behind them. He threw himself on a sofa in front to await the arrival of his friends. Before long he caught sight of Burnett’s elephant approaching.

“How comes it, you lazy fellow, that you return home without a single skin to show?” asked Captain Burnett, as he entered.

“Pardon me, but I have not returned without a skin,” said Reginald. “Here, Faithful, show yourself.”

As he spoke the tigress raised her head above the screen with a menacing expression in her countenance which made Burnett start back and draw one of his pistols.

“Don’t fire!” exclaimed Reginald. “The brute is tame, though I only captured her this morning. See! I became her surgeon, and she is grateful for the service I rendered her.”

Burnett could scarcely believe his senses, till the secret of her apparent sudden tameness was disclosed.

At dinner Faithful crouched down at her new master’s feet, and gratefully accepted the small morsels thrown to her; though Burnett advised that she should have a more substantial meal, or she might take to helping herself, if pressed by hunger, to a human creature, if not to some of the tame animals they might meet with on the road. In the evening Reginald again dressed the tigress’s foot, when she exhibited the same marks of gratitude as before.

Though the tigress was much better the next morning, she was still too lame to walk, and accordingly Reginald had a large wooden cage made for her, with a bed in it of dry grass, on which she might repose with perfect comfort. This cage was slung on the back of an elephant, counterbalanced by several heavy articles. It was some time, however, before the sagacious elephant, which knew perfectly well the contents of the cage, would allow it to be lifted up on its back. Faithful also felt very uneasy when brought near the elephant; and not till the cage had been completely covered up, so that the two animals could not see each other, were the drivers able to secure it.

The journey was resumed; and occasionally stopping to have a day’s sport,—to which Reginald consented more for his friend’s sake than his own,—greatly to his satisfaction, they at length arrived in sight of the domes and minarets of Allahapoor, the city in the far interior to which they were bound. They encamped outside, that they might get into order and present themselves in a becoming manner to the rajah, Meer Ali Singh, the despotic governor of the province. Captain Burnett put on his uniform, and all the attendants dressed themselves in their best costumes.

“I have made up my mind to appear in my seaman’s dress,” said Reginald; “from what I have heard of Meer Ali, he is more likely to give me a favourable reception should I present myself in an unpretending manner than with all the pomp I could assume. It will also have the effect of making his favourites less jealous of me, and unsuspicious of my object. I do not allude so much to the natives as to a European who is about the rajah, a certain André Cochût by name, originally a barber, who was my father’s great enemy, and is now in high favour at court. I must be prepared for every obstruction he can throw in my way; but as he is not acquainted with the name I bear, he will not suspect who I am. You must appear as the person of chief importance, while you represent me as a friend whom you have brought for the sake of companionship. This will throw Cochût off his guard. And if we manage to play our cards well, we may gain the confidence of the rajah; when I hope that he may then be induced to deliver up my father’s property, and the casket containing the valuable deeds I am in search of.”

Captain Burnett agreed to the wisdom of Reginald’s plan, and, in order to assume as much importance as possible, sent in to the rajah to announce their arrival, and to request that they might be permitted to pay their respects. The plan succeeded even better than they had expected. The next morning, as they were preparing to move, a suwarree, or retinue of elephants and horses, was seen approaching, headed by one of the rajah’s principal officers. The train of elephants was splendidly equipped with silver howdahs, and accompanied by suwarrs, or horsemen, in red and yellow, followed by an irregular though picturesque body of infantry, armed with swords, long matchlock guns, and shields. Some had enormously long spears covered over with silver; while amid them were carried large triangular green banners. The silver howdahs, the flowing dresses, the glowing colours, and the majestic size of the animals which formed the most prominent part of the group, had altogether a wonderfully picturesque and scenic appearance. The strangers were invited to mount the elephants, and in a few minutes they found themselves forming part of the curious procession they had before been admiring. Thus they entered the gates of the ancient city. The houses they passed were closely packed and built of clay, the lanes dirty in the extreme, and so narrow that they frequently had to proceed in single file. Beggars swarmed at every angle, and on the steps of every door, while the whole population appeared armed either with matchlock gun or pistols. Some carried a short bent sword called a tulwar, with shield on shoulder. The traders walked about with tulwars by their sides, while the idlers carried both the pistol and the shield. The latter is of buffalo-hide, generally covered with brass knobs, and is worn on the left shoulder. The fierce-looking moustaches of the Rajpoots and Patans, and the black beards of the Mussulmans, with their tulwars and shields, as they swaggered about, gave them a particularly warlike air. Even grave-looking men, carried about in palanquins, and counting their beads, had several sword and buckler attendants. Some of the more consequential rode on elephants, also accompanied by a retinue of armed men. Even the people lounging at the shop doors were armed with swords, and had their shields over their shoulders. After passing through a number of these narrow and dirty streets, redeemed here and there by pretty mosques, well-filled bazaars, and a few large houses, the party entered a wide and handsome street,—bordered by colonnades of a highly ornamental style of architecture,—along which they proceeded, till they reached the house appointed by the rajah for their residence. It belonged to one of the European officers at the court, who was now absent, and possessed ample accommodation for a much larger party than theirs.

Reginald had kept Faithful secured in her cage. He was curious to know how she would behave in a city, and he waited anxiously for the arrival of their own elephants and baggage. They came at last. On the cage being placed on the ground, he took off the covering. Faithful was lying crouched down. She was evidently much put out at the way she had been treated, and the fierce expression of her eye made him doubt at first whether it would be wise to set her free. After speaking in soothing tones, and stroking her head for a short time, the expression changed, when opening the side of the cage so as to enable him to reach her paw, he stooped down and dressed it carefully. She looked up with an expression of gratitude in her countenance; and now telling her to follow him, he conducted her into the sitting-room, where he had left his friend. As Reginald took his seat at the dinner-table, Faithful lay down by his side, and thankfully ate the bits of food thrown to her. When afterwards visitors were announced, she remained perfectly quiet, eyeing them, however, narrowly. Next day an officer—no less a man than André Cochût, who had now become a khan or noble—arrived to summon them to his master the rajah, “the Refuge of the World,” who was ready to allow them the honour of an audience.

“We will obey the summons, khan,” said Captain Burnett; and he and Reginald immediately got ready.

The captain had prepared the presents which, according to Oriental etiquette, it is usual to offer to a ruling prince on being first introduced, and he had given the necessary instructions to Reginald. They each took four gold mohurs, which they placed on fine muslin handkerchiefs to be held in the palm of their hands.

“There, that will do,” said Captain Burnett; “we must offer them in this style; and if the rajah is inclined to be gracious, we shall not be the losers by the transaction.”

Putting the money and handkerchiefs in their pockets, they went out into the courtyard of their house, where they found richly-caparisoned steeds awaiting them. They mounted, Burnett accompanying the khan, and Reginald following in his usual nautical costume, attended by Dick Thuddichum, who sat his steed much in the style of sailors in general. His appearance contrasted greatly with that of the richly habited natives who rode on either side of him; and his attempts at conversation caused them a good deal of amusement, though none of those he addressed could understand a word he said, nor could he understand their remarks. The crowds in the streets made way for the khan, who was known to be in high favour at court, and was treated accordingly with every mark of respect.

The palace, which was at no great distance, was soon reached, when the ex-barber threw his reins with an air of importance to the syce, or groom, in attendance, telling the Englishmen to follow him. Entering the gates of the palace, they passed through several apartments adorned with beautiful chandeliers, and cabinets of rare woods and of silver or lacquered ware. Richly-decorated shields, arms, and suits of armour covered the walls, not always arranged in good taste, but offering a fair specimen of Oriental magnificence.

“You two come with me,” said the ex-barber, addressing Burnett and Reginald.

As he led the way, they emerged into a small garden or courtyard with a fountain playing in the centre, beyond which was seen a pavilion. Crossing the garden, they approached the pavilion.

Neither Reginald nor Burnett were prepared for the scene which met their view. In a richly-ornamented alcove, seated on a pile of cushions, were two persons; one of whom they immediately knew must be the rajah. He was magnificently attired in Oriental costume, covered with gold ornaments; a turban covering his head, surmounted by a plume of bird of paradise feathers, with a sparkling aigrette in front. He had large moustaches, and an enormous white beard flowing over his breast. By his side reclined a lady, also handsomely dressed, her features of rare beauty, and her complexion scarcely darker than that of an Italian. The rajah was smoking a hookah of elegant workmanship. He took it from his lips when the strangers advanced, and expressed his satisfaction at receiving them.

“My grandchild, Nuna, desired to see you, as Englishmen at present rarely visit my court,” he said, after the usual complimentary speeches had been exchanged; “except my worthy friend there, the khan, she has never set eyes on a white man.”

While the rajah was speaking, Captain Burnett could with difficulty avoid fixing his gaze on the lovely features of the young girl, though he felt it would be contrary to court etiquette to do so.

“And what brought you to my city?” asked the rajah.

“We had heard of your highness’s wisdom and renown, and as we desired to visit the chief objects of interest in this part of the world, we came to see your city, in the hope of enjoying the happiness of an interview with your highness,” answered Burnett, who had considerable experience in the proper style of addressing Oriental potentates. The rajah looked pleased.

“And whence do you come? Do you belong to the Company?” he asked, turning to Reginald.

“Most of my days have been spent on the salt ocean, your highness,” answered Reginald; “and my desire is to see the wonders of the interior part of the country.”

“An extraordinary life yours must have been,” observed the rajah. “They tell me that ships are tossed about on the waves like balls in the hands of jugglers, and sometimes are thrown on the rocks, and at others go down to the bottom. Extraordinary that men should be found to hazard their lives on so treacherous an element!”

“An existence on the ocean has its advantages as well as its dangers,” answered Reginald. “Without ships men cannot visit other lands, or carry the produce of this magnificent country to England, and bring back her manufactures in return.”

“You speak the truth, young sir,” said the rajah, evidently pleased with Reginald’s manner. “You and your friend are welcome to remain in Allahapoor as long as you please; and I shall be glad to see you again.”

Captain Burnett, knowing that this was a signal for their departure, offered the presents which he and Reginald had brought. They were graciously accepted, the rajah placing them on a cushion by his side. Bowing low they withdrew, the captain taking another glance at the rajah’s grand-daughter as he did so.

André Cochût accompanied them home, and by the questions he put it was evident that he wished to ascertain their real object in coming to Allahapoor. Captain Burnett replied cautiously, and took an opportunity of whispering to Reginald to be on his guard as to what he said. “I do not trust that individual,” he observed as soon as the khan had taken his departure. “He fears that we may remain and supplant him in the good graces of the old rajah. If we can win him over, he may assist us; but the attempt to do so would excite his suspicion.” Reginald promised to follow his friend’s advice, and they agreed that they would simply be civil to Cochût, and appear to be only desirous of visiting the scenes of interest in the neighbourhood.

The following day they received another summons to visit the rajah in his usual hall of audience in the palace. He had a few guards and courtiers in attendance. Burnett looked round in vain in the hope of catching a glimpse of the beautiful Nuna, but she was nowhere to be seen; indeed, her appearance on the previous occasion had been contrary to the usual custom, as no Mohammedan or Hindoo women of high rank ever exhibit themselves in public. The rajah appeared more than ever pleased with them, and asked numerous questions, which they answered apparently to his satisfaction.

“I must not let you Englishmen live so far off,” he said at length. “I should like to see you at all times of the day. You must come and live in the palace, where rooms shall be prepared for you. I must have no refusal. The matter is settled.”

Burnett and Reginald expressed their gratitude at the favour shown them, and said they gladly accepted his highness’s offer. Before they left, Khan Cochût overtook them; and though he contrived to conceal his feelings, it was clear that he was more than ever jealous and annoyed at the thought of their being about the person of his master. On returning with their attendants and luggage, they found, as had been promised, a handsome suite of rooms prepared for their reception. They quickly made themselves at home, Burnett observing that they had fallen into pleasant quarters. Before long, Khan Cochût came with a message from the rajah, inviting them to dinner. He again endeavoured to discover their object in visiting Allahapoor. Reginald, warned by his friend, answered very cautiously, and so the ex-barber had to take his departure without being wiser than he came. At the dinner-hour an attendant of the rajah came to summon them. They found the great man seated at table, in a hall furnished in a strangely-mixed Oriental and English fashion. The rajah sat on one side of the table, on a gilt armchair raised a few inches above the floor; the opposite side being left unoccupied, that whatever took place at the other end of the hall might be seen by the guests, while the servants could thus remove the dishes without difficulty. He beckoned to Burnett and Reginald to take their seats one on either side of him,—greatly to the disgust of Khan Cochût, who had to move further down the table. Several nobles and other courtiers were present. As soon as the party had taken their places, a curtain behind them was drawn on one side, when half-a-dozen young females issued forth, each carrying large fans of peacock’s feathers, and noiselessly placed themselves behind the rajah’s chair. The hue of their skins was scarcely darker than that of the women of Southern Europe; their hair, black as jet, drawn over the forehead, was twisted in rolls behind, and ornamented with pearls and silver pins, over which hung a muslin robe covering their shoulders—of a texture so fine, however, that their forms could be clearly seen through it. Gold-embroidered zones surrounded their waists and supported their Turkish trousers of bright crimson satin, which were also secured round their ankles by gold-embroidered belts. Two of them at a time advanced—their arms bare almost to the shoulder—and silently waved their fans in the most graceful manner above the head of the rajah. Here they remained the whole evening, relieving each other by turns, and attending to his hookah, supplying it with tobacco as might be required.

The first courses being removed, a group of nautch-girls, attended by musicians, entered the hall, and commenced their performances,—now advancing in graceful attitudes, now retiring; now with one hand held over the head, now with the other; the musicians during the time playing on lutes and tambourines behind them, and accompanying the instruments with their voices. While this was going on a puppet-show was introduced, in which the figures acted a play and danced almost in as lifelike a manner as performers on a stage. The nautch-girls continued their performances throughout the whole evening, but the other entertainments were varied. The puppet-show was succeeded by a band of tumblers, who tied themselves into knots, walked on their hands and heads, and twisted and turned about more actively than the most nimble of monkeys—their bodies apparently being destitute of bones, or possessing ten times the number of joints usually found in the human frame. They all received a reward—more or less, as the rajah was pleased with their performances.

Burnett, it must be confessed, looked in vain for the appearance of Nuna, who, it was possible, might have been among the audience behind the gauze curtain at the further end of the hall.

“And how have you enjoyed our evening’s entertainment?” asked the rajah, turning to Reginald.

“The performances are very wonderful,” he answered. Of course he could not say that he thought them very barbarous, and that they had afforded him anything but pleasure.

“Ah, we will show you things far more wonderful than these,” observed the rajah. “You must accompany us out hunting. You Englishmen, I understand, are all huntsmen, and delight in the chase, and are not afraid to encounter tigers and wild boars, and even elephants.”

Reginald confessed that sporting was much more in accordance with his taste, and that he should be glad to have an opportunity afforded him of seeing how the Orientals followed the chase.

At length the rajah, accompanied by the damsels, who continued fanning him, took his departure, and the banquet was at an end; but Reginald did not forget a scowl he had observed on the countenance of Khan Cochût as he and Burnett quitted the hall.

He had left Faithful the sole occupant of a stall in one of the stables. Before lying down at night, he went to pay his favourite a visit. The animal fawned on him, and seemed so unwilling to be left alone, that he led her out, intending to allow her to share his sleeping-room. She seemed highly pleased; and no sooner had Reginald thrown himself on the pile of cushions arranged on the floor for his couch, than she laid herself down, evidently prepared to keep watch during the night by his side. “Perhaps the creature’s instinct tells her that some danger threatens me,” he said to himself. “I am very sure that I may trust to her vigilance, and sleep soundly, without the risk of being attacked unawares.” Thoughts of various sorts pressed on his mind, and before he fell asleep he saw Faithful get up several times and walk slowly round the room, sniffing in all the corners.

Chapter Three.

A Midnight Intruder—A Hunting Party—Cheetahs and Trained Deer—A Warlike Expedition—The March—The Women left Encamped—Surprised by the Mountaineers—Attack on the Mountain Fort—Faithful saves the Rajah’s Life—The Cavalry take to Flight—Surrounded by Foes—Rescued by Burnett.

Reginald had thrown himself on his couch without undressing, no bedclothes having been provided; his baggage, not very extensive, was placed in one corner of the room. His portmanteau contained some important documents, which he wished no eye but his own to scan till the time for producing them had arrived. Faithful lay down before him much like a dog, with her eyes half open. He had been for some time asleep when he was awakened by a low growl, and on looking up he saw Faithful on the point of rising, her eyes glaring towards the further end of the room. A curtain which served instead of a door was drawn aside, and by the faint light of a lamp, almost burned out, he observed a person steal into the room with a dagger in his hand. The intruder crept along close to the wall, apparently not observing the tigress; when she rose to her feet, and would in another instant have sprung upon him, had not he, on seeing her, bounded back through the doorway far more quickly than he had entered.

Reginald, unwilling to create a disturbance, called Faithful back. She obeyed instantly, and again lay down by his side. The intention of the midnight intruder was apparently either to murder him or to pilfer his baggage, though the dagger looked very suspicious.

“Good Faithful, you behaved admirably,” said Reginald, patting his favourite’s head. “I feel very sure that you will watch over me, so I will once more try to sleep.”

Saying this, he again lay down, confident that, whatever had been the stranger’s intention, he was not likely to repeat the attempt.

Captain Burnett, to whom he narrated the next morning what had occurred, declared that no one had entered his room. They agreed, however, to keep watch the next night, in order to try and catch the intruder.

“If we can catch the fellow, whoever he is, we must carry him before the rajah,” observed Burnett. “And I must warn you also, Reginald, that we must be careful what we eat; these natives are adepts in poisoning, and would not scruple to exert that talent if they considered it convenient.”

A handsome breakfast was served them, with all sorts of Oriental delicacies; and during the repast, at which several slaves attended, Captain Burnett described in Hindostanee, as if speaking to Reginald, a wonderful rod he possessed, which had the property of discovering poison—as also the poisoner, by whirling itself about as soon as he appeared, and pointing towards him. He spoke in a natural, offhand manner, as if there was nothing unusual in what he was saying.

Soon after the repast they were summoned into the presence of the rajah, who told them that one of his principal officers would take them on a hunting expedition, if they wished to see the style of sporting generally followed in his province. They of course expressed their gratitude, and at once accepted the offer.

“You may go this very day, as the khan is about to set out,” said the rajah. “For myself, I am getting too old to engage in such sports for amusement. I may have ere long to lead my troops to battle; but that is a very different affair. Horses are already prepared for you.”

In a few minutes Reginald and his friend found themselves in the midst of a large party of Oriental cavaliers in gay costumes, mounted on richly-caparisoned steeds, headed by the Khan Mukund Bhim, who was a remarkably good horseman. Off they set at a rate which, in little more than an hour, carried them to a distance of twelve miles or more from the city. They now entered a wild part of the country, on the borders of a forest, where a band of huntsmen, with several cheetahs and eight or ten trained stags, had been appointed to meet them.

“We will show you some fine sport presently,” said the khan; and after allowing their horses a little rest, they again set forward. A party of bearers followed, carrying in a cage a cheetah or hunting leopard, an animal which may be described as in size and shape between the hound and the leopard. Its body is slenderer and more elevated than that of the latter animal, while it does not possess the graceful form of the common leopard; and its head, which is smaller, is peculiarly ugly; its tail is like that of a cat; and its body seems formed more for strong muscular exertion than for active and long-continued speed. Though possessing the sagacity and fidelity of the dog, it is undoubtedly feline in its habits. Its general colour is a bright yellowish-brown, lighter on the sides, and nearly white beneath, marked with numerous small black spots all over, which are continued along the tail so as to appear like rings; its ears are short and rounded, while from each eye a blackish mark runs down to the corners of the mouth, the extremity of the nose being black. The fur, instead of possessing that sleekness which distinguishes the feline race, is peculiarly crisp.

As the party neared the spot where it was expected that the deer would be found, the cheetah was taken out of its cage and led forward by a keeper with a chain, just as a large dog would be led—its head, of course, being covered. When led without any such protection, it is very difficult to manage. Should it scent a trail upon the ground, it begins to throw its head aloft and peer about. To restore its tranquillity, the keeper places a cocoanut shell sprinkled on the inside with salt to the animal’s nose. The cheetah licks the salt, and losing the scent forgets the object which attracted its attention. As soon as it again exhibits signs of excitement, the cocoanut shell is applied to its nose, and it again becomes manageable.

At length several deer appeared at a short distance, on some marshy ground, with bushes intervening. The khan gave a signal to the keeper, who slipped the leash, and the cheetah began to steal cautiously towards the herd, taking advantage of the bushes and high grass to conceal itself. On it went like a cat, till it got within a short distance of the deer. They at length discovered its approach, and went bounding forward over everything that impeded their progress, jumping, running, and wading through the marsh with frantic energy. The cheetah’s blood was up. It singled out one of the animals, and away it went, bounding catlike over the bushes; plunging into the morass, though hating water, rather than allow its prey to escape. Off started the hunting party, now keeping their eyes on the flying deer, now upon the persevering cheetah. It was no easy task, however, to keep the chase in sight, as they scampered over the marsh and thick grass. Indeed, they put the horsemanship of all the party to the test. While the rest of the deer escaped on either side, the one the cheetah had fixed on had kept a straight course, now by the side of a nullah, now over the wiry grass, now through thick bushes. The cheetah meanwhile skimmed over the surface of the ground, as if requiring no rest for its feet. The forest appeared ahead. Should the deer once reach it and force its way through, even the persevering cheetah would have a difficulty in following. The poor deer, however, worn out with the long chase, and overcome with fear at the indefatigable pursuit of its bloodthirsty foe, leaped headforemost into a thicket, under the belief that it was the commencement of the forest. Its branching horns were caught for a moment, and before it could extricate them, the ferocious cheetah, bounding forward, was upon it, and instantly seizing its neck, pulled it to the ground.

The khan and his companions arrived just as the poor creature was at its last gasp, turning up its beautiful eyes as if imploring mercy from its persecutors. The huntsmen soon put it out of its agony, and it was carried off by the bearers; while the panting cheetah allowed its keeper quietly to slip the chain over its head and lead it away to its cage.

“Come, we must now show you the way we hunt with our stags,” said the khan.

Galloping on, they reached the spot where the trained stags, with their keepers, had been waiting for them. Proceeding to another part of the open forest, the party arrived at a spot towards which a band of beaters had driven a herd of deer. Here the animals stood grazing, protected by their watchful guardians, the most warlike and powerful of their males. They could be seen in the far distance. The tame deer were now set at liberty, and advanced at a gentle trot. The males in charge of the herd immediately advanced to meet them. At first they seemed to doubt whether the strange ones came as friends or foes. But the matter was soon settled. The two parties were quickly engaged in a fierce contest, the wild animals rushing forward with great fury, meeting the tame ones—antlers to antlers, and heads to heads. The latter, formidable-looking animals, stood generally on the defensive, each being engaged with a wild adversary, not mimicking war, but fighting desperately. As the hunting party advanced, the herd, catching sight of them, took to flight, but the combatants were too furiously engaged to observe the spectators of the fight. They saw before them only their adversaries, and did not even remark the party of native huntsmen on foot, who, stealing round to their rear, got between them and the forest. Concealing themselves, they advanced stealthily towards the combatants, with long knives gleaming in their hands. Had any one of the wild stags retreated and observed them, they would have been in imminent danger, but there was little fear of that. Getting up close behind the still fighting wild deer, with one stroke of their weapons they hamstrung the brave creatures. Having performed this deed, they hurried away; and the latter, pressed by their adversaries, fell to the ground, unable to move.

The keepers now called off the tame deer, who immediately obeyed, without attempting to follow up their victory. Many of them bore evidence of the severity of the contest by their gored chests, from which the blood was streaming. They seemed to disregard their wounds, however, as if proud of their success, and capered about joyously, tossing their antlers. Meanwhile the huntsmen approached and finished the butchery they had commenced, by cutting the throats of the noble stags, as they helplessly lay in various attitudes on the sward, looking up at their conquerors with those large black eyes of theirs in a way which seemed to ask how human beings could be guilty of such cruelty.

“But how do your people manage to catch and tame the deer which have just so well played their part?” asked Captain Burnett of the khan.

“I will show you,” he answered. “We have still time, for this forest abounds in deer, and the hunters are ready.”

Riding along the edge of the forest, they came to another open space, followed by the least injured tame deer, led by their keepers, who had been joined by a party of men carrying some large nets. Before long they came in sight of another herd; when the same scene as before was enacted. The tame deer advanced, and were met by an equal number of wild animals, with whom they were soon engaged in a desperate combat,—the well-trained and sagacious decoys slowly retreating, facing their foes, and keeping them engaged, as a skilful swordsman does his adversary, while he endeavours to make him lose his temper. The clash of their branching antlers was clearly heard as the animals fenced furiously at each other. While they were thus hotly engaged, the net-bearers crept round—each net borne by two men—till they got in the rear of the wild stags. They then cautiously approached; and their object was now evident. It was to throw the nets over the heads of the wild deer. This was no easy task. They might either catch the antlers of the tame animals, or might fail to cast the nets over those of the wild ones; in which case they ran the risk of being gored by the latter turning on them.

The first two men succeeded in throwing their net over one of the stags; its tame opponent, at a signal which it understood, springing back at the proper moment, when the men, dragging with all their might, brought their captive to the ground.

The next two men were not so fortunate. The wild stag, seeing what was taking place, wheeled suddenly round, and catching sight of its treacherous foes, rushed at them, with its antlers as sharp as lance points, and literally pinned one of them to the ground, his companion narrowly escaping his fate; then, fleet as the wind, off scampered the deer, and was far away before a shot could be fired at it. Before the hunters could reach the poor man who had been overthrown, he had breathed his last; his death, however, exciting no more sympathy than if a dog had been killed.

Four more deer were eventually captured and dragged off by the huntsmen, their limbs and heads completely enveloped in the nets. Then the hunt for the day being over, the party encamped, tents having been brought from Allahapoor for their convenience; and the next day they returned to the city.

“And how did you enjoy the sport?” asked the rajah, when Reginald and his friend again had the honour of an audience.

“Very well indeed,” was the answer.

“Then I will enable you to have some more,” said the rajah. “I intend to lead an expedition that will shortly set out from hence. It will afford you better sport, for we shall have two-footed instead of four-footed beasts to contend with. Some hill tribes to the north have dared to come down and plunder and kill my people in the plain, and they must be punished at all hazards. I shall be glad of your advice and assistance, for you Englishmen take naturally to fighting, whether you have been bred to it or not.”

Reginald and Burnett thanked the rajah for the compliment he had paid them, but gave no promise. However, they discussed the subject afterwards in their own room, Dick Thuddichum being present.

“I think it will be wise to go,” observed Captain Burnett. “We shall thus have an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with the rajah, and ingratiating ourselves, than we can here; and you will thus, on our return, more easily obtain the secret the rajah possesses.”

“Dick, are you inclined to come and help the rajah to fight these savage mountaineers?” asked Reginald.

“I should think so! Wherever your honour goes, I am ready to follow,” answered Dick.

“Well, then, Burnett, let us settle it. We will tell the rajah at once that we are ready to help him to bring his rebellious subjects into order.”

The rajah was highly pleased. “If we succeed, you shall both be made great khans, and become the possessors of untold wealth; that I promise you!” he exclaimed.

The next day the army was on its march, the fighting-men scarcely so numerous as the camp-followers. The first were fierce-looking fellows,—partly cavalry and partly infantry. The cavalry were richly accoutred; the officers in gorgeous uniforms, with spears, carbines, and curved swords with jewelled hilts rattling by their sides. The foot-soldiers had more of a fighting look, with their shields and matchlocks. Then came elephants, carrying gaily-ornamented howdahs; camels—some for riding and others employed as beasts of burden—and horses innumerable; palanquins, conveying some of the female members of the rajah’s family, without whom the old chief never moved from home,—the whole train forming an immense line of a mile or more in length. Burnett and Reginald, as they surveyed it, could not help thinking that an active foe might manage to get in the rear and plunder them before the fighting-men could arrive for their defence.

The villagers, as the troops marched through the country, were thrown into the greatest consternation; the soldiers, without ceremony, taking whatever they wanted, and maltreating those who resisted them. The villagers were also compelled to turn out and make the roads practicable, or to cut new ones, to enable the army to advance. Men and women were all set to work; the only pay they received being abuse and punishment when they were unable to accomplish their tasks as rapidly as the rajah desired.

The camp at night occupied a considerable extent of country; and as the act of encamping occupied some time, a halt was called an hour or more before sunset. The rajah’s tent was pitched in the neighbourhood of an immense banyan-tree; those of his chief officers and attendants being placed, without much order, around it. Among these, one was appropriated for the use of Reginald and his friend. As they lay stretched at their length in the tent, smoking their hookahs, they could not fail to be struck by the picturesqueness of the curious scene. Near them lay the camels, chewing the cud in silence, and gracefully moving their bending necks as they brought up the balls of food into their mouths. The horses, picketed here and there, cropped their evening meal; while the elephants stood silently at a distance, occasionally moving their long trunks, or flapping their ears. The cries of the birds and the screams of the monkeys, as they composed themselves for the night, came forth from the neighbouring forest; while, at a distance, the devout Mussulmans were engaged in the muggreet, or evening prayer, as they knelt on their little mats, and bowed their heads to kiss the ground. Richly-dressed officers moved about amid the tents, and scantily-clothed warriors reclined in groups in all directions. The most actively engaged persons were the cooks, who were preparing the evening meal for their masters; the attendants standing ready to convey it to them as soon as it should be prepared. The setting sun, casting his lurid beams across the landscape, lighted up the figures of men and animals, and the tents and trees, with a golden hue.

Reginald had brought Faithful; who, indeed, would not have consented to have been left behind, and who now kept so strict a watch in his tent, that neither robber nor assassin would have ventured to enter it.

The only person of any consequence in the rajah’s household who had not come was Khan Cochût. He had no fancy for encountering the dangers of war; and though the rajah had commanded his attendance, he excused himself on the plea of severe illness.

Again the troops moved on, and constant scenes of violence and cruelty were practised. The country became wilder as they advanced towards the mountains. There was no lack of inhabitants, and they were everywhere summoned from their homes to labour in the rajah’s service. The rajah during part of the day rode on an elephant; but he generally mounted his horse after midday, and desired the two Englishmen to ride by his side. They had thus many opportunities of conversing with him. Captain Burnett endeavoured to draw from him his plan of the campaign. It was a very simple one. He intended to march on till he reached the territory of the rebels; and his purpose then was to burn the villages, and to cut off the heads of any of the rebels he could catch.

“It will frighten the rest, who will soon come to terms, and agree to pay any tribute I may demand,” observed the rajah.

“But suppose, your highness, that the enemy were to evade us till they can gather in sufficient force to afford them good hopes of success, how do you then propose dealing with them?” asked Burnett.

“They will not dare to attack us,” answered the rajah, stroking his beard. “They are sure to run away as we advance.”

Of this, however, Burnett, who had been making inquiries about the character of the rebels from those who had been among them, was not so certain. It seemed to him much more likely that, though armed only with bows, arrows, swords, and spears, they would lie in ambush on the sides of several narrow gorges through which the army had to pass, whence they could take good aim with their unerring bows, and also send down large fragments of rock on the heads of their invaders. He accordingly urged the rajah to leave the women and baggage encamped in a secure position outside the mountains, while the troops made their way through the more difficult country.

“You Englishmen are always wise,” observed the rajah, “and I will seriously consider your advice.”

The troops advanced, plundering their friends as if they had been enemies, in their line of march. The fields were trodden down and their produce carried off. The sugar-canes were looted by elephants and camp-followers; the well-ropes stolen to serve as drag-ropes; and if any of the country-people attempted to defend their property, they were cruelly ill-treated. The force increased, too, as they advanced. The horse-keepers’ wives with their children joined them, not knowing where else to go. Numbers of milk-women came in carrying the milk on their heads to supply the men, and after the camp was pitched their voices were heard crying out in all directions, “doodh.” Dogs in vast numbers, with or without owners, joined the camp, snarling and barking all night long; while packs of jackals and hyaenas followed in their track, commencing their hideous concert soon after sunset, and never ceasing till near daylight, while they stole round the confines of the camp to pick up any garbage they could find.

Frequently in the daytime an antelope or a hare would be started, when horse and foot-soldiers and camp-followers would give chase, with the pariah dogs of all sizes and colours dodging amid the carts, elephants, and camels, frequently joined by some horses which would break loose,—creating a hubbub and confusion during which an enemy would have had a fine opportunity of surprising the camp before the fighting-men could fall in to repel him.

At length the mountains appeared in sight, and the rajah, following Captain Burnett’s advice, pitched his camp, which was surrounded by a stockade. Here the women and children, and most of the camp-followers, were left, with a small body of troops to guard them. The fighting forces, marshalled in somewhat better order than before, now advanced among the hills. The mountaineers, probably having notice of their approach, kept out of the way, and not an enemy was to be seen. A few villages, scattered here and there on the heights, were apparently deserted. Those which could be easily reached were burned, but no prisoners were taken.

Burnett again warned the old rajah that he was very likely to be led into an ambush, and urged him to send out scouts on either flank to examine the country. They went, but did not return, and it was doubtful whether they had deserted or had been cut to pieces by the mountaineers; the latter being most probably the case.

The army encamped at night in the most open spot they could find, where they were less likely to be surprised than in the valleys, several of which they had passed through. At length, as day was declining, and just as the van of the army was passing over an extremely rocky country, with rugged hills and masses of brushwood growing on them, suddenly the bare spots on every height around were seen covered with warriors armed with bows, javelins, and spears.

The next instant showers of arrows came flying into the midst of the troops, and javelins were darted by the enemy at those nearest them. Calling a halt, the Khan Mukund Bhim, who had been galloping on in advance, turned back, and ordered his men to open fire on their assailants. But no sooner did the nimble-footed enemy find the bullets reaching them than they vanished behind cover, and in another minute the whole valley in which the contest was lately raging appeared open to the advance of the invading forces.

The rajah, however, by the advice of Captain Burnett, halted his army in the valley they now occupied. Retreat was not to be thought of; while to advance, with an active enemy on either side, was dangerous in the extreme. A vigilant watch was therefore kept during the night, and the mountaineers, finding their invaders on the alert, did not venture to attack them.

Next morning the march was resumed. The country ahead, however, soon became more difficult than any they had yet passed through. Orders were therefore given to scale the heights, and the lightly-clad sepoys quickly scrambled up them; but when they reached the summits, no enemies were to be seen. The heights being occupied, the cavalry once more advanced; the foot-soldiers, as they dashed forward, taking possession of each commanding height. A large force was now seen ahead, perched on an apparently inaccessible hill, with a village on the summit, and perpendicular cliffs from eighty to a hundred feet in height surrounding it. The only practicable path passed below this height; while posted on the top and on every projecting crag were the native warriors, prepared to dispute the advance of their invaders.

The rajah’s rage at the audacity of the rebels, as he called them, was excessive. He insisted that the heights should be stormed, and the village and all the inhabitants destroyed. Captain Burnett advised him not to make the attempt, but rather to starve out the garrison, or to try and bring them to terms by other means. He would not listen to reason, however, but insisted that the place should be taken as he proposed. As the cavalry could be of no service, the fighting fell upon the foot-soldiers,—who, in a very dashing way, attempted to climb up the heights, but were hurled down again by the enemy from above with arrows, javelins, and huge stones. Again and again they made the attempt,—each time the greater number who were climbing up being destroyed, till the foot of the hill and every ledge wide enough to form a resting-place were strewn with the dead and the dying. The old rajah stormed and swore, and ordered some of the cavalry to dismount and try if they could not do better. Burnett, on hearing the command, assured the rajah that they would certainly be destroyed as easily as the infantry, and suggested that a party should be sent round to take the fort in the rear.

“If you will lead it, I will consent,” said the rajah; and Burnett consented on the condition that the lives of the brave villagers might be spared should they yield.

Reginald wished to accompany his friend, but the rajah begged him to remain by his side. “I want your advice and assistance. I much suspect the faithfulness of some of my officers; for they, finding things going against us, may kill me: they have attempted it once before.”

Reginald accordingly agreed to remain; while Burnett, at the head of three hundred horsemen, set off to make a wide circuit round the hills, in the hope of reaching the rear of the fort. In the meantime the attack in front was carried on with the same want of success as before, resulting only in the destruction of still more of the rajah’s troops.

Night was approaching, and at length the attempt was abandoned. The order was given to encamp in the only spot where this could be done with any degree of safety. A small tent had been brought for the rajah, who invited Reginald, attended by Faithful and Dick Thuddichum, to remain with him. The rest of the force, officers as well as men, lay down with their horses picketed near them. But the night air in that elevated region was very cold, and all complained greatly. The rajah’s tent had been fixed amid the ruins of a small temple, built by the former possessors of the country, as the present inhabitants had neither temples nor priests. Sentinels were posted round the camp; but they were ill-fitted for the duty, having been engaged during the whole day in attempting to storm the fort, while they were suffering, moreover, from the cold. The rest of the army lay down to sleep. Reginald, with Faithful, occupied the further end of the tent.

It wanted an hour or two to dawn, when Reginald, he knew not from what cause, awoke. As he looked up, for a moment forgetting where he was, he saw, by the light of a lamp burning in the centre of the tent, the curtain at the entrance noiselessly drawn aside, and three men appear, who, by their dresses, he knew were persons of rank, each holding a drawn sword in his hand. What their intention was, he had no doubt; and shouting to awake the rajah, he sprang to his feet, grasping his own sword and pistols. His shouts awakened Dick Thuddichum, who, sailor-like, was asleep with one eye open just outside the tent. Faithful, at the same time, started to her feet, and at a glance took in the situation of affairs. The assassins, if such they were, seemed not to have known of her presence. Before the rajah could rise and grasp his scimitar, however, the leading assassin was close upon him, about to plunge his weapon in his breast,—when Faithful, bounding across the tent, grasped the traitor in her huge jaws. Reginald attacked the second man, who was advancing towards him; while Dick Thuddichum, with a heavy sword which he called his “cutlash,” set upon the third. So staggered were the assassins by the unexpected resistance they met with, and so horrified at the fate of their companion, that they were quite unable, though redoubtable swordsmen, effectually to defend themselves. Faithful sprang by them, carrying the body of their leader in her huge jaws up the steps of the temple; while Reginald shot his opponent, and Dick brought the man with whom he was engaged to the ground with a blow of his weapon. At the same moment a loud uproar was heard from the side of the camp nearest the heights. Shouts and shrieks, the rattle of firearms and the clash of steel, reached their ears; while the cry arose, “The enemy are upon us! The enemy are coming down in countless numbers!—to horse! To horse!” A sudden panic seized the troops. The foot-soldiers, who were bivouacked, suddenly set upon before they could fall into order to repel the attack, were overpowered by the hardy mountaineers, who rushed in among them with their long daggers, and killed all they encountered. The rajah’s bodyguard, who had been won over by the traitors, finding those who had seduced them killed, took to flight; while most of the remainder, not understanding what had happened, followed their example.

Fortunately, the rajah’s horse was picketed near at hand. Reginald advised him to mount, and offered to try and rally the fugitives. He and Dick threw themselves on their horses; but he shouted in vain to the horsemen to wheel round and attack the foe. He could dimly distinguish the forms of the combatants in the valley below, where it was evident that a desperate struggle was going on. Reginald now called Faithful to his side to assist him in case of emergency. Though she seemed very unwilling to quit her victim, she obeyed him, and came bounding along, still carrying in her jaws the body of the khan. She dropped it, however, at his command, and trotted on in her usual place by his side. By this time some twenty or thirty troopers had collected around their chief; but the rest, as soon as they could find their steeds and mount, galloped off up the valley. Reginald, burning with indignation at the cowardly way in which the troops had deserted the rajah, offered to lead the small body which remained, feeling confident that by charging suddenly into the midst of the mountaineers he could put them to flight.

“They will believe, as they see us coming, that the rest of the cavalry are following, and will not dare to stand the charge,” he exclaimed.

The rajah, however, hesitated. “It would be useless,” he answered. “At the return of day they would discover our scanty forces and hem us in. The only chance we have to save our lives is to retreat; and we can return again before long and avenge our defeat.”

Reginald did his best to restrain his feelings, but he was confident that, had his plan been followed, it would have been successful. While they were yet speaking, a sepoy without his musket came rushing up the hill, shouting out—

“All have been cut to pieces!”

Two or three others were behind him, hotly pursued by a band of the mountaineers, who were quickly upon them, when they were cut down without mercy.

Without attempting to rescue the poor fellow who first escaped, the rajah wheeled round his horse, and ordering his troopers to follow, galloped off along the side of the hill in the direction the rest of the cavalry had taken. The ground, however, was rough in the extreme, and in the darkness of night they could with difficulty guide their horses amid the rocks. Reginald, though feeling no small amount of indignation at the cowardly conduct of the troops, saw that at present it would be useless to urge the rajah to turn and attack the enemy. He hoped, however, that they should soon overtake the rest of the cavalry, who would probably, he thought, halt when they found that they were not pursued, and, it might be, feeling ashamed of their cowardice, return to ascertain what had become of their chief.

Just as the grey light of morning began to penetrate the valley, Reginald, who was riding by the side of the rajah, caught sight of the rear of the fugitives at some distance ahead. The cowardly troopers were soon overtaken, for their horses were blown from their rapid gallop over the rough and hilly ground.

The rajah, concealing his rage, inquired why they had deserted him.

“We believed that you and all who remained behind were destroyed, and that our only chance of saving our lives and revenging your death was to fly,” answered several officers whom the rajah addressed, speaking all together that they might support each other.

The rajah well knew that their object in going off was to leave him and his faithful guards to be cut to pieces; but still concealing his real feelings, he observed with perfect calmness—

“You might have ascertained the fact before deserting me; but now you see that I have escaped, we will go back and punish the rebels. The brave sepoys have undoubtedly been destroyed to a man; but that should make us still more eager to avenge their death. And what are you worth, if you cannot do so with your carbines and sharp tulwars? Come on, then, at once! We may take the foe by surprise while engaged in plundering the dead.”

The rajah’s address seemed to be producing some effect. Those who had not joined the traitor khans flourished their swords aloft, and swore that they would follow the rajah to death or victory; while the mutineers, unwilling to venture through the defiles alone, saw that their wisest course was to assume a willingness to obey, and wait for another opportunity of escaping. The horses of all the party were, however, too much fatigued to attempt moving without some rest and food, while they themselves were also in want of refreshment. A stream near at hand enabled them to obtain water, while each trooper carried provisions for himself and horse. They accordingly dismounted, and having watered their horses at the stream, sat down on the ground to discuss their rice and ghee,—the rajah and his chief officers partaking of the same simple fare as the men. They were thus employed—some lying at their length on the sward, others sitting cross-legged, others warming their food over numerous little fires which they had kindled from the dried branches cut from the brushwood around, the horses picketed on the spots where grass was most abundant—when Reginald, who was endeavouring to swallow the unpalatable mess presented to him by the rajah, caught sight of a figure on one of the neighbouring heights. It was but for a moment, as the man again concealed himself behind a rock. He mentioned the circumstance to the rajah, but that personage seemed to think he must have been mistaken.

“I strongly advise, however, that the men should be ordered to mount forthwith,” said Reginald. “Should the mountaineers have followed our track, they may be in our midst before the men have time to stand to their arms or reach their horses; and we may be cut to pieces as the infantry have been.”

But the rajah was still unconvinced. “Let the men finish their meal,” he said; “and then, if the rebels come on, we will treat them as they have treated our foot-soldiers.”

A few minutes more passed by, during which Reginald had been watching the heights, feeling certain that he had not been mistaken. Suddenly he exclaimed, “See, Rajah!—I warned you.”

“To horse! To horse!” shouted the rajah, springing on his steed, which his syce had brought him.

Reginald followed his example,—as, of course, did Dick. He was not a moment too soon, for, the instant he had spoken, from behind every bush, tree, and rock on the surrounding heights appeared the dark forms of a host of warriors. Showers of arrows now began to fly into the midst of the camp; while through the ravine which led directly down towards the plateau on which they had halted came a compact body armed with tulwars and shields. The troopers rushed to their steeds, mounting in hot haste, for in another minute the furious savages would be among them. The rajah and his guards, who gathered round him as they could throw themselves on their horses, dashed on; while the remainder followed, galloping helter-skelter, the officers and men mingled together, each eager to get ahead. Some of the horses getting loose, they were left to the mercy of the enemy; as were also the troopers who were unable to mount before the enemy were upon them. Reginald, his cheek burning with shame at the disgraceful panic which had seized his companions, galloped on by the side of the rajah, who refused to halt and attempt to beat back the foe, in spite of all that he could urge. Dick and Faithful kept close by him. “Bless my heart!” exclaimed the former, “I don’t like this sort of fun. Why, if we were just to turn round and bear down on the enemy, we might scatter them like the wind! The faster we run, the faster they will come after us.”

The flight continued; but so active were the mountaineers, that they kept close to the heels of the fugitives, piercing many a warrior through the back with their far-flying arrows. Reginald mentally resolved never again to accompany an Eastern prince in an attempt to punish his rebellious subjects.

At length more level ground appeared ahead, and the horsemen began to distance their pursuers. But there were still some dangerous defiles to be passed; and Reginald remembered that the path by which they had come had many twists and turns, and that too probably the mountaineers would make their way by short cuts through the hills, and again present themselves on the inaccessible heights on either side of the passes.

The rajah and his horsemen at length of necessity pulled rein, to breathe their panting steeds; and information having been passed along from the rear that the enemy were no longer in pursuit, they now rode on more leisurely, talking loudly of coming back with an overwhelming force to annihilate the audacious rebels. Ere long, however, Reginald’s worst apprehensions were realised. Before them appeared a narrow valley, with gorges running into it on either side. The rajah, who had recovered his presence of mind, here ordered a halt, and directed his men to see that their saddle-girths were tight and their arms loaded.

“We must pass through yonder valley as fast as our horses’ feet can touch the ground,” he exclaimed. “Forward!”

Scarcely had he spoken, and made his horse bound onward, when the hilltops were seen bristling with spears, and hundreds of dark warriors, with bows and arrows or javelins in hand, appeared ready to rush down upon the invaders of their territory. The rajah now hesitated. Reginald advised him to dash on at once; to remain where they were would only encourage the foe, and the troopers with their firearms might clear the heights, and most, if not all, of their party might escape. But the rajah did not follow his advice. Then the mountaineers, instead of wisely remaining in an impregnable position, were seen descending the heights, believing from their previous success that they might destroy the rajah and his whole force. A few only remained on the summit of the precipice. Down came from either side a thick stream of savage warriors, throwing themselves upon the horsemen; and again and again they were driven back. The old rajah showed himself brave enough now, fighting as fiercely as any of his guard. Reginald and Dick did their best, too; while Faithful sprang from side to side, bringing many a mountaineer to the ground. Still, several horsemen had fallen; and numbers coming on, the party were completely hemmed in, a dense mass collected in front precluding all possibility of escape, unless a way could be cut through them; while the troopers who fell were immediately hacked to pieces by their enraged foes.

It was now too late for Reginald to mourn his folly in having accompanied the old chief. Brave as he was, he could not help believing that he and all with him would be cut to pieces. Still, a way might be forced through the foe; so, shouting to those in the rear, he ordered them to close up. “Now, Rajah,” he exclaimed, “we must let nothing stop us. Shout to your people to follow, and dash on!”

The word was given, but so dense was the mass in front that success appeared hopeless. Just then a shout was heard from several of the troopers, “See! See! Our friends are coming!” At the same moment Reginald caught sight of a large body of horsemen, whom he at once recognised as those who had accompanied Captain Burnett, galloping down the ravine on the left. From the heights above, they had apparently observed the perilous position of their friends; and on they came like an avalanche, at headlong speed, throwing themselves impetuously on the mountaineers, who gave way as the surface of the ocean recedes before the bows of a gallant ship impelled by the gale. Before they could regain the heights, both parties of cavalry had united and cut their way through them, leaving, however, many of their number dead on the field. There was no thought of pulling rein now. Captain Burnett reported that nearly a third of his men had separated in one of the defiles, with two or three officers; but whether they had escaped from among the mountains by a different route to that which he had taken, or been cut off by the foe, he was unable to ascertain. He hoped, however, that they had escaped, and would before long rejoin the main body.

On galloped the horsemen, without even casting a look behind, till, as the shades of evening were gathering amid the mountains, they caught sight of the still sunny plain ahead. Onward they dashed; and at length, men and horses almost exhausted, they halted, as darkness came on, by the side of a calm lake, where they could bivouac without fear of being attacked by the mountaineers,—who would, they were very sure, not venture to follow them into the plain.

Chapter Four.

Desertion of Chiefs—The Camp reached—Mourning for the Slain—The Rajah takes it coolly—A Hunting Expedition—Reginald’s Narrow Escape—Saved by Faithful—Bad News from the City—The Rajah and Horsemen set out—Report of Rebellion Confirmed—The Rajah and Reginald assume Disguises.

Reginald and Burnett, with Dick Thuddichum and Faithful, kept watch by the side of the rajah, who was greatly cast down, not only at his defeat, but on account of the dissatisfaction exhibited by so many of his influential followers. During the night, while the old chief was asleep, they heard some slight stir in the camp; but as the sentinels gave no alarm, they did not consider it necessary to go and ascertain the cause.

Next morning, when the rajah came to muster his men, he discovered that several of those who had been seen after they had escaped from the mountaineer, were missing, among them being two or three chiefs of rank. On making inquiries, he ascertained that they had moved off,—for the purpose, as they said, or obtaining better fodder for their horses, and provisions for themselves.

“Whatever their intention was, they went without my permission!” exclaimed the rajah in an angry tone. “They have gone to rob and murder the people, as is their wont. No wonder my subjects are ever ready to rebel—I must get you, my friends, to assist in reforming the abuses of my government,” he continued, turning to Reginald and Burnett, “I have written to the Company, begging them to send me a resident and a regiment or two of sepoys, to help me to keep order among all ranks. Let the princes and nobles grumble as they will, all those cities are the most prosperous which are under the protection of the English.”

“Your words are full of wisdom,” answered Captain Burnett. “I will, with your permission, report the state of affairs at Allahapoor; when the Company, I have no doubt, will attend to your wishes.”

The shattered remnant of the gallant force which had marched to the mountains was now in motion, and dashed on. Before evening they reached the fortified camp, where, as soon as the loss they had suffered was made known, they were received with loud wailings and lamentations,—wives mourning for their husbands, and children for their parents. The missing cavalry had not yet appeared, and Burnett began to entertain serious apprehensions that they had been cut off.

A couple of days were spent at the camp, which was then broken up, and the march was continued for Allahapoor. At the end of three days they reached an ancient palace, with a temple near it, belonging to the rajah. It was in a somewhat ruinous condition; but still it afforded accommodation for him and his suite. His attendants quickly cleaned out some of the rooms, and fitted them up with tent-hangings and carpets, while a foraging party was sent through the surrounding country to collect provisions.

The rajah seemed in no hurry to return to Allahapoor, and to all the trouble and cares of government; and Burnett suggested that things might be getting worse at his capital.

“Oh, no!” he replied; “they are as bad as they can be; and the resident will put them all to rights when he arrives, and save me a vast amount of trouble. In the meantime you may amuse yourselves with hunting. There must be an abundance of game in the neighbourhood, as the tigers alone, I am told, carry off at least a dozen peasants a week; and there are deer, bears, and wild boars without number. You will find it a perfect huntsman’s paradise.”

“Not at all a paradise for the unfortunate peasants,” observed Burnett. “However, we will take advantage of your highness’s permission, and try to rid the country of some of the savage brutes.”

Several elephants were immediately got ready, and a party of horsemen ordered out to attend on Reginald and his friend. They preferred being together on one howdah, into which they mounted by a ladder. The weather was pleasant, and a breeze from the mountains gave a freshness to the air not to be found in the lower plains.

They had gone some distance, passing through a magnificently wooded country, when, as they approached a village which was said to have suffered greatly by the depredations of tigers, they were met by the chief man and two of his principal officers, who, with humble bows, gave them welcome. They had heard, they said, of the prowess of the two sahibs, and begged that they would exert their skill and destroy all the tigers which infested the neighbourhood. Burnett was highly amused; but promised that he and his companion would do all they could, if the people would undertake to drive the animals towards them. The answer appeared to be satisfactory, and Reginald and Burnett entered the village mounted on their elephants, and accompanied by a noisy multitude, some on camels, others on horseback, and a number on foot, shouting their praise, and threatening death and destruction to the formidable man-eaters which had long been the terror of the neighbourhood.

“We must perform wonders, to retain our reputation,” said Burnett, laughing; “though I doubt if our friends will do much to help us. They stand too much in awe of the tigers to venture near their lairs; and it will only be by great good fortune that we shall fall in with any of the brutes to kill.”

As they were anxious not to be long absent from the camp, they immediately started towards the jungle in which the tigers were said to take refuge.

As we have more exciting matter to narrate, we must not dwell long on the day’s adventures. The beaters had for some time been hallooing and shouting on either side, when, just as the Englishmen’s elephant was twenty yards or so from the edge of the jungle, a huge tiger made its appearance. With one bound, before they had time to take aim, it fixed its powerful claws in the creature’s neck, barely missing the mahout. The elephant, with a roar, turned round and dashed off, holding his trunk in the air. The tiger was now preparing to make a spring into the howdah, when Reginald and Burnett both firing, it dropped wounded on the ground, the elephant putting its huge foot upon it to squeeze out any remnant of life it might retain. Two more tigers were killed, one of which sprang out in the same way as the first; while a third, though wounded, stole off through the jungle.

“Tiger-shooting from the back of an elephant is but slow work, after all,” exclaimed Burnett the next morning, as they were breakfasting in the house of the chief man of the village, where they had slept. “I propose that we try what we can do on foot. The shikaree wallah we spoke to last night seems a bold fellow, and will show us some sport. What do you say?”

“With all my heart,” answered Reginald. “Our host has some good-looking horses, and as he will be proud of mounting us, I would rather ride to the jungle than have to sit on the back of a lumbering elephant.”

Their host at once expressed his readiness to furnish the sportsmen with steeds; and in a short time they set forth towards a part of the jungle in which the shikaree assured them that numberless tigers were to be found.

Reginald was in better spirits than he had been since the disastrous affair with the mountaineers, and laughed and talked in his usual style with his friend as they rode along. Suddenly they came upon a huge animal lying down in the shade of a wide-spreading tree. As the creature, disturbed by their approach, rose and faced them, it was seen to be not less than seven feet in height at the shoulder, with a vast head, and horns of a formidable character. It was a gyal, a description of wild cattle found in the hilly parts of the plains of Hindustan. The savage animal, shaking his head and stamping on the ground, prepared to charge.

“I’ll fire first,” cried Burnett. “If he does not fall, do you try to hit him; and should you also fail to bring him to the ground, gallop off on one side till you can get behind a tree to reload, while I take the opposite direction, so as to distract his attention. We shall thus master him, depend on it.”

As Burnett finished speaking he fired. The dull thud as the bullet entered the body of the gyal could be heard; but the creature, apparently not feeling his wound, came rushing with a loud bellow at the horsemen. Reginald delivered his fire, as he had been advised, but without stopping the bull; and then he and Burnett galloped off in opposite directions. The gyal followed the latter, making the very ground shake as he rushed bellowing along in chase of the huntsman, whom he might have tossed, with his steed, into the air, had he overtaken them. Burnett, however, was too practised a sportsman to be thus caught, and, dodging behind the trees till he could reload, was soon again ready to face his foe. Reginald, meanwhile, having discovered that the gyal was not following him, pulled up under a tree to reload. As he was ramming down the charge, his horse started, and the next moment a huge tiger, springing out of the jungle, fixed its jaws on the flank of the poor steed, which it brought to the ground, providentially failing to strike Reginald with its claws. His first impulse was to try and extricate himself from beneath his fallen horse, so that he might have a chance of defending himself; but as he was endeavouring to do so, the tiger, loosening its hold of the horse, sprang open-mouthed at him. At that moment he heard a shot, and the next the sound of a horse’s hoofs approaching him; but though help was coming, it would have been too late had he not, with wonderful presence of mind, rammed the butt of his rifle down the throat of his savage assailant. It merely served to check the brute for an instant; still, that instant was of the greatest value. Though Burnett came galloping up, he was afraid of firing lest he should hit his friend instead of the tiger; but unexpected assistance now arrived. A loud roar sounded through the forest, and another tiger, springing on the neck of the one attacking Reginald, dragged it away from him, and pinned it to the ground. The newcomer was Faithful. Nobly she fought for her master, and victory soon declared in her favour.

Reginald, getting on his feet, held the horse of his friend, who, taking a steady aim, sent a shot through the brains of Faithful’s antagonist. Reginald patted his pet on the head, and tried to make her understand how grateful he felt to her for her timely aid; and she in return gave him that peculiar look which, in the feline tribe, exhibits pleasure and satisfaction. The natives soon afterwards coming up, looked with wonder at the tigress, and congratulated the sahibs on their victory, for Burnett had killed the gyal as well as the tiger.

Burnett was eager to go in chase of more game; but Reginald had had hunting enough for one day, for though he had escaped without any actual wound, his legs were bruised from being crushed under his horse. The poor animal was so much injured, that its owner shot it to put it out of its agony. Another steed was forthwith provided for Reginald, who rode back to the village attended by a number of the astonished inhabitants, and accompanied by Faithful, whose opportune appearance he was at a loss to account for.

“We must wait till we get back to camp to hear more about the matter,” observed Reginald, patting his favourite’s head. “Dick will be very unhappy at missing you. He little thinks what good service you have rendered me.”

Burnett, who had remained behind, arrived towards the evening, having shot two more tigers, thus greatly increasing the fame of the Englishmen.

“No wonder that their countrymen are the conquerors of the world, when these two sahibs make nothing of killing half-a-dozen man-eaters,” was the remark made on all sides.

After receiving the thanks of the villagers, who petitioned that they would come again to shoot more of their foes, Reginald and Burnett returned to the headquarters of the rajah. As they arrived, they saw an extraordinary personage standing in the hall waiting to be admitted. He had almost the appearance of a bronze statue, so motionless did he stand, and his rigid features being apparently incapable of expressing any sentiment, either of pleasure or pain. His dress consisted of a cloth wrapped round his waist, a scarf over his shoulder, and a turban on his head—the upper part of his body and his legs being completely exposed. The man was a fakir, one of a class of religious fanatics, who, ignorant of a God of love and mercy, believe that holiness can be obtained by practising the most rigid self-denial and the infliction of every variety of torture on themselves.

Burnett inquired whence he had come.

“From Allahapoor,” he answered. “Night and day I have travelled, to see the rajah on a matter of importance. Tell him, sahib, that it admits of no delay, and that I must forthwith be admitted to an audience.”

Burnett, believing that the fakir had really some matter of consequence to communicate, hastened to the rajah, who desired that he should at once be admitted. In spite of his mean attire, the rajah received the fakir with the same respect he would have bestowed on the proudest noble.

“Whence do you come, and what tidings do you bring?” he asked.

“O Refuge of the World, I come from the well-beloved, the Princess of the Universe, your grandchild the Ranee. She sent for me, knowing that I could be trusted, and bade me hasten to your highness with some information she had obtained, I know not how. My only desire was to obey her orders. During your absence treachery has been at work in the city; and even now, unless some fortunate chance has prevented them, your enemies are in possession of your palace and riches. Khan Mukund arrived some days ago with a party of horsemen, who spread the report that your highness was dead, and that he intended to get himself proclaimed rajah in your stead.”

The rajah started up and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if he would rush off at once to recover his possessions; then recollecting that he was at a distance from Allahapoor, he made further inquiries of the fakir, whose answers confirmed him in the belief that the man spoke the truth.

“I now see why those traitors galloped off in order to reach the city before us. What do you advise, my friends?” he asked, turning to Burnett and Reginald.

“That we act with judgment and caution, and we may yet win back your city and restore you to power,” answered Burnett. “You have still a faithful band remaining with you; and the traitors cannot possibly be aware that you have requested the presence of an English resident, and a regiment of sepoys. Their arrival will of necessity disconcert the plans of the rebels. When it is known, the usurper will probably take to flight, and you will quickly have your own again.”

“But, in the meantime, what will the wretches have done with my family, and my grand-daughter Nuna, and the rest of those I hold dear?”

This remark made Burnett feel very anxious, for he could not give a satisfactory reply. “They will scarcely venture to ill-treat the defenceless, well knowing that vengeance will speedily overtake them,” he answered at length. “Besides, remember, O Rajah, that this holy man has only told us what he fears may possibly take place. The events he speaks of have not actually occurred, and we may hope that something may have prevented the expected outbreak. If we hasten back to Allahapoor, we may arrive in time to frustrate the plans of the conspirators. With the body of trusty followers you have with you, and those who still remain faithful in the city, we shall be able to overcome your foes, even should the rebellion have begun.”

Burnett’s remarks had the effect of reviving the spirits of the rajah, and he immediately issued orders for a picked body of his cavalry to get ready for a move that very night, a small number only being left to guard the women and camp-followers. Adopting Captain Burnett’s advice, he purposed pushing on towards the city as fast as their steeds could carry them; while the rest of the party were to move forward at their usual slow rate, beyond which it was impossible to advance. Even the rajah and his party could not perform more than thirty or forty miles each day, as their horses required food and rest; and they had fully three days’ march before them.

The rajah could only talk of the vengeance he would take should the rebels have succeeded; and he vowed that the streets of the city should run with the blood of his foes as soon as he had succeeded in overpowering them. Burnett, who knew very well that he would carry out his threats, and anxious to prevent the hideous cruelties which would be committed, endeavoured to pacify the old chief, and reminded him that possibly the expected resident might have arrived with the British sepoys, whose presence would disconcert the plans of the rebels, and probably induce them to abandon their design.

Reginald was anxious on his own account. The services he had rendered the rajah merited the best return which could be made, and he had had great hopes that his wish would be complied with; but should the rajah be hurled from power, he would be unable to grant him his request. As far as he could ascertain, the rajah was the only man possessed of the important secret he wished to obtain, so that should the old chief lose his life Reginald would be deprived of the only clue which might lead to its elucidation. He determined, therefore, to take the first favourable opportunity of telling the rajah who he was, and entreating him to give him the information that was of such vital importance to his future interests. Reginald had been led to believe that the rajah would be very unwilling to enter on the subject, and he had therefore hesitated to introduce it, till he felt more sure than he had hitherto done, of the footing on which he stood with the old man.

For two days the party had ridden on, stopping only a sufficient time to rest their steeds, and to recruit themselves by sleep and food. They had taken a different route to that by which they had come, avoiding all populous villages, in order that information of their approach might not be carried to the city. One day’s march only remained to be performed; and the party bivouacked by the side of a wood, which concealed them and the fires they lighted to cook their food from the high road, which ran at some distance. The rajah was sitting on his carpet near the campfire, with Reginald and Burnett by his side, Dick Thuddichum and Faithful being close at hand, serving as efficient guards. The men lay about, their horses feeding close to them; while scouts watched on the outskirts of the camp, as if they were in an enemy’s country—for it was thought possible, should the rebels discover that the rajah was approaching, that they would send out a strong force to attack him. These measures were taken by the advice of Captain Burnett, who had also recommended that they should take the unfrequented road they had followed, so that they might have a good chance of surprising the rebels.

The rajah showed himself sensible of the important aid he had received from his English attendants, and on this evening he seemed more inclined to open his heart to them than heretofore.

“Had it not been for you, my young friend, I should be even now a clod of the earth, my body left to be devoured by the fowls of the air and the wild beasts of the forest. You and your faithful tigress saved me from the daggers of my traitorous officers. And your opportune arrival prevented our being cut off by the mountaineers, as would otherwise have been our fate,” he added, turning to Burnett.

The two young men, in the usual Oriental phrases, expressed their satisfaction at having rendered any service to his highness.

“And now tell me how I can reward you,” exclaimed the rajah. “Only let me know; though, alas! Should I lose my power, how can I fulfil any promises?”

Reginald saw that now the favourable opportunity he had wished for, of speaking to the rajah of himself, had arrived.

“Your highness can render me a greater service than you may suppose,” he said, speaking slowly, for he knew that he was treading on delicate ground. “My friend and I are not the first Englishmen who have resided at your court. There was one who served you faithfully, and whose sword preserved your life when surrounded by foes in battle; but traitors, who were jealous of the favour you bestowed on him, conspired to take his life; and they would have succeeded, had he not, leaving all he held dear, together with his worldly wealth, and undergoing great hardships, been successful in making his way to Calcutta with his young son. When there, important information he received compelled him to return to his native land. Once more he came back to India, with his son, intending at all hazards to revisit you; but the trials he had gone through had shattered his health, and when just about to set out on his journey he died, leaving to his only son the duty of vindicating his fair fame, and regaining the property of which he had been deprived.”

“Who told you all this?” exclaimed the rajah in an agitated voice. “Where is the son of whom you speak? I would greatly rejoice to see the boy. I would not only restore him his father’s property, but raise him to a rank next to myself in my government.”

Just at that moment an officer hurried up to the rajah, and after making the usual salutation, informed him that the scouts had fallen in with a messenger from the city who was on his way to try and find their party. “The information he has to give will not allow of an instant’s delay, he says,” added the officer.

The rajah ordered that the man should be immediately admitted to his presence.

“What news do you bring? Speak at once,” exclaimed the rajah.

“Unhappy I am to bring it, for it is bad news,” answered the man. “The whole city is in a tumult. Mukund Bhim has been proclaimed rajah, and already more than half the people have sided with him; still there are some who remain faithful, and if your highness were to appear among them at once, the rebellion might be quelled, and your power restored. Your servant ventures to advise that you should gallop on during the night, so as to enter the city by daybreak—though the distance is great, your steeds may get over the ground in time—and by taking the rebels by surprise you may overcome them before they can offer resistance; when the loyal people will gather around you, and you may once more find yourself the undisputed ruler of Allahapoor.”

“Your advice sounds full of wisdom,” answered the rajah. “To horse, my friends! And we will not pull rein till the walls of my rebellious city appear in sight.”

The whole camp was immediately astir. The horses, unfortunately, in consequence of the rapid march of the two previous days, were ill able to gallop on for thirty miles without stopping, with the prospect of some hot fighting at the end of it. Still, march they must at all hazards.

Each horseman, before mounting, tightened up the girths of his saddle; and all having fallen into their ranks, the order to move forward was given. A strong advance-guard led the way, with their arms ready for instant use, as they knew that at any moment they might be attacked by the rebels,—who, should they by any means get tidings of their approach, would assuredly send out a numerous force against them. The rajah, attended by Reginald and Burnett, rode with the main body. There was no time for conversation, and Reginald had still to wait for the important information he was so anxious to obtain. A few words only could be occasionally exchanged. On they rode, keeping a tight rein, to prevent their horses from stumbling. Now and then a poor beast came down; and the rider, if he escaped a broken limb, had to make his way on foot, with the risk of either being set upon by a tiger, or murdered by the villagers whose property he and his comrades had plundered. The rajah hoped that he should either be able to force the gates, or that the guards would open them at his summons, and that he might thus be able to catch Mukund Bhim and the rest of the rebel chiefs while they were still locked in slumber.

They were now rapidly approaching the city. Already, in the far distance, the outlines of the domes and minarets of the temples and mosques could be seen defined against the clear sky. No rebels had appeared to dispute their progress, and the rajah began to hope that the rebellion had not yet fully broken out, and that he might still have time to crush it. He and the main body moving on, came up with the advance-guard, which had halted. The rajah inquired the cause. The officer in command answered that they had met a person who had brought tidings from the city. “Let me hear his report,” said the rajah; and a man, looking more like a wild beast than a human being, advanced from among the horsemen. He was a byraghee, or religious mendicant. His body was naked, with the exception of a narrow piece of cloth passed between the legs, and fastened before and behind to a string tied round the waist. His hair was long and matted, its bulk increased by plaits of other hair mixed with it. His body was smeared with the ashes of cowdung, giving it a most unearthly hue; while his inflamed and bleared eyes could scarcely be perceived amidst the mass of dirt which clung around them. Anything less human could scarcely be imagined than the appearance of the miserable being.

“What tidings do you bring from the city?” asked the rajah anxiously.

“Bad—very bad, O Refuge of the World,” answered the mendicant. “Last night, ere I passed through the gates, I saw your foes shouting forth the name of Mukund Bhim, their new rajah. It was reported that you had perished, and all your followers had been slain amid the mountains; and no one I met discredited the tale. Thus your friends are disheartened; but if you were to appear among them, to show that you are still alive, they would regain their courage and fight bravely in your cause.”

“But how to get among them, is the difficulty,” observed the rajah. “Tell me, byraghee, are the gates closed?”

“Not only closed, but strongly guarded,” answered the mendicant. “It would be vain to attempt to force them; your only way of entering will be in disguise. I passed, encamped at a short distance from the gates, a caravan of merchants with their camels, who had arrived too late to find admittance last night. If your highness would condescend to disguise yourself as one of them, they would consent to your entering among them,—trusting to your generosity for the reward you would bestow should you succeed.”

The rajah, after considering the matter, agreed to the proposal of the byraghee. He then invited Reginald to accompany him, while he begged Burnett to take the command of the horsemen, and to remain concealed in the wood in which they were drawn up till he could send word to them that a favourable opportunity had arrived for making a dash into the city. “The risk, I know, is great,” he added; “but I am ready to hazard my own life for the sake of recovering what I have lost.”

“The commands of your highness shall be obeyed,” said Burnett; “and may you and my young friend be preserved in your undertaking! Unless treachery is at work,—as no one will suspect that you are among the merchants,—the hazard is not so great as it may appear.”

All necessary arrangements being made, the rajah, accompanied by Reginald, proceeded on foot to the merchants’ camp; while Faithful, whose appearance might have betrayed them, remained behind in the care of Dick Thuddichum.

To the rajah’s satisfaction, he found that the merchant to whom the caravan belonged was a Parsee with whom he had formerly had satisfactory dealings, and who might be thoroughly trusted. The required dress was produced—the rajah’s rich costume being packed up among the bales—and he appeared in the guise of one of the merchant’s clerks; while Reginald assumed the costume and arms of a common sowar employed in guarding the merchandise.

Chapter Five.

The Caravan Enters The City—Reginald Meets The Byraghee—Sends a Message to Burnett—The Rajah and Reginald find the Guards Murdered at the Palace, and Nuna carried off—Reginald preserves the Life of a Wounded Sepoy—He and the Rajah take Refuge in the House of a Christian Native—Escape from the City—Pursued—Victory—The Rajah enters the City in Triumph—No Tidings of Nuna—Reginald makes an Important Discovery.

Immediately on the appearance of the first streaks of daylight in the sky, the merchant, Hurdeo Buksh, aroused the caravan, which, as soon as the camels were loaded, moved forward to the gate of the city. As he was well known, he had no difficulty in gaining admittance, and they were soon threading the narrow lanes which led to the chief bazaar. The rajah, seated on a camel, with a hood over his head which completely concealed his features, rode next to the merchant; while Reginald, assuming a jaunty air, and armed with a spear and shield, marched by his side. They soon reached the bazaar, where they saw a crowd assembled, reading a huge placard announcing that Mukund Bhim, in consequence of the death of the old rajah, had assumed the reins of government, and ordering all the people, under pain of death and confiscation of their property, to obey his edicts. The crowd impeding the progress of the caravan, the rajah as well as Reginald had time to read the whole of the placard, which also went on to announce the various persons who had been appointed to offices under the new rajah. Among others appeared that of Khan Cochût, as also of several of the chiefs who had deserted Meer Ali Singh among the mountains. “The villains,” muttered the rajah, “I will punish their treachery; as for that rascally Cochût, his head shall part company from his body before many days are over.”

But people continued eagerly to press forward to read the placard,—traders in long coats and turbans, sowars with shields and spears, women and children,—people in every costume, and people in no costume at all except the dirty cloths around their loins or over their shoulders, and the ever-present turban on their heads. Reginald, knowing the agitation into which the announcement would throw the rajah, was afraid that he would betray himself, so, swaggering on according to the character he had assumed, he forced the crowd to make way for the caravan; which at length got clear, and was able to proceed onward to the house which the merchant was wont to occupy during his stay in Allahapoor.

So far the adventure had been successful, and the rajah took up his lodgings in a room where he was not likely to be discovered. The difficulty, however, was to gain information. The next morning Hurdeo Buksh was obliged to appear in public to make arrangements for the sale of his goods, and was afraid of exciting suspicion should he be seen visiting the rajah’s hiding-place. Reginald was willing enough to try and pick up information, but the rajah charged him on no account to do so: his manners and mode of speaking would be sure to betray him. The rajah had ordered his own dress to be brought to him, and he now put it on, telling Reginald that he had come to the resolution of visiting his palace as soon as darkness would allow of his passing through the streets unobserved, and appealing to the loyalty of his guards,—who would, he supposed, be found at their old quarters, the usurper, Mukund Bhim, he had learned from the byraghee, still residing at his own palace.

Reginald thought the attempt a hazardous one, but yet, as it was the only scheme likely to succeed, he consented. After the rajah had told him this, he was sauntering about in the gateway of the house, imitating the manners of a sowar, when he caught sight of the mendicant slowly approaching, asking alms of all he met. The man’s little bleared eyes twinkled as he came up to Reginald, whom he appeared at once to recognise.

“You can be trusted, I see,” said Reginald. “You will receive a handsome reward if you faithfully perform the service I require of you.”

“Say what it is, sahib, and you shall be obeyed,” responded the byraghee.

“To hasten forthwith to the spot where our friends lie concealed, and to direct them, as soon as the shades of evening appear, to push forward at hot speed towards the northern gate, which they may reach before they are challenged. Should they succeed in passing through, they are to gallop on to the palace, where they will find the rajah and such friends as he may be able to rally round him. If they fail in the attempt, they are to retire till they hear from his highness or me.” Reginald, as he spoke, put a piece of money into the mendicant’s hand, to deceive any who might have observed them speaking together.

“You shall be obeyed, sahib,” said the mendicant, moving on, and continuing as before to beg of all he met. Instead of going in the direction he had been following, however, he contrived to turn round; and Reginald saw him making his way in the direction of the northern gate, as if bent on carrying out the orders he had received.

“So far our scheme prospers,” thought Reginald; “but I wish that I had the means of ascertaining where the rajah’s grand-daughter has taken refuge. Should the traitor Mukund Bhim have got her into his power, he would have as little scruple in putting her to death as he would in killing any of the rajah’s sons. Poor young creature! I don’t like to increase the old man’s anxieties by alluding to her, but he must tremble at the thought of what may have become of her.”

Notwithstanding the rajah’s caution to Reginald, he could scarcely refrain from going out and mixing with the crowd, to obtain information of what was going on. Prudence, however, restrained him. He walked up and down impatiently at his post, in the hope of seeing some one among them who had frequented the court, and who he thought might be trusted; but of the thousands who continued to hurry by he did not recognise a single person. He forgot that all the time he was running a great risk of being recognised himself; for although he had done his utmost, aided by the worthy merchant, to change his appearance, he might easily have been detected by any one who had before known him.

Thus the hours passed slowly away, and at length the shades of evening began to steal over the city. On going up into the rajah’s room, Reginald found him habited in his usual costume, with a large robe ready to throw over his shoulders, which, with the aid of the darkness of night, would conceal his figure from those he might meet. His scimitar was by his side, and a brace of pistols in his belt.

“The time for action has arrived,” he said in a firm voice. “We will go forth, my young friend, and succeed, or perish in the attempt. Our first care, as soon as we have gathered my faithful guards about us, must be to secure the safety of my grandchild, Nuna; and we may then, should we be attacked, defend the palace till the arrival of your English friend with my brave horsemen. Come, we will set out. I do not fear discovery, as no one will suppose that I am in the city; and people will take me for a foreign merchant on his way to transact business with some khan or other wealthy person.”

“Should any one venture to interfere with you, I shall be ready to sacrifice my life in your defence,” answered Reginald.

“I fully confide in you, my brave young friend,” exclaimed the rajah; “and I would rather have you by my side than a hundred of my native sowars.”

They then set out, Reginald having ascertained that no one was near. As they left the gates of the house the rajah walked rapidly along, concealing his face in his robe, while Reginald swaggered on by his side with a martial strut assumed generally by the sowars. A large number of people were still abroad; and as they passed on they caught some of the expressions which were being uttered. It was very evident that a rebellion had taken place, and that the star of Mukund Bhim was in the ascendency.

At length, as they approached the palace, the crowd grew thinner. When they got close to it no one was seen standing about the gates,—the usual guards wore not there,—nor were they challenged as they entered. The silence which reigned everywhere was ominous. After passing across the outer courtyard, the rajah was about to enter the vestibule of the hall of audience, when, drawing aside a curtain which hung across it, he started back with an exclamation of horror and dismay. The whole passage, as well as the flight of steps leading to the upper storey, was strewn with corpses.

“Alas, alas! My faithful guards! On your courage I depended to regain my power!” exclaimed the rajah. “You have died bravely fighting at your posts.” Ali Singh stood for some seconds contemplating the scene with a look of despair. “On whom have I now to depend!” he exclaimed; “and my child, what can have become of her!”

“Your highness has your faithful troopers and many friends who are ready to fight for you,” said Reginald, advancing. “Some of your guard may be still alive, and concealed in the palace; and they may be able to inform us what has become of your grand-daughter.”

Reginald’s words seemed to restore the rajah’s courage. His first care was to examine the bodies which filled the passage, in the hope that some might be found breathing; but in all life was extinct Reginald urged the rajah to hurry forward, in case the rebels should return before they had time to search the palace. They walked on through the deserted corridors and passages, looking into the rooms as they passed, but not a living being was to be seen. At length, as they were passing a room the door of which was partly ajar, a groan reached Reginald’s ear; and calling to the rajah, who was going on, he entered. By the light of the pale moon which streamed through a window, he discovered in the further corner the form of a sepoy stretched on a mat. The blood which had flowed from several wounds on his head and body had trickled over the ground. The man had been apparently endeavouring to stanch them, but had fainted before he had done so effectually. Reginald knelt down by his side, and did his best, by means of a handkerchief which he tore into bandages, to stop the further flow of blood. In a short time the man returned to consciousness; and as his eye fell on the rajah his countenance brightened up.

“Have the rebels been defeated?” he exclaimed. “I thought all was lost.”

“We wish to learn from you what has happened,” said Reginald. “Numbers of your comrades lie dead at the entrance, and the palace appears to be deserted. We know no more.”

“All that I can tell you is that we were attacked last night by Mukund Bhim with a large band of followers; we fought desperately to defend our post, till numbers fell killed or wounded, when the rest were carried off as prisoners. I then, in spite of my wounds, managed to escape, the rebels having left me for dead. They had begun to pillage the palace, when they were summoned away to defeat an attempt of the loyal inhabitants to keep possession of the city till the return of the rajah, the report of whose death they refused to credit.”

“And can you give me no account of my child, the Ranee Nuna?” asked the rajah. “Have the rebels carried her off, or is she still in the palace?”

“I know not, O Rajah,” answered the wounded man. “While I lay here, expecting every instant to be put to death, I heard the tramp of feet through the passages, and cries and shrieks from female voices.”

“The villainous traitors have deprived me, then, of my child,” exclaimed the rajah. “Come, my friend, we must ascertain the worst,” he said, addressing Reginald. “You must not waste any more time on this man: if it is his fate to live, he will live; if not, he will have the satisfaction of dying in my cause.”

Reginald, although as anxious as the rajah to ascertain what had happened, was unwilling to leave the brave sepoy, who was still in much need of aid; but the rajah’s impatience would brook no delay, so telling the poor man that he would return as soon as possible, Reginald followed the rajah, who was hurrying from the room.

They made their way towards the women’s apartments, observing on either side signs of the fearful struggle which had taken place, though it was still evident that the rajah’s own guard had remained faithful. The doors of the women’s apartments were open—those sacred chambers into which, hitherto, no man had dared to enter. Female ornaments and dresses were strewn on the ground, articles of all sorts were broken, and the marks of violence were visible even on the walls. The worst anticipations of the rajah were realised: Nuna had undoubtedly been carried off by the rebels. Reginald had difficulty in quieting the old man’s agitation. He seemed incapable of deciding what course to pursue. Reginald himself felt deeply grieved at the loss of the young girl, whose possession, he foresaw, would add greatly to the power of the rebels, as, even should they be ultimately defeated, it would enable them to treat on favourable terms with the rajah; and he endeavoured in vain to tranquillise the mind of the old man, by reminding him that it would be to the interest of Mukund Bhim to behave courteously to her.

As it would be dangerous to remain long in the palace, to which the rebels might at any moment return, Reginald endeavoured to persuade the rajah to go back to the merchant’s house, where he might remain till the arrival of their friends, should the mendicant have succeeded in reaching them, and should they be able to enter the city. No other course seemed practicable, unless, abandoning all effort to recover his power, the rajah should resume his disguise and attempt to make his escape from the city. Reginald suggested this course, and offered to protect him with his life; the rajah, however, would not hear of it.

Darkness had now set in, and, wrapped in his mantle, the rajah could walk abroad without hazard of being recognised. They first, however, made a circuit of the whole palace; but not a human being was found alive. Before quitting it altogether, Reginald hurried back to the wounded sepoy, whom he was unwilling to leave to perish, as he undoubtedly would if deserted. The man had somewhat recovered his strength, and thought that, with Reginald’s assistance, he might be able to walk a short distance.

“You need not do that,” said Reginald; “your weight is not great, and I will carry you on my shoulders.”

“No, no, sahib,” said the sepoy, who had from the first recognised Reginald in spite of his disguise; “should we encounter any of the rajah’s enemies, they would kill you as well as me; but if you will take me to the stables—should the rebels not have carried off the horses, I might contrive to sit one, and either make my escape out of the city, or reach the house of some friends near this who will give me shelter.”

“I will gladly carry you to the stables,” said Reginald; and it at once occurred to him that if he and the rajah could obtain steeds for themselves they might make a dash through the gates, or, should their friends arrive, they would be able to join them and encounter Mukund Bhim and his followers, who were certain not to be far off. Taking the wounded man up on his shoulder, therefore, he staggered with him along the passages, and down the steps in the rear of the palace which led to the courtyard, in the further part of which the stables were situated. The rajah went ahead with his sword drawn, thinking it probable that plunderers might be lurking about; but no one was met with. The whole palace, for some unaccountable reason, was entirely deserted. The sepoy had expressed a hope that the horses had been left in the stables, or Reginald would not have expected to find any there. It seemed more probable that the rebels would have carried them off. Should such be found to be the case, he scarcely knew what he should do with the wounded sepoy. It was with no little difficulty that he managed to convey him even the comparatively short distance he had gone, and he felt that it would be impossible to carry him beyond the palace to the house of the friends he spoke of; he should therefore be compelled to leave him in the stables, where he might die of starvation, unless discovered by any compassionate person who could bring him food.

The man seemed to divine his thoughts. “Care not for me, sahib,” he whispered in a low voice, that the rajah might not hear. “The One, I trust, whom you worship, will preserve me. Inquire for the house of Dhunna Singh; tell him where you have left Wuzeer Singh, and he will find the means of coming to my assistance. You may trust him, for he is one who worships the true God, and, if you require aid, will risk his life in your service.”

Reginald, greatly surprised at the way in which the man spoke, for he had supposed him to be an ordinary sepoy, promised to follow his directions. But on reaching the stables they found that, though most of the horses had been carried off, four or five had been left in the further wing of the building. Their harness was hung up on the walls, and the rajah and Reginald, well accustomed to the task, quickly saddled and bridled three of the best.

“You seem to take great interest in my follower,” said the rajah, observing the assistance Reginald was affording the wounded man.

“He has fought bravely for your highness, and is wounded and suffering,” answered Reginald. “I am simply doing my duty.”

“May you be rewarded for your charity,” answered the rajah. “And now let us mount and sally forth into the streets. The gates will be closed ere long, and should my followers not have entered the city, my only safe course will be to try and join them, and wait for a favourable opportunity of regaining what I have lost.”

Reginald having assisted the rajah to mount, next helped Wuzeer Singh to get on horseback, though it was with difficulty the poor man could keep his seat; he himself then vaulted into the saddle, and the rajah, with the mantle which had before served to disguise him over his head, rode forth from the palace, followed closely by Reginald and the sepoy. The darkness which now reigned over the city favoured their proceedings. At the same time, it was but too likely that the gates would be closed; and if so, their friends would be prevented from entering. Already the streets were deserted, and no one appeared from whom, directly or indirectly, they could obtain information. The more peaceable inhabitants had, it was clear, wisely retired to their houses; while the fighting-men and rabble were evidently collected in a distant part of the city, bent on some mischief or other.

Reginald kept close alongside Wuzeer Singh, to assist him in sitting his horse, for so great was his weakness that every moment it appeared that he would fall off.

The soldier expressed his thankfulness. “If the sahib will but take my advice,” he added, “he will persuade the rajah to come to the house of Dhunna Singh, who will protect him at all hazards. He has a stable in which the horses can be put up, and an upper room where his highness can remain concealed without risk of discovery when day returns. Dhunna Singh may be able also to inform him of what has happened, and he can act accordingly.”

Reginald thought the advice so good that he at once suggested the plan to the rajah, who agreed to it after some hesitation. They at once, therefore, turned their horses along a street Wuzeer Singh pointed out. The few people who passed them probably took the rajah to be some merchant returning home attended by his guards, and did not stop to examine them closely. In a short time they arrived before the gates of a house of the style occupied by the more wealthy class of citizens. Here Reginald, throwing himself from his horse, assisted Wuzeer Singh to reach the small loophole, through which he could communicate with those within. After a few words had been exchanged, the gates were opened and the party entered. A staid-looking citizen, with several younger men, received them; and though they treated the rajah with marked respect, they did not otherwise show that they knew who he was. The old man only addressed him as sahib, and begged leave to show the way into the interior of the house; and while two of the younger men gently lifted up Wuzeer Singh and carried him indoors, the rest led off the horses to the stable. The rajah was at once conducted to the upper room Wuzeer Singh had spoken of, where his host paid him every possible attention. Wuzeer Singh, meantime, was gently cared for; and an ample repast was placed before Reginald. Their host, it appeared, was a Hindoo, who, with all his family, had been converted to Christianity; and, desirous of following the precepts of his faith, he was anxious to afford assistance to those in distress. He showed by his manner that he well knew who the rajah was; and he must have been aware of the great risk he ran in affording him shelter, should his concealment be discovered by Mukund Bhim or any of his party. Since the commencement of the disturbances he and his sons had wisely kept to the house, and so he could only surmise, from the reports brought by two or three people who had visited at his house, what was taking place. He believed, he said, that another khan of influence residing on the other side of the city had risen, either with the intention of supporting the rajah or of endeavouring to obtain the power for himself. Mukund Bhim having marched with all his forces to attack him, a desperate fight had taken place. The khan had been defeated, and Mukund Bhim’s followers, with the rabble of the city, had for some hours been engaged in plundering his house and those of his relatives,—he and all of them having been put to death. Reginald’s anxiety regarding Nuna was in no way relieved, as his host could not tell what had become of her. Several elephants carrying closed howdahs, accompanied by a strong party of armed men, had been seen leaving the southern gate of the city; but where they had gone, he had been unable to learn.

The first part of the night had passed quietly away, and the old rajah, after the fatigue and excitement he had gone through, slept soundly. Before morning, however, he awoke; and calling to Reginald, who occupied a small room adjoining his, he expressed his wish that when it was daylight he would go out and ascertain what was taking place.

As soon as their host was on foot, Reginald told him of the rajah’s wish.

“I will send one of my sons instead,” he answered. “He will run no risk; while you, notwithstanding your disguise, may be easily discovered.”

The rajah consented; but some time passing by, and the young man not returning, he grew impatient, and desired that his horse might be prepared.

“Your highness will not surely venture to ride forth during daylight,” said Reginald. “You would certainly be recognised; and though many citizens might rally round you, Mukund Bhim’s party by this time must be sufficiently strong to cut them to pieces, and you would fall into the hands of the rebels.”

“I wish to be in readiness to join our friends, who, if they come at all, will ere long be within the city walls; and I even now fancy that I can hear the tramp of their horses’ hoofs,” was the answer. “Come, my friend, let us be prepared to sally forth.”

Reginald, though he believed that the rajah was mistaken, nevertheless obeyed; and having mounted, they sat in the courtyard ready to sally forth at a moment’s notice.

They had not long to wait before their host’s son returned with the announcement that Mukund Bhim, with a large force, was advancing towards that part of the city, breaking open the houses, and capturing all those who were suspected of being favourable to the rajah. “There is still time to escape by the northern gate; and though there may be great risk of falling into the hands of the rebels, it may be the safest course to pursue,” he observed.

Reginald was of the same opinion, and urged the rajah to adopt it. By the advice of their host, the rajah wound a common turban round his head, the ends of which hung down so as to conceal his features; and as there was not a moment to be lost, the gates were thrown open, and Ali Singh, followed by Reginald, dashed out and made his way through some narrow lanes, now entirely deserted, towards the northern gate. As they came in sight of it they saw a number of people—some on horseback, and others on camels or on foot—hastening out to escape from the barbarities of Mukund Bhim and his fierce soldiery. They made their way amid the frightened multitude, and had already got outside the walls when they heard loud shouts raised behind them, when Reginald, looking back, saw a party of horsemen issuing from the gate, and trampling under foot or cutting down all who impeded their progress. He at once suspected that their flight had by some means or other been discovered, and that the horsemen were in pursuit of them.

“We must ride for our lives,” he exclaimed, telling the rajah what he had seen.

Fortunately the road in front was tolerably open, and putting their horses into a gallop they dashed forward. Mukund Bhim’s horsemen had by this time discovered them, and now came on in hot pursuit. Their chances of escape appeared small indeed. They were well mounted, however, and their good steeds behaved faithfully, straining every muscle as if aware of the importance of exerting themselves. Their pursuers, fully aware of the prize in view, galloped on even faster, and were evidently gaining on them,—firing as they did so, regardless of those they might kill or wound. More than once Reginald turned his head, and at length saw a further party of horsemen and numerous elephants issuing from the gate. His own horse kept up well, but the rajah’s at length stumbled and nearly came to the ground; and Reginald feared that in a few minutes more they would be overtaken by their merciless foes. Still, there was a possibility of escaping, if they could gain the wood which they were now fast approaching. Just as they reached a turn of the road, however, they saw a large party of horsemen galloping towards them; and all hope of escape was cut off.

“We will sell our lives dearly,” said the rajah. “Let us turn round and face our pursuers.”

“No, no; gallop on,” cried Reginald. “See! They are our friends. They have arrived at a happy moment, and the victory will be ours.”

Throwing off his cloak, the rajah waved his sword, and was at once recognised by his troopers, at the head of whom rode Captain Burnett. In another instant the rajah and Reginald, wheeling round their horses, joined their ranks, and, without pulling rein, dashed with headlong speed at the rebels. The first charge was terrific, horses and riders on both sides going down; but Burnett’s followers, having only just emerged from the wood, were fresh, while their opponents, panting from their rapid gallop, were taken at a disadvantage. The old rajah fought fiercely, few daring to encounter his sharp scimitar. Onward he and his party fought their way, till nearly every one of the advance-guard of the foe were cut to pieces or had galloped off on either side. At length Reginald caught sight of Mukund Bhim, the leader of the rebels, who, avoiding the rajah, rode forward to meet him. Reginald, warding off a blow aimed at his head, thrust his sword into the traitor’s breast and bore him to the ground. The rebels, seeing their leader slain, made but a faint resistance. The mahouts turned their elephants off on either side, the huge animals rushing across the country; and the foot-soldiers fled back into the city, where many were cut down, others escaping in the track of the elephants. The victory was complete; and the rajah, at the head of his horsemen, re-entered the city in triumph.

The rajah’s power was speedily re-established, those who might have been inclined to side with the rebel Mukund Bhim at once returning to their allegiance, and being the loudest in proclaiming their satisfaction at the rajah’s success. His first proceeding was to institute inquiries for his grand-daughter, the young Ranee Nuna, who had so mysteriously disappeared; but no one could give him any information. Emissaries were despatched in all directions to endeavour to discover where she had been concealed; and the rajah proved the love he bore her by the anxiety he exhibited. Several of his chief officers and many other persons had disappeared; and as they did not make their appearance, it was naturally supposed that they had either been put to death by Mukund Bhim, or, through having joined him, were afraid of returning. Among the missing ones was Khan Cochût. A search was made for him high and low throughout the palace, but his dead body was not to be found, nor were there any traces of him to be discovered. The rooms he usually occupied had been stripped of everything of value, and Reginald, who had no great confidence in the ex-barber, could not help suspecting that he had made his escape from the city with all the wealth he could collect, and would probably next be heard of at Calcutta.

The rajah had vowed to take vengeance on all who had sided with the rebels, and his officers were now visiting every part of the city in search of suspected persons. Many hundreds were captured, and the streets of the city, according to Indian custom, would soon have been running with blood, had not Reginald and Burnett entreated the rajah to show clemency towards his foes. They pointed out to him that it was far more noble to save life than to take it; that the people were his subjects, whom he was bound to protect; and that the larger number had joined Mukund Bhim under the idea that he himself was dead. As he acknowledged that Reginald had been the means of saving his life, and that Burnett had also rendered him essential service, he was willing to listen to their counsel,—though nothing would induce him to spare the lives of the treacherous chiefs, several of whom were captured, and compelled to pay the penalty of their crimes with their heads.

Tranquillity was now apparently perfectly restored in the city; but it was reported that in the country large parties of the rebels were still in arms, wandering about in various directions, and plundering the defenceless. A near relative of Mukund Bhim was said to be at their head, but his whereabouts could not be discovered. Whether or not all the reports were true, they proved the disorganised state of the country, and made Reginald and Burnett wish heartily for the arrival of the expected resident and the British troops.

Still no information had been received regarding the Ranee Nuna, and the rajah continued plunged in the greatest grief and anxiety about her. Both Burnett and Reginald shared his feelings, and offered to set off in search of her. Burnett was most anxious to go. He had been struck by her beauty and captivated by her manner, so unlike that of Oriental females, and all the romance of his ardent nature had been aroused, though he might possibly not have been actually in love with her. They at length offered to go in company, but of this the rajah would not hear. “I must have one of you remain with me, as I need your counsel and assistance, seeing I have no friend in whom I can trust,” he answered; “but if tidings do not arrive to-morrow, I will give permission to one or the other to set out. I am grateful to you both, but the one I appoint must abide by my decision.”

Reginald and Burnett of course expressed themselves ready to obey the rajah, and they were too firm friends to feel jealous of each other.

Reginald had not forgotten the wounded sepoy whose life he had been the means of saving, and the first time he could leave the palace he made his way to the house of Dhunna Singh, who had afforded him shelter. He received a warm welcome from the good man; and he was glad to find that Wuzeer Singh was already in a fair way of recovery from the wounds he had received. The man was most grateful to him for saving his life.

“May the God we both worship preserve you, sahib,” he said; “and thankful shall I be, if I can ever have the means of showing my gratitude to you.”

Reginald had a good deal of conversation with him, and learned that he had been converted to Christianity by Protestant missionaries at some place where he had been stationed. He had, however, obtained his discharge, and had taken service with the rajah, for the sake of being near his Christian friend Dhunna Singh. He was evidently a most intelligent man, and all his spare moments were devoted to the study of the Scriptures and such other works as he could obtain to enlarge his mind. His great delight was to join his friends where, with closed doors, they could worship God in freedom. They none of them neglected the duty of endeavouring to spread the gospel among their countrymen, though they did so with the necessary caution, and had hitherto escaped the persecution to which they would have been subjected had their object been discovered by the priests.

Reginald promised to pay them another visit; and he confessed to Burnett that he had learned many important truths from these men, whom, had he met casually, he should have looked upon as ignorant heathens. He was also much struck by their firm confidence in the goodness and love of God to fallen man, and the desire of that Great Being to reconcile sinners to himself by the all-sufficient and complete atonement wrought out by his well-beloved Son on Calvary.

“Ah, sahib,” exclaimed Wuzeer Singh, “how merciful God is to demand from us a simple, loving faith alone as the condition on which we are saved. Were he to insist on our good works and pure and holy lives, who could ever hope to merit heaven? For sinners we were, and sinners we remain; but, praised be his name, ‘the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.’”

Such was the faith of these men, and it supported them, isolated as they were in the midst of a heathen population, who would have torn them to pieces had they suspected the creed they held.

On Reginald’s return to the palace, he found the rajah alone. He had anxiously wished for an opportunity of renewing the conversation so suddenly broken off, and of obtaining information regarding his father’s property, and the important documents which he supposed the rajah had in his possession. He again tried to get him to lead to the subject; but finding this in vain, he remarked, “Your highness appeared anxious some time ago to know what had become of the son of the Englishman who was once in your service, and who had the happiness of saving your life in battle.”

“You speak of Rinaldo Khan,” said the rajah, fixing his eye on Reginald.

“That was the name by which my father was known,” was the answer; “for I am the boy whose fate you desired to learn.”

“You the son of Rinaldo Khan!” exclaimed the rajah. “Come nearer, my son, and let me see your features. Yes, yes, I believe you; these are the lineaments of my beloved daughter. Did your father ever tell you who was your mother?”

“I know only that she was a native lady of high rank, and that it cost my father much pain to be compelled to leave her.”

“Did he tell you that you were his only child?” inquired the rajah, still keeping his gaze fixed on Reginald’s countenance. “But why do I ask? Your sister Nuna was born after he, as you say, was compelled to fly from the country in order to save his life. The English in those days had not the power they now possess, or he would have quickly returned and taken vengeance on the traitors who deprived me of his services; for a truer and a better friend I have never possessed.”

“I feel almost overwhelmed at what your highness has told me,” exclaimed Reginald. “Am I then your daughter’s son, and the brother of the Ranee Nuna?”

“You are truly, I believe, my grandson. My heart felt drawn towards you from the first; and as I am now childless, I would desire to place you in the position your father would have enjoyed had he remained with me.”

Reginald could scarcely speak for astonishment. He had expected to gain important information from the rajah, but what he now heard was of a totally different character to that which he was seeking. Though his mother was an Oriental, his heart was English, and he had no wish to spend his days in India, however high the rank he might enjoy.

The extraordinary information he had received made him still more anxious to recover Nuna, who, if she was really his sister, had a right to claim all the assistance he could afford her; and he at once, therefore, begged the rajah to allow him to set forth on his expedition without delay. Before going, however, it was of the greatest importance to know what had become of the documents which the rajah was supposed to possess.

He had learned from his father that his mother was a Christian, but he found a difficulty in reconciling this with the communication the rajah had just made him. He was afraid, however, of putting the question abruptly. “Your highness tells me that my mother was your daughter,” he said at length. “I have long earnestly wished to know more about her than my father told me. I was young when he died, and though his words were fixed on my memory, I might not probably have comprehended the meaning of all he said.”

“My daughter was one of those beings who are seldom found on earth,” answered the rajah; “and so was she who gave her birth. Her mother was fair as the houris in Paradise; the daughter of an English officer sent here on a mission by that great man Lord Clive. Her parents died, and she was left under the protection of my father. I saw and loved her, and she consented to become my wife; but nothing would induce her to change the faith she held. I respected her opinions, the more so as they made her that which I esteem most excellent; and she taught me to regard women in a very different light to that in which I had formerly held them. Her only child she brought up in the same faith; and when that child—your mother—grew to womanhood, she was married to your father, according to the rites of your religion, by an English minister, who was travelling through the country.”

“That fact my father impressed on me; and, as far as my interests are concerned, much depends on it,” said Reginald, who had been listening eagerly to the account the rajah had been giving him. “There were certain papers signed on the occasion, which, with other documents, my father left behind in the country, and which to me are of the greatest importance. Has your highness possession of them, or can you inform me where they are to be found?”

“Papers! Documents! Of what do you speak? I remember that some time back Khan Cochût, in whom I then placed unlimited confidence, at my order examined into the state of my treasures, and found some papers which I was unable to decipher. He informed me that they were of no value; but I directed him to allow them to remain in the casket in which they were placed. Some time afterwards, on visiting my treasury with the intention of placing the documents in the hands of some person understanding English, to be certain that Khan Cochût had not deceived me, I found that the casket had disappeared. Cochût protested that he knew nothing about the casket, and pretended to make diligent search after it.”

“If they were the papers which my father directed me to recover, they are, as I before told your highness, of the very greatest consequence, and I entreat you to assist me in recovering them.”

While Reginald was engaged in this exciting conversation with his supposed grandfather, an attendant entered the room, announcing that an officer who had just arrived, bringing important information, requested an audience immediately; and Reginald was compelled to wait till he could again speak in private to the rajah.

Chapter Six.

Reginalds’s Expedition in Search of Nuna—Burnett sets off for the same Purpose—Adventures in a Temple—Disappearance of Faithful—The Brahmin’s Treachery—Buxsoo gains important Information—Plans for liberating Nuna—Faithful escapes from her Prison, and turns the Tables on the Traitors.

The important information which had arrived was to the effect that the expected English resident, with two regiments of sepoys and a company of English troops, was on his way to Allahapoor, and would in the course of a few days reach the city.

The preparations for their reception now gave ample occupation to the rajah and his nobles.

As soon as Reginald had an opportunity, he told Burnett of the unexpected information the rajah had communicated regarding his birth.

“I have no reason to doubt it, yet it seems so strange, that I can scarcely believe the fact that I am the grandson of the old man, and that the beautiful girl of whom we caught a glimpse is my sister.”

“I can believe it very readily,” answered Burnett. “To tell you the truth, I fancied that I saw a likeness, and it struck me that she was far more like a European than an Oriental; besides which, no Indian woman of high rank would have been allowed to be present at the introduction of strangers. It was very evident that the rajah had broken through the usual customs of the country when he permitted us to see his grand-daughter. The more I think of it, the more anxious I am to try and recover her, as it seems strange that she should have been spirited away without any clue to the place in which she is concealed. You must get the rajah’s leave to set off at once; and beg him to allow us to go together. My plan will be to scour the country with two or three hundred horsemen; and if she is concealed, as I suspect is the case, by some fugitive rebels, we are certain to come upon them, and shall be able to compel them to surrender her.”

“You may command the horsemen, if the rajah will give them, and I will try a plan I have thought of. My idea is to set out with Dick Thuddichum and Faithful, and one native as a guide. I have fixed upon one of the sons of Dhunna Singh,—a fine, intelligent young fellow, who will, as we travel through the country, pick up information from the natives, and thus we shall be more likely to find out where Nuna is concealed than will be any number of armed men.”

Burnett confessed that Reginald’s plan might be more successful than his; but they had to wait till the next morning for the rajah to decide.

The morning came at length, and as soon as the rajah was on foot they hurried into his presence. He received Reginald with marked affection, and was most gracious to Burnett. Reginald having described his plan, pointed out the advantages of having two expeditions; and although the rajah continued very unwilling to let both of them go together, he at length consented to Burnett’s proposal, and issued an order for two hundred horsemen to accompany him,—a sufficient number to overawe any rebels who might still be in arms.

Having paid their farewells to the rajah, the friends hastened away to make preparations; Reginald at once repairing to the house of Dhunna Singh, to explain his intended plan. He did not hesitate to tell him also of the discovery which he had made, that he was the rajah’s grandson.

“Praise be to Him who governs the world that you are so, for we may then hope to have a Christian prince to reign over us who will help the oppressed and suffering, and will see justice done to all men,” was the answer. “I do not so much congratulate you, khan, as I do myself and all those beneath you, for your post will be one of difficulty and danger. You little think of the dark deeds often done in the palaces of our nobles and rulers. I would not throw a shade over your path, yet I warn you to beware of secret as well as of open foes, for many of the former will surround your throne and smile most blandly when they are most actively plotting to destroy you.”

“I will remember your warning, should I ever become Rajah of Allahapoor; but I hope the day may be far distant when my grandfather shall cease to rule the country. But of the matter on which I came to see you: I have to ask that one of your sons will accompany me, for I know that I can trust them all. Had Wuzeer Singh been sufficiently recovered, I would have engaged his services; but as he is not yet able to travel, I must depend on the assistance of one of them.”

“They are all at your service, sahib; but I would recommend Buxsoo, my second son, as he has travelled much about the country, and has intelligence and ready wit.”

The old man forthwith summoned the son he named, and he, without hesitation, agreed to accompany Reginald. He begged, however, that he might take a faithful servant—Sambro, a black slave, who was powerful and brave, and thoroughly to be depended on. Reginald accepted his offer; and in a few minutes both were ready to accompany him to the palace, where Dick Thuddichum and Faithful were waiting for them. Buxsoo and Sambro were there introduced to Faithful, who showed at once that she understood she was to treat them as friends.

They waited till the shades of evening settled down over the city, that they might take their departure without exciting observation, when they quickly traversed the numerous deserted streets till they reached the northern gate. It was instantly opened on Reginald’s showing an order from the rajah. No one recognised them, or inquired where they were going; indeed, the inhabitants of Allahapoor were not addicted to troubling themselves about affairs that did not concern them.

The travellers had got a mile or two from the city when the moon arose and enabled them to continue their journey during the greater part of the night. There was no lack of ruins of mosques and pagodas, of forts and once gorgeous tombs, in which they could find lodging when they needed rest; so at length Buxsoo proposed that they should stop at a pagoda which, though deserted by the priests, was almost entire. To this Reginald at once agreed, for, unaccustomed to walking such long distances, he felt very tired. A quantity of dried wood having been found, Sambro, assisted by Dick, soon had a fire lighted in the courtyard, on which they cooked their provisions—Buxsoo, having become a Christian, had thrown aside all prejudice of caste; and Reginald always made a practice, when on expeditions on shore, of messing with his men. They therefore seated themselves together around their frugal fare, under the shelter of an arcade, with a fire burning brightly in front of them. Faithful had had her usual supper before starting, but her long march had perhaps given her an appetite, and seeing her master thus employed, she stole away, forgetful of her duty, to forage for herself.

A curious spectacle the scene would have presented to the eye of a native: Reginald, though in his nautical costume, looking, as he was, a high-born gentleman; Dick had the cut of a thorough British tar; Buxsoo could not be distinguished from an ordinary high-caste Hindoo; while Sambro’s black skin and scanty garments clearly showed the class to which he belonged.

The repast was nearly over, when Dick looking up, his keen eyes discovered a figure stealing along under the shadow of the arcade on the opposite side of the court.

“Hallo! There’s an eavesdropper of some sort. We must capture him, and ask him what he wants,” he exclaimed, starting up.

Reginald and the rest of the party followed; but when they reached the spot where the figure had been seen no one was visible. They hunted about in every direction, aided by such light as the moon afforded, but without success; and at length returned to the spot where they had left their supper. Buxsoo was inclined to believe that Dick had been deceived by the shadow of a column falling against the wall.

“No, no, I tell you. My sight never plays me false,” answered Dick. “I set eyes on a fellow in the long petticoat sort of robes the natives wear, as sure as I have seen salt water; and how he got away from me, unless he darted through the wall, is more than I can tell.”

“I don’t think you are likely to have been deceived,” said Reginald. “But what can have become of Faithful? Had she not gone off her post, she would have caught the fellow.”

No one had remarked when the tigress stole away, and her disappearance was another mystery to be solved.

Fatigued with their long march, rest was absolutely necessary; they therefore determined to sleep where they were, one at a time keeping watch.

“Please your honour, I will keep the first watch,” said Dick; “and if you will lend me one of your pistols, I will send a bullet through the body of the first petticoated gentleman who heaves in sight, whether he is a ghost or not. If so be I starts off, just be good enough to follow me when I make chase, and we will have him in limbo before many minutes are over.”

Reginald now lay down, feeling perfectly confident that Dick would keep wideawake; and recommending his companions to follow his example, they were all in a few seconds fast asleep.

We must now follow Faithful, who maybe was in search of a lamb or goat from some flocks feeding at no great distance from the temple. She had not left the precincts of the place when a person in the robes of a Brahmin fearlessly approached her, and patting her head, offered her something which he held in his hand. She took it, and fawning on him, followed as he led the way to a distant part of the ruin. Here was a high tower with some winding steps leading to the summit. The Brahmin, for such he was, began to ascend, the tigress still following. When on the summit, the stranger opened a door and proceeded along a narrow gallery, scarcely affording room for the shoulders of the animal to pass. Suddenly he slipped through another small door. The poor tigress, missing him or the tempting bait he held, advanced stealthily, when there came a crash, and down she fell head foremost; her betrayer looking over the parapet, exulting in the success of his treachery.

“Aha! I have often tried to poison you, but you were too sagacious to be taken in,” he said. “Now I have succeeded in finishing you, your master the young rajah will easily become my prey. He expects to rule this country, does he, and reform abuses and destroy our ancient religion! Clever as he thinks himself, he will find that he is mistaken, and that there are those who can outwit him. It has been prophesied that when the Feringhees rule the land the ancient institutions of the country will be destroyed and caste abolished. What will then become of us Brahmins? We must put off that evil day, if it is ever to arrive, as long as possible.”

Thus the Brahmin Balkishen continued muttering. He was an ally of Khan Cochût, and had been a chief agent in the late rebellion, as, through having been the rajah’s principal secretary, he was fully informed of all that took place at the palace. But though an ally of the ex-barber, he hated him cordially, both on account of his religion—or rather his utter want of it—and the familiar and somewhat coarse way in which Khan Cochût treated him. He had also assisted in carrying off Nuna, and was afraid that Reginald, though the instrumentality of Buxsoo and Sambro, would discover her place of concealment.

Notwithstanding his boasted enlightenment, he had a superstitious dread of the tigress, whom he fully believed to be a “familiar” of the young Englishman, and that while she was his protectress it would be useless to make any attempt against his life. He had often tried to ingratiate himself with Faithful for the purpose of destroying her; but being unable to succeed, he bethought him of making use of a secret he possessed, by means of which he believed that even the most savage wild beast could be tamed. He had ordered one of his slaves—whom he had left in the city—to keep a watch on the Englishmen, to follow them wherever they went, and to bring him information of their movements. Fortune, as he thought, had favoured him more than he could have expected, and they had actually taken shelter in the very temple in which he was lying concealed.

Having disposed of Faithful, as he hoped, he must next attempt to get hold of the sturdy sailor—a more difficult task, as he rightly judged. He was afraid to proceed by force, and he trusted that stratagem would prove more successful. He felt an eager desire to carry his plan into execution at once, but the watchful vigilance of Dick Thuddichum foiled him. He had, indeed, been nearly captured by the sailor, and saw that he must be more prudent in future. Little did honest Dick suppose that a pair of keen eyes were fixed on him as he paced up and down on his watch, and that had he gone a few yards further he might have found a rope thrown round his neck, which would have prevented him from crying out, and rendered his strength of no avail.

Sambro succeeded Dick, and was equally vigilant; Buxsoo kept the morning watch; while Reginald, who was the most fatigued of the party, slept till daylight.

Faithful’s disappearance caused considerable anxiety. In vain they searched about in all directions—no trace of the tigress could be found; and at length, as it was important to take advantage of the cool morning air, they started, hoping that her sagacity would enable her quickly to follow them. Often and often Reginald looked back, hoping to see his pet. They overtook numerous country-people,—some on foot, others on asses or on horseback,—nearly all the men being armed. They regarded the two Englishmen with suspicious eyes; but Buxsoo mingled among them, inquiring what news was stirring. All had something to tell, and he thus picked up a good deal of information. People were generally full of the expected arrival of the English troops, wondering what they were coming for. Their suspicions were generally aroused; and some even declared that the rajah had sold his country to the English. Buxsoo did not think it worth while to contradict this, as it would have excited their enmity against him, and they might believe that he was in favour of the transaction. This, however, was not the information he was anxious to obtain.

Two more days passed by. Reginald began to despair of recovering Faithful; and he had, as yet, received no tidings from Burnett. They were resting during the heat of the day in the shade of a banyan-tree, at a little distance from which was a well. They had not been seated long, when several natives, with a couple of laden camels, drew near to the well to quench their thirst. Buxsoo, begging his companions to remain quiet, went forward to meet the strangers. After the usual salutations, he inquired the price of ghee, corn, and lentils; and they, believing him to be a trader like themselves, willingly imparted the information he requested. His first questions led to others, and they soon got into familiar conversation. He asked if they had heard anything of the late rebellion, or of the audacious way in which the ranee had been carried off. They knew very little about the matter; but rumours had reached them that there had been disturbances in the country. At length one of the party informed him that, on the previous day, he had gone to a village at some distance from the high road to sell his goods, and that on his return he passed near a deserted temple on the summit of a hill, the doors of which were all closed; but that on looking up he was greatly surprised to see a female at the top of one of the towers, waving to him, apparently to attract his attention. Wondering what was wanted, he was approaching, when two armed men rushed out of the building with threatening gestures. To escape them, he ran off at full speed; but after pursuing him for some distance the armed men turned back, and he reached his friends in safety. Buxsoo also inquired whether the merchants had heard anything of the movements of a body of the rajah’s cavalry; but they could give him no information on the subject.

He waited till they and their camels, having quenched their thirst, had moved forward on their journey, and then he hurried back to his friends with the important information he had obtained.

Reginald was, of course, eager to move on at once to the place where the female had been seen, feeling almost sure that it could be no other than Nuna.

“That may be the case,” observed Buxsoo; “but, supposing that the temple is guarded by a strong garrison, how are we to get in and rescue her? Would it not be wiser to try and fall in with the cavalry, who may take the place by storm should the rebels refuse to deliver up their prisoner?”

“The cavalry would have less chance than we should have, my friend,” answered Reginald. “If the place is fortified, we must trust to stratagem rather than to an open attack. A handful of men, well provided with ammunition, may keep at bay the whole of Captain Burnett’s cavalry. I would rather attempt to scale the walls; and I feel sure that Dick and I might accomplish the feat. We sailors are as active as goats; and as no one within would suspect our intentions, we might get to the top of the tower, and perhaps liberate the ranee, before any of the garrison could discover what we are about. It is very evident that she must be confined in the tower, where her guards think that she is perfectly safe; while they probably keep in the large hall in the lower part of the building. However, we must get there first and survey the place before we can decide what is to be done.”

Reginald then explained his plan to Dick Thuddichum, who replied—

“Of course, of course. It would be a rum sort of a tower that we couldn’t get to the top of, provided there are but a few holes and crannies into which we can stick our toes and fingers. But, to my mind, it will be as well to secure a few coils of rope, as it may be an easier task to get up than to come down again—especially if we have got a young lady with us.”

“But if we were to be seen carrying the rope, suspicion of our intention would be excited, and the rebels would take measures to counteract it,” observed Reginald.

“Then we must not let them see it,” answered Dick. “I would not mind carrying a coil covered up in a piece of muslin, to look like a turban, on the top of my head; and I dare say Mister Buxsoo and the nigger here would do the same. And though I am pretty stout already, I would coil a few more lengths round my waist; and if the natives were to find out by chance what I had got about my body, they would only fancy that I was doing a bit of penance like themselves. Keep up your heart, sir; and if the young lady is shut up in the old tower, as you suppose, we’ll manage, by hook or by crook, to get her out.”

We must now return to the temple in which Reginald and his party had taken shelter a few nights before. The Brahmin Balkishen and his slave were not the only occupants; and as soon as the travellers had gone, another personage crept out of a small chamber in which he had been hidden during the time of their stay, an interested spectator of their proceedings. He was no other than Khan Cochût. Hearing of the rajah’s restoration to power, he was on his way back to Allahapoor with a cunningly-devised tale, by means of which he hoped to be restored to power. The astounding information, however, that he received from Balkishen made him change his plans, and he resolved, at all events, to defer his visit till a more convenient opportunity. The two worthies were actually holding a discussion together, when they were interrupted by the arrival of Reginald’s party. Khan Cochût, though not very scrupulous, hesitated about firing, although he might have done so from his place of concealment, and have killed Reginald and Buxsoo, whom he himself feared; but, on the other hand, he might have missed, and have been caught and killed himself. Altogether, he came to the conclusion that it would be more prudent to try and ingratiate himself with the young rajah, till he could safely retire with the wealth he had accumulated.

His plan had been to go boldly to the court, to assert that he had been carried off by the orders of the rebel Mukund Bhim, and pretending to be greatly surprised on hearing of the abduction of the ranee, to offer to go in search of her. It was a hazardous scheme; but Khan Cochût was a daring man, and had convinced himself that timid measures rarely meet with success.

As soon as he had seen Reginald’s party to a safe distance, he sat down to a breakfast which Bikoo, Balkishen’s slave, had prepared for him; while the Brahmin, who would have considered himself defiled by eating in company with his friend, sat down to a more frugal meal by himself. After having washed his hands and said his prayers, the Brahmin rejoined the khan,—who considered neither of such ceremonies necessary,—and the two then discussed their plans for the future. Balkishen undertook to follow Reginald’s party, accompanied by Bikoo, and to prevent them by every means in his power from reaching the place of Nuna’s concealment, should they by any wonderful chance discover it; while Khan Cochût came to the final resolution of returning to Allahapoor, and carrying out his original plan.

They were about to part, when they were startled by a loud roar, such as had never before echoed amid the walls of the temple. The Brahmin trembled and looked very yellow, for he could not be said to turn pale.

“It must be that abominable tigress which I thought had been killed,” he exclaimed. “No mortal beast could have escaped being dashed to pieces from the height she fell. I always said she was a djinn; and this convinces me of the fact.”

“She must have a hard head and strong bones, at all events,” observed Khan Cochût. “For my part, I don’t believe either in good or evil spirits; and the simplest way of stopping her roaring will be to put a bullet through her head.”

“Not unless you wish to bring curses on your own head and on mine,” exclaimed the Brahmin, becoming still more yellow.

Meanwhile the roars continued.

“The brute will attract the attention of the whole neighbourhood,” exclaimed Khan Cochût. “As for bringing a curse on my head, I am very ready to run that risk. Only let me get a fair shot and I will quickly silence her.”

“There must be some opening at the foot of the tower, or we should not hear the sounds so plainly,” observed the Brahmin, “I will send Bikoo to try and find out. It would be more satisfactory to have him torn to pieces than ourselves.”

“There is wisdom in that remark,” coolly observed Khan Cochût; and Bikoo was forthwith despatched by his master to explore the place into which the tigress had tumbled.

He went—though with no great alacrity—to obey the order he had received, taking with him a long stick; not that it would have served him much against the enraged tigress, but it was the only weapon he possessed. The roars grew louder and louder as he advanced, till after mounting a flight of steps he started back on finding himself face to face with the tigress,—some iron bars, however, intervening. Faithful was evidently in a furious rage. As she saw him she seized one of the bars in her mouth, while she grasped the two next to it with her powerful claws, working away to wrench them asunder. Bikoo attempted to drive her back with his stick, but she utterly disregarded the blows aimed at her, only stopping a moment to roar and snarl, her loud cries drowning his voice as he shouted to Khan Cochût to come and shoot her—which he might very easily have done. Already the bars were seen to bend, the upper ends coming out of their sockets. Bikoo saw that in another instant the tigress would be at liberty; so springing down the steps with a very natural rapidity, fully expecting to be torn to pieces should he not make haste, and shouting, “The tigress! The tigress is at my heels!” he rushed into the presence of his master and Khan Cochût. They, hearing his cries, judged that their safest course would be to betake themselves to the upper chamber in which they had before been concealed,—Bikoo following them without asking leave, and only wishing that they would move somewhat faster. They had just climbed up by means of some winding steps in the wall, when the tigress, with her mouth and paws bloody from the exertions she had made, sprang into the courtyard and looked around, with the apparent intention of taking vengeance on the person who had so treacherously endeavoured to destroy her. As she was gazing about, her eye fell on the long nose and sallow visage of Khan Cochût, who was peering from his hiding-place through a slit in the wall. She sprang up at him with a suddenness which made him draw back with considerable rapidity, knocking over the grave Brahmin as he did so, and sending him sprawling prostrate on the ground. Poor Faithful, however, missed her aim, and fell backwards in a manner which did not at all improve her already irritated temper. Up and down the courtyard she rushed, looking out for an opening; and had not an iron-clamped door stopped her she would probably have torn the whole party to pieces, unless Khan Cochût had contrived to shoot her. Several times he poked one of his pistols through the slit, but the Brahmin entreated him not to fire. Whether or not Faithful suspected what he intended, she kept at such a distance that he would, in all probability, have missed her had he fired. At length, wearied with her exertions, she retired to the end of the court, where she lay down in the shade, keeping her eye fixed alternately on the slit in the wall and the door through which her enemy had passed.

She had now completely turned the tables on them, for, as they had no provisions, they must either die of starvation or surrender at discretion. At length the Brahmin proposed sending Bikoo down, that, while the tigress was tearing him to pieces, they might make their escape. To this inhuman proposal the slave very naturally objected, observing that the tigress must before long fall asleep, when they might slip out, favoured by the darkness, and so make their escape,—he, as being the most active, hoping, should the tigress awake, to get ahead of them, and leave them to the fate his master so generously proposed for him. Had Faithful suspected their intentions, she would probably have allowed her captives to have made the attempt to carry them out, and would have caught them all in succession.

As she lay in the shade, she began to meditate after her own fashion on what had occurred; and suddenly recollecting her beloved master, she got up and bounded towards the spot where she had last seen him. As she did so she passed within range of Cochût’s pistol. Notwithstanding the Brahmin’s prohibition, he fired. Though the ball missed her, she was somewhat frightened by the report; and her mind being set on discovering Reginald, she sprang through the gateway, and trotted off in the direction her instinct told her he had taken, as she certainly did not follow him either by sight or scent.

Chapter Seven.

The Temple in which Nuna is a Prisoner reached—Dick’s Plan for rescuing her—The Top of the Tower gained—Escape—Pursued—Faithful appears at the Proper Juncture—Another Temple reached—An Unexpected Attack—Faithful plays her Part—Burnett arrives—Captain Hawkesford finds that he has made a Mistake—The Journey to the Capital—A Day’s Sport—Reginald again escapes from a Tiger—The Journey continued—Threatened by the Rebels—Take Refuge in a Fort—The Major’s Astonishment.

Reginald and his party continued their journey, but they had considerable difficulty in discovering the temple of which the trader had told Buxsoo. At length, as evening was drawing on, they caught sight of a tall tower rising above the trees on the top of the hill. It being of the greatest importance not to be discovered by any of the rebel garrison, they waited till dark to approach the building, as they could not take that careful survey of it at a distance which was so necessary before commencing operations. They had provided themselves with a supply of rope at a distant village, where their object was not likely to be suspected, and had carried it as Dick had suggested. Reginald and Dick were well armed, and felt themselves able to engage a dozen natives; but Buxsoo and Sambro carried no weapons,—for the former professed not to be a fighter, though the slave was active and powerful, and would not have feared a combat on equal terms with two or even three brown-skinned natives.

Concealed among the trees, they got close enough to the temple to ascertain whether any person entered or left it, as also to see the top of the tower. With anxious eyes Reginald looked out for the appearance of Nuna, convinced as he was that she must have been the female seen by the trader. He watched, however, in vain, and darkness came on without any human being having been seen, or any sign being discernible that the building was inhabited. Reginald, in his eagerness, would at once have approached the walls; but Buxsoo advised him to wait, in the hope that those within might have a lamp burning, the light from which, streaming through any window or crevice, might betray the part of the building they were occupying.

“Depend upon it, also, that some cunning officer commands the party, and he will be on the watch for the approach of enemies,” observed Buxsoo. “My advice is that we wait till later in the night, when the sentries are likely to be drowsy, and we may then make our survey with less risk of being discovered.”

Reginald agreeing to this proposal, the party lay down to rest,—he and Dick with their arms ready for instant use,—while they kept their eyes turned towards the building. Before long a ray of light shone forth from the dark walls. It proceeded, judging from its height, from a small window in an upper storey, and in a part of the edifice at a considerable distance from the tower. Though they watched carefully, no light appeared from the tower itself; but that might have been accounted for by the supposition that there were no windows in the sides towards them, and did not prove that the tower was uninhabited. The appearance of the light, moreover, made it probable that the persons seen by the trader were still there.

An hour or more passed, when Dick suggested that, as it was important to make their survey before the moon rose, it was time to get to the foot of the tower, and there judge what was to be done. So, still keeping under the shelter of the trees, they crept round to the further side of the building, on which the tower was situated, in order that they might get up to it without being seen by any one on the watch in the temple itself. A sentry posted on the top of the tower might have discovered them if he was awake and on the lookout; but they must of necessity run the risk of that—hoping, should one be there, to take him by surprise, and gag him before he could give the alarm. In the manner described they reached the foot of the tower,—as they hoped, without being observed by any one. They examined it as far as the darkness would allow; but neither a door nor a window was to be discovered. The stucco, however, with which it had formerly been covered, had in many places fallen out. Accustomed to climbing as Dick was, he confessed that even a cat would have a difficulty in reaching the top without other means than her claws. However, of this they felt sure—that no sentry was posted on the top of the tower; and that the chambers inside must either be lighted from the top or by very narrow loopholes.

“I have it, though,” whispered Dick. “Just let me get a score or two of pegs: I will fix them one above another in those holes in the wall without making any noise; and then, by giving a turn with a rope round each of them, they will be kept all together—so that we may get to the top without the risk of breaking our necks.”

Reginald at once agreed to Dick’s proposal. It was the only way, indeed, by which they could hope to succeed. Next they all crept silently round the building, examining every portion in the hope of finding some loophole or aperture into which one of them might climb if such a place existed, and, if possible, to draw off the attention of the garrison while Reginald and Dick were lowering the ranee from the tower. There were apparently doors, but they were firmly closed; and the windows, and the other apertures which time had made in the walls, were too high up to be reached. It was evident that the building had lately been put into a state of defence, and that all openings by which an enemy could enter had been barricaded. This confirmed them in the belief that the ranee was imprisoned within, and that only by the plan they proposed could her liberation be effected.

As some time would be occupied in making the pegs as proposed by Dick, considering they had only their knives for cutting them, they had to defer the execution of their plan till the next night. They therefore stole back into the forest, in the far recesses of which they formed their camp. As, however, it was possible that the garrison might leave their fortress and carry the ranee with them, just before daylight, Sambro, who undertook to keep watch, stole back to the border of the wood,—where, concealed among the thick trees, he had a perfect view of the building, and could see if anybody went in or came out of it.

As they calculated that the tower was sixty feet in height, it was considered that thirty pegs, at least, would be required to reach the top. As soon as it was daylight they searched about for some hard wood, which, on being found, they set to work diligently to form into pegs. Its hardness made the operation a slow one, and they had to use great care for fear of turning the edges of their tools. Buxsoo was totally unaccustomed to the sort of work. Dick, indeed, had cut three pegs before either of the rest of the party had completed one. Reginald constantly looked out in the direction Sambro had taken, in the expectation of seeing him return with some tidings or other from the fort. But the day wore on and he did not appear. As he had taken provisions with him, they knew that he could remain at his post without any necessity for coming back for food, and they concluded, therefore, that nothing had occurred worth communicating.

Eager to carry their plan into execution, Reginald proposed returning to the tower without further delay, when a rustle was heard in the bushes, and Sambro crept up to the camp. He had seen, he said, several lights streaming from the upper part of the building, which made him suppose that there must be a good many people within. Still, as they could have no suspicion of the attempt about to be made, they would probably not interfere with their proceedings, and he thought that they might at all events commence operations without delay. Each of them, therefore, carrying a bundle of pegs, they crept back to the foot of the tower. Dick wisely selected the dark side, looking the same way as the back of the temple, on which the moon, when she got up, would not shine, and at once began fixing in the pegs. He soon found that he could not place them one above another, but had to choose the spots from which the plaster had fallen out; so that the pegs were sometimes on one side and sometimes on another. He could have proceeded much faster had he been able to use a stone for driving them in; but, of course, the noise that would have made would have led to the discovery of their proceedings. Up and up Dick climbed, fastening the rope securely to the pegs, so that did one come out he might save himself by the rope fixed to the others. Perseverance overcomes all difficulties. The end of the rope which hung down enabled him to haul up the other pegs as they were required.

At length he reached the parapet, and, climbing over, found himself standing on a flat roof. Reginald climbed up next, carrying the rope by which it was proposed to lower Nuna down. Sambro followed them, though, less accustomed to climbing than Reginald and Dick, he had much more difficulty than they had in getting up. Buxsoo remained below to keep watch, and to receive Nuna on her arrival at the bottom.

On searching about, a trap-door was found in the roof. It was easily lifted. Reginald stationed Sambro at the top, whilst he, revolver in hand, and followed by Dick, descended a flight of stone steps, carefully feeling his way, and not knowing what was at the bottom. By this time the moon was up, and her light streaming through the open trap enabled him to ascertain that he was in a large unfurnished chamber. Carefully groping his way round, he discovered another flight of steps, leading to the lower storey. He and Dick cautiously descended, feeling the wall with their hands, on the chance of discovering the door of a lower chamber, which they guessed must exist. They were right in their conjectures. Not only was a door found, but through the chinks proceeded the light of a lamp burning within. Could Nuna be there? That such was the case was probable; but the room, on the other hand, might be tenanted by a party of armed men, and should they open the door, there would be no little danger in finding themselves among them. The steps, it was evident, continued on to the lower part of the building. There might be other chambers, one of which might be that occupied by Nuna. Should they enter, or descend to the bottom of the tower? They listened at the door, but no sound came forth. This made Reginald believe that Nuna must be its occupant. Still, he thought it prudent to explore the lower part of the building before attempting to gain an entrance. He and Dick therefore descended, till he calculated that they were close at the bottom; and here they were stopped by a door. They remained perfectly quiet, when the sound of loud snoring reached their ears. Listening, they were convinced that it came from the other side of the door; and probably was produced by a sentry, either leaning against it or sitting on the ground. This convinced Reginald that the upper chamber was not occupied by armed men, and he therefore made a signal to Dick to reascend the steps. They crept carefully up, so as to avoid creating any noise which might awake the slumbering sentry.

On reaching the door, through which the light could still be discerned, he knocked gently, and putting his mouth to one of the crevices, he uttered Nuna’s name in a low tone.

“Who is there?” was asked in a voice which he felt sure was his sister’s.

He told her who he was, and that he had come to rescue her; when, a bolt being withdrawn, the door was opened, and there stood Nuna, pale and trembling with agitation. As there was no time to be lost, Reginald briefly told her that he had, with the rajah’s permission, set out on an expedition to find her, and had been happily directed to the right spot.

“I have much more to tell you,” he added, “but only understand that I have every right to protect you, and will do so with my life. Trust to me, and I hope to carry you back safely to your grandfather.”

“I place perfect confidence in you,” she answered.

He took her hand and led her up the steps to the top of the tower, preceded by Dick Thuddichum; and as soon as they had passed though the trap, Sambro gently closed it. Dick now lost no time in uncoiling the lengths of rope he had brought to the top for the purpose they had in view. To one end was attached a sort of cradle which he had thoughtfully constructed.

“If the young lady won’t mind getting into this, we will lower her handsomely,” he observed; “and she shall be safe at the bottom in less than no time.”

Reginald explained to Nuna what was necessary, and she at once consented to be placed in the cradle, into which she was carefully fastened with Reginald and Dick’s handkerchiefs.

“I hear some one moving below,” whispered Sambro. “No time to lose;” and Reginald and Dick carefully lowered Nuna over the wall, and let her slowly descend, while Sambro kept watch on the trap. The end of the rope had been secured to some ironwork on the roof, and it was an immense relief when Reginald felt that Nuna had safely reached the ground.

“Now, sir, you go down by the rope, and take care of the young lady,” said Dick, “and I will make the black find his way down by the ladder.”

Before Reginald had reached the bottom, Buxsoo had released Nuna, who expressed her thankfulness at finding Reginald by her side.

“We must wait for our two followers before we take to flight,” he said. “We will then endeavour to get to a distance from the place. Here comes one of them.”

As he spoke, Sambro was seen descending the ladder. Before he reached the bottom, however, the sound of men struggling was heard, with the loud cries of a native, responded to by Dick Thuddichum’s gruff voice.

“I must go and assist my faithful follower,” exclaimed Reginald, preparing to ascend the ladder.

“Oh, do not leave me,” cried Nuna.

The sound of the struggling now became more distinct. For a moment it ceased, and then a noise followed, as if a heavy body had fallen to the ground, apparently on the other side of the tower. Reginald sprang to the spot, dreading to find that it was that of honest Dick; but the white dress which covered the mangled heap of humanity showed him that it was a native who had been thrown down from that fearful height. Hurrying back, he caught sight of Dick rapidly descending the rope.

“We must be away from this pretty sharp, sir,” he exclaimed; “for if we are not, we shall have a whole tribe of the ugly blackamoors after us. I pitched half-a-dozen of them down the steps, and then had to run for it. However, all is right at present, and it may be some time before they find their way out of the front door.”

On receiving this startling intelligence, Reginald seized Nuna in his arms and bore her down the hill, Buxsoo keeping by his side, while Dick and Sambro brought up the rear to cover their retreat.

“I wish, Sambro, that you had had a musket or a brace of pistols, and we would have kept the enemy at bay till our masters had carried off the young lady out of danger,” exclaimed Dick. “But, as it is, I must fight alone. Only let them come near enough; I’ll plant my fist in the faces of some of them, and make their noses flatter than they have ever been before.”

In a couple of minutes the fugitives had got to the bottom of the hill, and were making their way along the high road by which they had come, when Dick, turning round, discovered a number of men rushing out of the building, who had evidently caught sight of them. On they came, yelling like fiends; but they did not fire, apparently for fear of wounding the ranee. It seemed but too likely that the whole party would be taken prisoners, for what could two men do against the vastly superior number pursuing them!

“On, sir! On, sir!” cried Dick; “we will tackle the fellows, and Sambro will soon get hold of a musket or cutlass for himself. You meanwhile push ahead to the nearest village with the young lady, and Mr Buxsoo will tell the people who she is.”

Dick, however, was calculating too much on his own powers, though he truly felt ready to do battle with the infuriated rebels coming up to him. They were not many paces off, when at that instant a tigress was seen bounding along towards them. Nuna, who caught sight of the savage-looking animal, uttered a scream. “There it comes! Oh, it will kill us!” she exclaimed. Reginald immediately called out, “Faithful! Faithful!” and the seemingly savage tigress came fawning up to him. Then turning round, he pointed at the pursuing foes, and a pat on Faithful’s head made her leap on towards them. The moment they caught sight of her, as she flew at them snarling fiercely, they turned round and scampered up the hill faster than they had descended. Reginald hereupon—fearing that some of them, regaining their courage, might fire at her—called her off; upon which she came trotting back and took up a position immediately behind the party.

Once more they moved on; Dick and the tigress every now and then looking back to ascertain whether or not the enemy were following. The fright given them by the sudden appearance of the tigress prevented the rebels from again issuing out of their fortification, and Reginald and his friends were able to get some distance before daylight.

Nuna had repeatedly asked Reginald to set her down, but to this he would not consent, as she was not accustomed to walk over a rough road, and her delicate feet, shod only with embroidered slippers, were ill-fitted to support her. At length, however, he began to feel fatigued, and anxiously looked out for a place of safety, where they might rest till an elephant could be found to convey them to the city. They had observed on their way a temple in a very similar situation to the one from which they had just escaped. Buxsoo believed that that also was deserted, although it was not in a very ruinous condition. Being not far off, they made their way to it. A place of shelter was soon found within it, and Reginald placing his jacket and Buxsoo his outer robe on the ground, entreated Nuna to rest while they watched at a little distance. Faithful, who came in last, lay down in the gateway; evidently considering that it was her duty to keep a guard over the premises while her master and his friends occupied them.

Their chief inconvenience arose from want of food; for the provisions they had brought with them had been exhausted on the previous day, and Reginald felt that it would be impossible to proceed without some refreshment. Nuna assured him that she herself was not hungry, as she had had some supper brought to her soon after nightfall. She had been treated, she told him, with perfect respect.

They were still apprehensive of being pursued by the mutineers, so as soon as there was sufficient light they set to work to fortify the temple, and to close all the openings in the lower part of the building. This done, Buxsoo and Sambro hastened away to obtain provisions at the nearest village they could find; intending also to try and procure an elephant for the convenience of Nuna and Reginald, and, if possible, one for themselves and Dick.

After his companions had gone, Reginald seated himself by Nuna, and took the opportunity of recounting his history, and explaining to her who he was. She listened to him with great astonishment. At length she answered—

“I now understand why I have been brought up in a manner so different from the other women of rank in this country. My mother taught me her own religion, which she was allowed to enjoy; and she charged me, with her dying breath, should I ever marry, to teach my children the same. But I fear I really know little of its truths. I must get you, my brother, to instruct me, and tell me all about the country of our mother’s ancestors.”

While they were speaking Dick hurried up, exclaiming—

“Hurrah, sir! I see a body of sepoys with some English redcoats among them coming this way. We need no longer have any fear of the rebels.”

“Are you certain that there are English soldiers among them? For if not, the men you take for sepoys may be the rebels themselves,” observed Reginald. “It may be safer for you, my sister, to take shelter in the tower till we ascertain the truth; and we shall be able to defend you, as only one man at a time can force his way up.”

Scarcely had Nuna ascended a few steps when half a company of sepoys, with a corporal and five English soldiers, and led by a British officer, appeared in front of the building.

Reginald shouted out to them that he was an Englishman, and that having rescued the rajah’s daughter from a band of rebels, he was returning with her to her father.

“I don’t believe you,” answered the officer. “On, my lads, and capture the young fellow! From the information I have received, he is himself a rebel.”

A second glance at the speaker showed Reginald that it was his acquaintance, Captain Hawkesford; but in another instant the gates were burst open, and the soldiers, rushing in, captured Dick, who was making his way to the foot of the steps on which Reginald stood with Nuna behind him, while Faithful crouched by his side glaring at the assailants.

“Back, I say—back; you are mistaken, my men,” cried Reginald, drawing his revolvers. “Your lives be on your own heads, if you advance.—Fly up the steps, Nuna. Fly under shelter: in case they should dare to fire, the bullets may strike you.”

Still the English soldiers advanced,—though the sepoys hung back, afraid of facing the tigress, and awed by Reginald’s daring attitude. Unhappily the corporal, a brave fellow, believing that it was his duty to seize the supposed rebel, rushed forward, and began to mount the steps, presenting the point of his bayonet at Faithful; on which, no longer able to restrain herself, she sprang at his throat and gave him a death-gripe, hurling him down backwards a lifeless corpse, while his musket fell from his band.

“Fire!” cried Captain Hawkesford.

“If you do, I must fire in return,” shouted Reginald.

As he spoke the bullets rattled thickly around his head; so he discharged both his pistols, and again urging Nuna to escape, he with a bound sprang after her, before another musket could be aimed at him; while Faithful, who had wonderfully escaped, kept the soldiers at bay, notwithstanding their commander’s urgent orders to them to advance.

At that moment there was a cry raised by the sepoys—

“We are betrayed! We are betrayed! The rebel cavalry are upon us. We shall be cut to pieces.”

On hearing this Captain Hawkesford turned round, and saw a large body of horse advancing, with an Englishman at their head. From their appointments and general appearance, he at once knew that they were a well-organised body of troops, and not like a rebel band; and as they advanced he recognised Captain Burnett, with whom he was personally acquainted. Even had they been rebels, they so far outnumbered his own company of sepoys and his small party of Englishmen that he would have had very little hope of contending with them successfully,—especially as the sepoys showed no inclination to fight. He had indeed from the first suspected that he had been misled by the information he had received. It had been given by the traitor Balkishen, in the hope that it would lead to the destruction of Reginald and the young ranee. He therefore considered that it would be wise to assume a pacific attitude; so as Burnett and his troopers advanced towards the gate he ordered his own men to ground their arms, and going forward, he shouted out—

“Glad to see you, Burnett! We have made a terrible mistake, misled by a rascally Brahmin; but, except that one poor fellow has lost his life, no great harm has been done.”

“Who is it?” asked Burnett anxiously, fearing that he might allude to Reginald, of whom he had gained information from Buxsoo and Sambro at the village where he had met them as they were purchasing provisions.

Captain Hawkesford’s answer relieved his anxiety; and he soon had evidence that Reginald was unhurt, by seeing him descend the steps, accompanied by Nuna; while Faithful stood at the foot glaring round at the strangers, of whose intentions she was not yet fully satisfied.

Reginald, from the place in which he had taken shelter, had observed Burnett’s approach; and overhearing the conversation which had ensued, he knew that the tables were turned, and that his sister was at length in safety. Captain Hawkesford, who feared that very awkward consequences might ensue from his conduct, apologised to Reginald, and made all the excuses he could think of.

Reginald, however, received these somewhat stiffly. “Had the ranee, whom I had undertaken to conduct to her grandfather, been injured, the case would have been very different,” he observed. “As it is, although you refused to believe my word when I assured you I was not a rebel, and that you had been deceived, I am ready to receive your apologies; and I must now request you to assist in making immediate arrangements for the conveyance of the young lady to Allahapoor, where her grandfather is anxiously awaiting her return.”

Burnett, however, undertook that task, and despatched a party of his horsemen to the nearest place where elephants were to be found, to bring one with a proper howdah for the conveyance of the young ranee; while he also sent off another party to Allahapoor, to announce her recovery to the rajah.

Captain Hawkesford volunteered to remain in the meantime, with his men, for her protection. But Burnett politely declined his offer; observing, in a somewhat sarcastic tone, which he could not restrain, that she was as perfectly safe, guarded by his troopers, as she would be with the sepoys and the corporal’s guard he had brought with him.

“Well, then,” said Captain Hawkesford, “if my services are declined, it is my duty, I conceive, to rejoin the main body of the force sent to the assistance of the rajah. I will inform Colonel Ross that we were deceived by the information given us by the Brahmin, and that the supposed rebel was no other than Mr Hamerton, who was escorting the young lady home whom he had so gallantly rescued from imprisonment.”

“Colonel Ross, did you say?” asked Reginald.

“Yes, sir. He is in command of the troops marching to Allahapoor; and he and his daughter—who accompanies him—will be much interested on hearing of your gallant exploit.”

Reginald hesitated what remark to make. The news he had just heard gave him great pleasure, as he hoped that he might soon again meet Violet. At the same time, he felt sure that Captain Hawkesford would give a false colouring to what had occurred, and would try to make her jealous of the ranee and suspicious of his conduct. He was much inclined to explain the true state of affairs to Captain Hawkesford, so that he might be prevented from making out a story to his prejudice. Captain Hawkesford, however, saw very clearly that Burnett did not wish for his presence; so desiring his syce to bring up his horse, he hastily mounted, and ordering his men to march, rode off—the dead body of the unfortunate corporal being carried by some of the sepoys, whose low caste allowed them thus to employ themselves.

Dick Thuddichum, who had been liberated, watched them with no very friendly eye. “The next time you manhandle a fellow, just be good enough to ask whether he is a friend or an enemy,” he shouted out. “If it had not been for the sharp points of your bayonets, I should have laid not a few of you sprawling on the ground before you had got me down, I can tell you.”

Reginald, however, soon pacified his follower, and told him to look after Faithful, who seemed disposed to chase the sepoys, and might possibly have laid her paws upon some of them, or have fought to recover her victim, whom she probably considered her lawful prey.

“I am glad that the fellow has gone,” exclaimed Burnett, who had heard from Reginald of Captain Hawkesford’s manner towards him on board the Glamorgan Castle. “I never liked him; and his conduct in this affair has not favourably impressed me. You, at all events, will soon have an opportunity of seeing Miss Ross, and explaining matters to her.”

While waiting the arrival of the expected elephants, Nuna was resting beneath the shade of some wide-spreading trees, close to the walls of the temple. Reginald seated himself by her side, and invited Burnett to join them. Nuna seemed in no way displeased, and listened with eagerness to the conversation which ensued between the two; though unable, from her imperfect knowledge of English, to understand more than a few words. Reginald told Burnett more of her history than he was yet acquainted with—that she not only had English blood in her veins, but had been instructed in her mother’s faith; and the more, indeed, Burnett saw of the young creature, the more he admired her, and a warmer feeling than he had yet allowed himself to entertain took possession of his breast. He could not believe that she would willingly consent to become the wife of a native prince; so he resolved to devote his life to her service, hoping to be the means of preserving her from the dangers to which, from the unsettled state of the country, she must be exposed, and to win her some day as his bride. That he was her brother’s friend, he naturally felt was much in his favour; and he believed he was not too presumptuous in thinking she would regard him with interest. He was able to converse with her in her native tongue; and for the next few days, till their arrival at Allahapoor, he would enjoy her society far more easily than he could expect to do when she had returned to the rajah’s court.

The troopers meantime were resting beneath the trees scattered around, while their horses were picketed near. They probably looked on with astonishment at the familiar way their leader and the young stranger were conversing with the ranee, so contrary to the customs of the country.

Some time had passed, when two elephants were seen approaching, with several men on foot. On the back of one was a handsome howdah without occupants; on the other rode Buxsoo, with Sambro, who had engaged the animals, and made all arrangements for the journey. He had also brought some provisions, which were very welcome both to the ranee and her brother. They spent but a short time in discussing these; after which, the elephant kneeling down, the ranee took her seat in the howdah, urgently begging Reginald to accompany her.

“The sooner our relationship is known the better,” she observed. “Our grandfather can have no objection. A few words to Buxsoo will be quite sufficient; and if you tell him that the fact need not be kept secret, it will soon be known among all our followers.”

Reginald saw no objection to this; and scarcely had the elephants begun to move on when loud shouts rent the air, issuing from the throats of the troopers, and the peasantry who had accompanied the elephants, expressive of wishes for the happiness and prosperity of the young rajah and his sister the ranee. Thus they moved on, the news preceding them, spread by the advance-guard of cavalry.

As the roads were far from good, the elephants travelled at a slow pace. Having no tents, they were compelled to deviate from the high road in order to remain during the night at the house of a wealthy khan; who, of course, was highly honoured in receiving the grandchildren of the rajah, though he looked askance at Reginald, as if he doubted whether the account he had heard was true. He received them, however, with every outward mark of respect. As the elephant knelt down, they dismounted from the howdah, and Nuna was conducted to the apartments of the females of the family. An entertainment was afterwards prepared for Reginald and Burnett; but at this it was contrary to the custom of the country for Nuna to be present. She, indeed, was far too much fatigued and agitated to leave her couch; and the next morning she appeared to be worse, and unable to proceed on the journey. Reginald and Burnett were anxious to place her in safety with the rajah, and were much disappointed, besides being grieved at hearing of her illness. She sent them word, however, that she hoped, after another night’s rest, to be so far restored as to be able to proceed without further delay.

To pass the time away, their host proposed a hunt in the forest. While Reginald was getting ready, Dick Thuddichum presented himself, and asked whether he was to go also.

“No, Dick; I wish you to remain with Faithful, and act as a guard to my sister. Our host may be a very honest gentleman, but I don’t like to leave her without protection; and had it not been for the sake of Captain Burnett, I would myself have remained behind.”

As Reginald was going through the courtyard to mount his horse he met his friend Buxsoo, who, in a low voice, said—

“Be on your guard. I would that you had refused the invitation of the khan. There are foes on the watch to injure you; and if you can, unobserved, get the ear of your friend, I would urge you to tell him what I say, and to make an excuse for returning speedily without exciting suspicion. I have told Sambro to accompany you. Trust to him.”

From the experience Reginald had already had of the natives, he fully believed that Buxsoo had good reason for warning him, and he promised to follow the advice he had received.

As they rode along he took the opportunity of telling Burnett what he had heard.

“It may be the case; but I should like to stick a few pigs first,” was his friend’s answer.

The khan had ordered some tents to be pitched, in which, before returning, they could take refreshment. The distance was greater than Reginald had expected; but they were rewarded for their long ride by finding ample sport, and soon, excited in the chase, he forgot all about the warning he had received. At length, by some chance, he was separated from his companions. When quite alone he encountered a wild boar, which the low underwood prevented him from assailing to advantage, while the savage beast with its sharp tusks severely injured his steed before he could plunge his spear into its side. In doing so his weapon broke. The animal again attacked him, and he was compelled to draw his pistol and shoot it dead, to save his horse from further injury. Unwilling to lose the spear, however, he dismounted to draw it out; and while thus engaged he inadvertently let slip his rein. For a few moments the horse stood quietly by his side; but, suddenly seized with a panic, off it started at full speed before he could catch hold of the rein. Having recovered the spearhead, he sprang after the animal, hoping to catch it before it had got far. He continued on for several minutes, keeping the steed in view, in spite of the obstructions in his way, when he caught sight of the tents, near which he had no doubt he should find the rest of the party; and thinking it probable the instinct of his horse would lead it towards its companions. Considering, therefore, that it was useless to exert himself further, he was walking leisurely on, when, to his horror, he saw a huge tiger in the act of springing at him from the jungle. He had just time to shout at the top of his voice, in the hope of attracting the attention of any of his companions who might be near, and to grasp the broken end of his spear, when, as he instinctively leaped on one side to avoid the first spring of the tiger, his foot slipped and he fell on his back, holding the spear in a perpendicular position, with the point upwards. The savage animal came directly down upon him, with its huge jaws open to seize him by the neck; but as it did so, the point of the spear entering at its chest made it again attempt to bound backwards. Still one blow of its mighty paw, in its death-struggle, might, Reginald knew, break a limb or inflict a mortal injury; so again he shouted out, while he endeavoured to drag himself from under the savage animal, which still retained life sufficient to destroy him. He had now cause to regret that he had not brought Faithful, who would undoubtedly have fought bravely in his defence, and might have prevented the tiger from springing on him. Retaining his presence of mind, he kept the spear in a perpendicular position, hoping that it would soon find its way to the heart of his assailant. Still the tiger struggled more to escape than to attack him, when suddenly there came the sound of a shot, and the creature rolled over dead with a rifle-ball in its head. On looking up, he saw Burnett hurrying towards him.

His friend now assisted him to rise; and though his clothes were torn and his flesh deeply scarred with the claws of the animal, he found that he had received no material injury. He and Burnett soon reached the camp, where the khan and their other companions, with apparent cordiality, congratulated him on his escape.

“Knowing the courage of you Englishmen, I am sure that your adventure will not induce you to abandon the sport for the day,” observed the khan, in a tone which at once raised Reginald’s suspicions, and instantly the warning he had received from Buxsoo flashed into his mind.

The same thought occurred to Burnett, who replied:

“I cannot allow my friend to exert himself further, as, slight as his injuries may appear, a fever might be brought on; so I must insist on his returning to the house.”

“As the sahibs think fit; but they will take some refreshment before they start,” observed the khan.

Rich viands were placed in the centre of the tent, around which the party seated themselves. Sambro appeared among the attendants. As he passed behind Reginald and Burnett he whispered, “Take only what I give you.” Neither of them had any great appetite. Reginald, indeed, even without Sambro’s warning, had no inclination to eat, and after partaking of a dish the faithful slave placed before him, declined all other food. He likewise simply drank a glass of sherbet which Sambro poured out for him.

Immediately the repast was over, Burnett desired that the horses might be brought up, and declining the pressing request of their entertainer that he would hunt for a short time while his friend rested in a tent, he rode off with Reginald, the natives being compelled to follow. Well accustomed to traversing a wild country, even without a guide, Reginald had taken careful note of the way they had come, and was thus able to go ahead without waiting for the rest of the party. They reached the khan’s house in safety, where they found a party of horsemen arrived from the city, with a despatch from the rajah to Reginald, highly praising him for his conduct, and expressing a desire that he would at once assume the costume becoming his rank, with which he had sent an officer of state to invest him. Though Reginald, whose notions were very far from Oriental, would much rather have retained his unassuming dress, he felt that it was right to obey his grandfather. Burnett being of the same opinion, he therefore submitted to being rigged out, as he called it, in the jewelled turban and rich robes which had been prepared for him.

“I hope, sir, as how they don’t want me to dress up in petticoats?” observed Dick, with a comical twist of his features. “I’d rather be as I am, unless you order me.”

“No, Dick; I think that will not be necessary except on state occasions, when, if I want a henchman, I would rather have you than any native.”

Dick was satisfied, and agreed to rig himself out like a Turk, or in any other strange fashion, whenever his master required him to do so.

Next morning, Nuna had sufficiently recovered to continue the journey; and for the first time Reginald sat by her side on the back of the elephant, and appeared in public as an Indian prince. As they moved through the villages crowds assembled to do them honour, though Reginald felt more pain than pleasure as he witnessed the abject way in which the natives bowed down, touching the ground with their foreheads on either side of the elephant as they moved along.

Having started at an early hour, they made good progress, but they were still several days’ journey from the capital. Burnett, who rode at the head of his troopers, was some little way in advance of the elephants, when, towards evening, a horseman came galloping up. He brought unsatisfactory intelligence. The rebels having reunited, were in great force not far off, and with so valuable a prize in view as the ranee and the young rajah, as Reginald was already called, they might be tempted to make an attack on the party. They had some light field-pieces, as well as horse and foot, against whom Burnett’s troopers would find it difficult to contend. Had he been called on to meet them without having the ranee to defend, he would not have hesitated; but the risk was too great to run if it could be avoided. Not far off was a strong fort, however, and he judged it wise to throw himself into it till he could obtain reinforcements, either from Allahapoor or from the troops under Colonel Ross.

Reginald of course agreed to his proposal, and before nightfall the party was safe within the fort. It had, it appeared, been occupied a short time before by the rebels, but had been again abandoned by them. An apartment was quickly made ready for the ranee. The night passed away without the appearance of the insurgents; indeed, they were not likely to attack the fort with the garrison it now contained.

The next morning, as Reginald and Burnett were walking on the battlements, they caught sight of a body of men approaching the fort, so the garrison were immediately called to arms. As the advancing forces drew nearer, however, Burnett and Reginald discovered, to their great satisfaction, the English flag; and in a little time they could distinguish a body of sepoys and a small party of Europeans. They immediately ordered their horses out to meet the officer in command, who was some way ahead of his men.

“Faith, I am glad to see you all alive!” exclaimed the officer, as he and Captain Burnett shook hands. “We were given to believe that you were surrounded by a whole host of rebels, and I expected by this time to be engaged in cutting them to pieces like mincemeat.”

“We have not so much as seen an enemy,” answered Burnett; “but understanding that they were likely to attack us on the road to Allahapoor, I thought it prudent to halt here, in order to wait till we could obtain reinforcements from the capital, as we have the young ranee in our charge.”

“So Colonel Ross understood,” observed the officer “And now have the goodness to introduce me to this young prince, sultan, or rajah, or whatever he is; and just interpret what I say, for I am no great hand at talking their lingo.”

“With all my heart,” answered Burnett.

“Then just tell him that Major Molony, of Her Britannic Majesty’s 990th Regiment of Foot, desires to express his delight and satisfaction at having arrived with a force under his command to defend him against all the foes, past, present, and future, who may venture to interfere with him in the execution of the humane and beneficent laws which he has established for the peace and prosperity of his people. I conclude he does not cut off more than half-a-dozen heads a day, and only confiscates the property of those of his nobles who are unable to defend themselves.”

Burnett began to translate what the major had said. Unfortunately Reginald could not command his countenance, so putting out his hand, he exclaimed, laughing heartily—

“I assure you, my dear major, you scarcely do me justice. Half-a-dozen heads a day! That’s nothing. How do you think I could keep the country in order by such simple means? People would look upon me as a mere milksop. Put it down as a hundred, and you would be quite as near the mark.”

Burnett now joined in the laugh at the major’s astonishment and confusion.

“I beg your highness’s pardon,” he exclaimed. “I had no idea you could speak English. Faith, you speak it remarkably well too, I assure you, on my honour; and I hope your highness is not offended at the remark I made.”

“Not at all,” said Reginald, still laughing. “May I ask after Mrs Molony, and whether she has recovered from her voyage in the Glamorgan Castle?”

“Why, as I am alive,” exclaimed the major, “I do believe that you are Mr Reginald Hamerton! And your highness will pardon me if I make a mistake.”

Reginald at once acknowledged who he was, and the major, greatly relieved, rode on with him and Burnett to the fort. Scouts were at once sent out to ascertain, if possible, the position and strength of the enemy. Major Molony said that he had received orders to assist in escorting the ranee to Allahapoor; and it was agreed that, as soon as they received intelligence that a force was marching out of that city to assist them, they should proceed,—the major feeling confident that his sepoys would be able to keep in check any number of the rebel forces.

Chapter Eight.

A Gunpowder Plot—Cochût caught—Balkishen hoisted with his own Petard—The Major’s Narrow Escape—Cochût gives Important Information—Dick despatched with it to Calcutta—Reginald enters the City—The Rajah’s Illness—Tidings of the Casket—Visit to the Temple—The Casket recovered—Death of the Rajah.

The traitor Balkishen had not been idle. He had managed to collect the rebel forces, and had been with them in the very fort that Reginald and his party now occupied. When they evacuated it, he with his slave Bikoo had remained behind, intending to proceed from thence secretly to Allahapoor, according to the information he might receive from his ally, Khan Cochût. Below the fort were some vaults in which, some time before, the rebels had stowed a large supply of powder and other munitions of war, concealed in huge oil-casks. Just as he was about to set out, he was joined by Cochût, who brought intelligence which seemed to afford the two conspirators immense satisfaction.

“The fatal draught has been taken,—there can be no doubt of it. The whole city will soon be in a tumult!” whispered the khan, as if afraid the very walls would hear him. “Our friends will take possession of the city, and the young rajah will be disappointed of his hopes. When you arrive, they will receive you with shouts of joy, as they know you will restore the good old ways, and have nothing to do with the infidel Feringhees. For myself, I detest the English, and should delight in seeing them driven out of the whole of India.”

Balkishen assured Khan Cochût that his services should be amply rewarded; and they agreed to remain a day or two longer in the fort, and then to proceed leisurely to Allahapoor, calculating that they should receive the expected intelligence of the rajah’s death just before they reached the city. The sudden arrival of Burnett’s advance-guard, however, prevented them from escaping, and they found themselves shut up like rats in a hole, with a scanty supply of food, and afraid to strike a light lest a spark should set fire to the combustible materials around them.

A day and a night passed away. Unless they could make their escape, all their plans would be defeated; for if Balkishen could not make his appearance in the city at the right moment, a rival might gain the power, from which it would be difficult to displace him.

They were neither of them very conscientious persons. A bright idea struck Balkishen. “We may blow up the fort,” he whispered to his friend, “destroy the ranee and her brother, and make our escape in the confusion. You are a brave man, Khan Cochût, and shall have the post of honour. While Bikoo and I seize three horses, you shall have the privilege of lighting the slow match; and we shall have time to reach our steeds and gallop off before the stones come rattling about our heads.”

“I am much obliged to you for the compliment,” answered Cochût; “but I must leave that honour to you. I am unable to run fast, and should prefer securing the horses.”

Cochût was so positive, that at length Balkishen, who calculated that the task of setting fire to the slow match might be the least dangerous, undertook it. Afraid of creeping out by daylight, they were unable to ascertain what was taking place in the fort above them; but they calculated that the most propitious time for putting their nefarious project into execution would be just before daybreak.

At length the time arrived. Balkishen had prepared a long slow match.

“Now, my friend,” he said, “do you and Bikoo creep out and secure three horses, and I will light the slow match.”

Khan Cochût, who was unusually brave when any wicked deed was to be done, silently made his way out of the vault through a door which led into a narrow passage, and from this into an open court. Knowing that he might meet with opposition from some of the syces in charge of the horses, he held a pistol in his hand. A few threatening words, he thought, would induce them to keep silence. He was surprised to find that the dawn had already broken. He hesitated a minute; but recollecting that Balkishen would by this time have set fire to the slow match, he boldly stepped out from behind the wall which concealed him, closely followed by Bikoo. As he did so, he found himself face to face with a powerful-looking black slave conducting an elephant across the yard. The slave looked at him for an instant, and, pronouncing his name, asked him where he was going. Instead of replying, he pointed his pistol at the black’s head, expecting to intimidate him. The next instant his weapon was knocked out of his hand; and the slave, seizing him by the throat, exclaimed, “You are the traitor who carried off the young ranee. You must come with me to the rajah, and tell him what you have been doing here.”

“I’ll come, my friend, willingly,” exclaimed Cochût; “only take me out of the fort. You don’t know what is going to happen. You and I and the elephant may be blown into atoms in a few minutes. Take me out of the fort,—take me out of the fort! Quick! Quick!”

“That’s where I am going to take you,” answered Sambro; for he was the black slave. “Come along, my friend; come along.”

At that moment casting his eyes on Bikoo, who stood trembling near by, he made a sign to the elephant, which immediately wound its trunk round the slave’s body, and walked behind Sambro and the khan. To the surprise of the latter, he found the gates open, and saw a number of elephants and a large party of foot and horse winding along the road. He and his fellow-conspirator, not being aware of the custom of English troops to perform their marches during the cooler hours of the day—that is to say, in the latter part of the day and early in the morning—had not calculated on the possibility of their prey escaping them. Still, apparently, some of the troops had not left the fort; and he could only hope that those he wished to destroy were still there. He therefore turned many an anxious glance back at the fort, and kept urging Sambro to move faster.

Meanwhile, Balkishen having waited till he thought his accomplice would have been able to secure the horses, set fire to the train, and then hurried away to join him. On ascending the steps, however, his foot slipped and down he fell. In vain he shouted to Khan Cochût and Bikoo to come and help him. The slave was too far off to hear his master’s voice. The match went on burning, approaching the fatal barrel with fearful rapidity. In vain Balkishen endeavoured to rise. He had dislocated his ankle, or otherwise injured it. Again and again he shrieked out. Though unable to stand, he crawled up the steps. To save his life, he must have run faster than he had ever before done. In his imagination he pictured the match not an inch from the barrel. In a few seconds the fire would touch the powder, and all would be over.

Major Molony had mounted his horse, and the sepoys having moved on, the European troop had just fallen in outside the fort, and were beginning to march, when suddenly an awful roar was heard, and a vast sheet of flame ascended from the middle of the fort. The major, clapping spurs into his horse’s flanks and dashing forward, ordered his men to run for their lives. But the warning came too late, for many of the poor fellows were struck down. Though pieces of stone and huge masses of timber fell around on every side, the gallant major escaped uninjured, as did happily the larger portion of his men; and, as he rode forward to meet Burnett, who came galloping up, he passed Sambro, dragging on Khan Cochût, and the elephant carrying the slave Bikoo. Sambro explained the way in which he had captured the khan and his companion, and described their suspicious conduct. Burnett ordered him to give them in charge of a party of sepoys, who were directed on no account to let them escape.

A short halt was called, for the purpose of burying the dead. During the time, Burnett and the major examined the fort, but made no discovery which enabled them to fathom the mysterious circumstance. Not a living being remained within it. Should any unfortunate persons have been left behind, they must have been blown to pieces. Burnett then rode forward to explain what had happened to Reginald; but as a long delay was unadvisable, he deferred the examination of Khan Cochût and his companion till their noonday halt.

Though Reginald was very happy to devote himself to his young sister, and to go through any amount of ceremony which his new position demanded of him, he soon got tired of sitting in a howdah; so ordering a horse to be prepared, he mounted, and took his place with Burnett at the head of his troops.

The scouts sent out returned with the report that the enemy had retreated—probably overawed by the imposing force protecting the ranee—and the intelligence that other troops were advancing from the capital. A strong body of these troops were met at the spot fixed on for the noonday halt, and handsomely-furnished tents were already pitched.

That there had been a nefarious plot to destroy the lives of himself and his sister, Reginald felt convinced; therefore, as soon as the necessary ceremonies had been gone through in receiving the officers of the newly-arrived troops, Reginald ordered that Khan Cochût and the slave should be brought before him. The only person present besides Burnett was Buxsoo, on whose judgment and acuteness Reginald knew that he could rely to elicit the truth from the slave, if not from Cochût, who was not at all likely to confess it unless from dire necessity. Both were subjected to a close cross-examination; and Buxsoo also examined them, in a way worthy of an English lawyer. Reginald, indeed, felt convinced that they had been instrumental in blowing up the fort. The slave pleaded that he had to obey the commands of his master, who was probably destroyed; while Cochût, who had no such excuse to offer, exhibited the most abject fear, and offered to give information of the greatest importance, provided his life was spared and his property secured to him. He declined, however, doing so in the presence of Buxsoo.

“You may say anything before him without fear of being betrayed,” answered Reginald; “I am responsible for his fidelity. And if I find that the information you give is not perfectly correct, I shall leave you to the fate you deserve; but if, on the contrary, it is of the consequence you state, I will undertake that you shall be allowed to go, with all your wealth, ill-gotten as I am afraid it has been.”

After much hesitation, Cochût declared that the natives throughout the greater part of the country were ripe for rebellion against the English, and all who favoured their rule; that the rajah had been especially marked out for destruction, because he was evidently attached to the Feringhees; and that before long it was hoped that they might be driven out of the country.

Again and again Cochût protested that what he said was correct. Reginald appealed to Buxsoo, who acknowledged that the statement made by Cochût was probably too true. He himself had had his suspicions aroused for some time, but he had not as yet gained sufficient information to enable him to warn the authorities.

Reginald consulted with Burnett, and they agreed that they were bound at all events to warn the authorities at Calcutta as soon as possible, and also to let Colonel Ross know what they had heard. The difficulty was, to find a messenger who could be trusted. Burnett was unwilling to go, for he felt that his presence was necessary for the protection, not only of the ranee, but of Reginald, as he fancied that he could at all events trust his troopers while he continued in command of them. If Buxsoo were sent, he might be suspected and stopped, and too probably murdered on the road.

“Then I will send Dick Thuddichum,” said Reginald. “No one will suspect him; and any message I give he will deliver to the letter. He is well known in Calcutta by persons who can vouch for him, and who will immediately enable him to obtain an interview with the Government gentlemen or members of Council; and he will explain why I considered it prudent not to send any written despatch.”

Burnett agreed to Reginald’s proposal; and Cochût and Bikoo having been given into safe keeping, Dick was summoned and received the necessary directions. In a few minutes he was ready for his departure, with his master’s verbal despatches carefully stowed away in his capacious head, out of which no one but those to whom they were to be delivered were likely to draw them.

“You’ll look after Faithful, sir!” exclaimed Dick, giving a hitch to his trousers. “I don’t much like leaving the poor beast to the mercy of these nigger fellows, lest they should play her any tricks. Though with me she’s as gentle as a lamb, she don’t much fancy them. But you’ll not forget her, sir, I know. Just let her have half a sheep a day, at least. It will keep her in condition, and prevent her from doing any mischief or helping herself to a blackamoor baby, which she might be apt to do if she didn’t get her proper food; and small blame to her, seeing, so to speak, it’s her nature.”

Reginald assured Dick, that notwithstanding the affairs of state which would occupy his attention, he would take good care that the faithful tigress was not neglected.

“I’m sure as how it wouldn’t be your fault if she was, sir,” answered Dick. “But it’s them niggers I’m mistrustful of; though, I think, if you was to let ’em know that you’ll hang half-a-dozen of them if any harm comes to her, they’ll be inclined to treat her properly.”

The mind of the honest sailor being at length set at rest on that score, he took leave of his master and Burnett Dick made his way without interruption to the Ganges, where he found a boat descending the river, and in due course reached Calcutta. Following Reginald’s directions, he soon got himself conducted before the members of Council—the Board fortunately sitting at the time. He entered with his usual undaunted air, not at all abashed by finding himself in the presence of so august an assembly.

On being asked what information he brought, he doffed his hat, and replied—

“Please your worships, I am sent by my master, the young Rajah of Allahapoor—as he now is, seeing that his grandfather, the old rajah, has ordered him to tack that title to his name—to tell your worships that the rascally natives have determined, if they can get the chance, to cut the throats of every mother’s son among the English, on the first opportunity. It may be soon or it may be some time hence, but he thinks it as well that you should be warned, and be prepared for whatever may happen.”

Dick then gave verbatim Reginald’s message; after which he was directed to retire, while the members held a consultation on the extraordinary information they had received.

The next day Dick was ordered to return, and to inform his master that the Council would pay due attention to the warning he had been good enough to send them.

We must now go back to Reginald. While encamped next day at noon, the expected reinforcements from the city arrived, with a despatch from the rajah telling him that he was very ill, and urging him to advance without delay. It was his wish that his grandson should enter the city in due state, to produce an impression on the population. Reginald had therefore, against his own inclination, to don a still richer costume than he had yet appeared in; and with a body of officers and guards walking on either side of him, and Burnett’s troopers following on horseback, he prepared to enter the city. The ranee, no longer looked upon as a chief personage, sat concealed in a howdah on the back of an elephant towards the rear of the procession. The vast crowd assembled filled the air with their acclamations; and had not Reginald been well acquainted with the state of affairs, he might have supposed himself the popular ruler of a happy and loyal people. He very well knew, however, that any one of the nobles and guards surrounding him would be ready, at a convenient opportunity, to send a bullet through his head, or give him a cup of poison; and that the populace, now shouting his praises, would with equal delight drag his mangled body through the streets, should a rival succeed in deposing him. His satisfaction at the exalted position he had so unexpectedly obtained was, therefore, not without alloy. His thoughts, however, flew away to Violet Ross, and he could not help hoping that her father would no longer object to him as a son-in-law. That she had remained faithful, he had no doubt; and he should soon have the happiness, he hoped, of again seeing her. Should she object to live surrounded by the splendour of an Oriental court, he was ready, could he do so with honour, by placing the country under the English Government, to give up India, and assume that position in England to which he hoped to prove himself entitled, should he recover the missing documents of which he was in search.

Such were the thoughts which occupied his mind as he rode through the streets, amid the obsequious and bowing multitude who thronged around. As he approached the palace, rich carpets covered the road; and the rajah’s bodyguard, with their officers in gorgeous costumes, stood drawn up to receive him. He felt considerable anxiety at not seeing the rajah himself, and it was increased on being informed that he lay too ill to rise, but that he waited the arrival of his grandson on his couch in his private apartment. Saluting the officials of the palace as he passed along, he hurried to the old man’s side.

“I am thankful that you have come, my son, for I am sick unto death,” said the rajah. “My own physicians know not what is the matter with me, and I have sent to beg that the English doctor who has accompanied the resident may forthwith come and prescribe for me.”

Reginald, of course, expressed a hope that the doctor would soon arrive, and have the happiness of restoring him to health.

“And now let me hear an account of your adventures,” said the rajah.

Reginald briefly gave it; not forgetting to speak in the highest terms of Burnett, in the hope that the rajah would be induced to sanction his marriage with Nuna. He then thought it right to tell his grandfather of the information he had received from Khan Cochût.

“He is a cunning fellow, and may have wormed it out of some of the natives, though I doubt whether many would trust him,” observed the rajah. “But you tell me that a slave of that traitor Balkishen has been captured; let him be brought to me. He knows more about his master’s affairs than any one else, and for the sake of saving his life will willingly give all the information he possesses.”

Reginald was still with the rajah when Nuna arrived. She was overwhelmed with grief at seeing him so ill. He spoke to her kindly, but it was evident that he had transferred his affections to his grandson, whom he looked upon as his successor. Reginald did his best to make amends to her for the change in their grandfather’s manner; but she seemed rather pleased than otherwise, having had no ambition to occupy the exalted position to which she had been destined. Perhaps she reflected that it might remove all objections the rajah would have entertained with regard to bestowing her hand on her brother’s friend.

Soon after she had retired, the slave Bikoo, for whom Reginald had sent, was brought, heavily chained, into the presence of the rajah, who at once promised him his life on condition that he would afford all the information he possessed regarding the proceedings of his late master Balkishen.

“You have described him certainly as a great villain,” observed the rajah, when the slave had apparently finished his account; “but is there nothing else you can add? I was already aware of most of the circumstances you have told me.”

“I will confess to another crime, if I may be pardoned for taking part in it; for consider, O Rajah! In your benignity, that I am but a slave, and my master compelled me to act the part I did,” answered Bikoo, trembling all over.

“You have my promise, wretched slave, that no punishment shall overtake you on account of anything you may confess,” said the rajah. “Say on, slave.”

Bikoo, recovering himself, continued—

“I managed to steal into your highness’s treasury, from whence I carried off a casket full of papers, of which my master desired to possess himself.”

“What has become of them?” asked Reginald eagerly.

“Remember that if you speak not the truth you will immediately be put to death,” added the rajah.

“O Refuge of the World, far be it from me to deceive you,” answered the slave. “The casket was placed by my master, with other treasures, within the tomb of the learned saint Danee Domanuck, in the temple of the great god Doorga, before which the pious priests of our faith, at morn, noonday, and eventide, are wont to stand reciting the prayers and the wise sayings he composed; but so absorbed are they in their devotions that they will not discover who enters the temple, and the casket may without difficulty be recovered. If my pardon is granted, I will undertake to carry it off from the spot in which I before placed it.”

“Pardon or no pardon, the casket must be brought here before sunset,” exclaimed the rajah. “But what assurance have I that you speak the truth, and will not endeavour to make your escape should I order your chains to be knocked off, and allow you to go free?”

“Refuge of the World, I am incapable of such treachery,” said Bikoo, putting his hand to his heart.

“With your highness’s leave, I will accompany the slave,” said Reginald. “If I assume my European costume I shall not be recognised, and the priests will suppose me a stranger led by curiosity to visit their temple. If the slave speaks the truth, the casket may then be obtained without difficulty; and as I will go well armed, I will protect him should the priests attempt to take it from him.”

“You may go, my son,” said the rajah; “but, as a protection, take fifty of my guards and station them outside the temple, with directions to be ready to rush in at a signal from you, and to capture the priests, should they attempt to stop you. That will be a shorter way of proceeding than the slave proposes; and those priests are all great rascals, to my certain knowledge.”

Reginald had grave doubts whether, after all, the slave was not deceiving him. He could scarcely believe that the object for which he had been so long in search was almost within his grasp. The rajah urged him to return as soon as possible, and was evidently unwilling to have him long out of his sight.

After giving orders to the chief officer of the guards to select a band of fifty trustworthy men, he changed his Oriental costume for his seaman’s dress, taking care to stick a brace of pistols and a dagger in his belt. Then ordering Bikoo to accompany him, he set out for the temple, which was in a remote part of the city.

Quaint and monstrous designs ornamented all parts of the building. Leaving the guard outside, Reginald passed under a low archway, when he found himself in a hall, on each side of which he could distinguish, through the dim obscurity, the hideous forms of the presiding divinities of the temple.

“I see no priests or worshippers in the place,” he whispered to Bikoo.

“The holy men are engaged in their devotions in the lower hall, where the tomb of the saint is situated,” answered Bikoo, leading the way.

Reginald followed, holding a pistol ready for use, should his guide prove treacherous, or the priests appear inclined to oppose his entrance. At the further end of the upper hall was a flight of steps leading downwards. The slave descended them, and Reginald boldly made his way after him. His ear then caught the sound of persons uttering prayers in low monotonous tones; and on reaching the bottom of the steps he saw, by the light of a lamp which burned on an altar on one aide of the vault, a number of strange-looking beings. Some had long matted hair hanging over their faces, and heavy iron hoops round their necks; most of them with garments scarcely sufficient for decency. Some were standing upright, beating their breasts; others were kneeling or extending themselves flat on the ground, against which they were striking their heads.

Before a tomb of richly-carved stone stood an aged man, with a long white beard, but with scarcely more clothing on him than his companions had. In his arms he held a large open volume, and though he could not, from the position in which he held it, have read its pages, he was apparently repeating the contents. Reginald doubted whether he was sufficiently absorbed in his task not to observe him as he approached. Bikoo glided noiselessly behind the tomb, while Reginald stood ready to assist him, watching the countenances of the degraded beings engaged in this strange mode of worship. Most of them stood as motionless as statues, with their eyes seemingly fixed on vacancy their lips only moving as they uttered their meaningless prayers. For a moment it struck Reginald as a clever trick of the slave to effect his escape. But at length he saw him emerge from the darkness, carrying something wrapped in a cloth, which he held close to his side to prevent the priests from seeing it. He hoped in another moment to have the long-wished-for treasure in his hand, when the seemingly unconscious beings before him dashed forward to seize Bikoo, who, springing for protection to the young rajah, gave him the casket. The priests on this turned on the white stranger, whom they now apparently perceived for the first time.

“Sacrilege! Sacrilege!” they cried out. “You are robbing us of our treasures. The curses of the gods will fall on you.”

“My friends,” exclaimed Reginald, presenting his pistol, “stand back, and I will explain myself. This casket belongs to me, and was stolen by one of your fraternity, so that I am but recovering my own. If I am rightly informed, a considerable amount of property stolen from other persons lies concealed in this vault. My guards are without, and, summoned by me, they will enter, and, taking possession of all the treasures they can find, will deliver them to their proper owners. If you refrain from interfering with my proceedings, I will allow you to continue your devotions, and to remain at present as guardians of the treasures concealed in this place.”

The priests, considering that “discretion was the better part of valour,” and seeing the bold bearing of the young stranger, allowed him and Bikoo to mount the steps; when, traversing the hall, they quickly made their way into the open air, glad to escape from the mephitic atmosphere of the vault and the fury of the priests—who, as soon as they had recovered from their astonishment, broke forth in loud cries and threats of vengeance. They grew cooler, however, on discovering the rajah’s troops at the entrance of the temple, and hurried back to their devotions with the advice they had received from the stranger strongly impressed on their minds. Many a prayer was offered up that Doorga would protect their ill-gotten wealth from the grasp of the infidels.

Followed closely by his guards, Reginald, who had a horse in waiting, rode back to the palace, carrying the precious casket, which he was unwilling to trust to other hands. On his arrival an officer met him at the gate with a message from the rajah, who was anxiously waiting his return. Reginald found him, to his surprise, on foot, pacing slowly up and down a broad verandah overlooking the city, to which he had caused his divan to be carried, that he might enjoy the fresh air.

“Have you been successful, my son?” exclaimed the old man eagerly, as Reginald approached. “Tell me quickly; for a dimness has come over my eyes, and I feel a strange sinking of the heart, which forebodes I know not what.”

Reginald exhibited the wished-for casket.

“It is the same, my son,” he exclaimed; “and contains, I trust, the valuable documents your father committed to my care. Let me see them; I shall know them at once.”

Reginald was about to try and open the casket, when he saw a peculiar expression pass over the countenance of the rajah, who staggered and sank back on the divan near which he was standing. The old man gazed at him with a look of affection, and tried to speak; but in vain. He drew his breath every instant with more and more labour; and then came one more sigh, and he seemed to be sleeping calmly. Reginald threw himself by his side and took his hand. It failed to return his grasp. He gazed at the old man’s countenance, unable to persuade himself that he was really dead; but he became aware of the fact by the loud cries of the women, who, with fans in their hands, had been in readiness to cool his fevered brow as he lay on the couch.

“Oh, I wish that the English doctor had arrived before,” thought Reginald. “He might have saved his life.”

At that moment he was aroused by the voice of Burnett, who, approaching, exclaimed, “I trust the rajah is not worse. Dr Graham has ridden hard to come to him.”

“I have arrived too late,” said the doctor, as he took the old man’s hand, and looked into his countenance. “But not too late to form an opinion of the disease which has carried him off. He has been poisoned; and a further examination will confirm what I say.”

Reginald was horrified; but the doctor asserted that he was right.

“Let me advise your highness to be careful of what food you partake and what beverages you drink. The same hand which mixed the potion for your grandfather may be ready to administer a similar one to you,” added the doctor.

Chapter Nine.

Reginald Rajah of Allahapoor—Arrival of Captain Hawkesford—Visit to Buxsoo’s Family—The Captain taken by Surprise—A Banquet—Reginald escorts Nuna to the Residency—Meeting of Nuna and Violet.

The late rajah had been carried to the tomb of his ancestors in state, and Reginald had been duly installed as his successor amid the acclamations of the people. But remembering the warning he had received, he was very far from enjoying his new position. Willingly would he have left the country, and the Oriental magnificence in which he lived, had he not felt that it was his duty to remain and endeavour to ameliorate the condition of his subjects.

Nuna had been much grieved at the loss of her grandfather, and had hitherto been unwilling to appear in public; though she could not help looking forward with satisfaction to the greater liberty she would be able to enjoy. Reginald had had a long conversation with her about his friend Burnett; and she had confessed that she would rather become his wife than that of the most wealthy and powerful prince in the country. So Reginald, knowing his friend’s sentiments, considered the matter settled.

He took an early opportunity of telling Burnett, who thanked him heartily for having undertaken his cause with the ranee.

“You will ever find me, I trust, my dear Reginald, faithful and devoted to your interests,” he added.

“That I am very sure you will be,” said Reginald. “But, charming as my sister is, I suspect her education is not quite up to what a young English lady’s should be. We must get her better instructed in certain female accomplishments. I contemplate asking Colonel Ross to allow her to reside with his daughter in the cantonments, where she cannot fail to benefit by Violet’s example, and such instruction as she is able to impart. I wish that the colonel would get over his visit of state, that I might return it, and have the opportunity of seeing Violet, when I would broach the subject. It is tantalising to have her so near, and yet not to be able to go and see her.”

Burnett thought Reginald’s plan a very good one, and was sure that Nuna would be delighted with it.

So occupied had Reginald been since the death of the rajah, that he had been unable to write to Colonel Ross, who might possibly be still ignorant of who he was. For the same reason he had not as yet written to Violet. Managing at length to withdraw himself for a short interval from the crowd of courtiers and nobles who had arrived to pay their respects—of suppliants who came with petitions or complaints—and of officers of various grades who waited to receive orders—he had retired to the only room in which he could enjoy that privacy which he so much required. Near it was one occupied by Burnett; and on the other side was a chamber which he intended for the use of any European guest who might visit the palace.

He quickly wrote the letter to Colonel Ross, telling him of the wonderful change in his circumstances. He assured him that he now possessed the documents of which he had been in search, and which enabled him to claim a handsome estate and title in England; and he expressed a hope that Colonel Ross would not refuse to allow him to look forward to the possession of his daughter’s hand. It was, it must be stated, a very humble and moderate letter, considering the position the writer enjoyed.

He then began one to Violet, giving a brief account of all his adventures; assuring her that his love was unaltered, that the splendour of his court had no attractions for him, and that he would abandon it as soon as he had performed his duty to the people by placing them under the English Government, and return with her to her native land. He had still much more to say—indeed, he was not altogether satisfied with what he had said—when an attendant entered and informed him that an English officer had arrived with despatches from the cantonments, and desired to deliver them in person.

Reginald, with somewhat of a sailor’s carelessness, left his papers on the table at which he had been writing, with the casket and the precious document it contained. Remembering that he ought to assume the state and dignity in which his grandfather always appeared in public, he habited himself in his rajah’s costume, and, with the chief officers of his household, entered the reception-hall; at one end of which he took his seat on a raised ottoman, which served as a throne, his grim bodyguard in full armour lining either side of the hall, while the late rajah’s scimitar and shield hung above his head. All being arranged, he directed that the officer should be admitted.

On the curtain being drawn aside for the entrance of his visitor, Reginald’s eyes fell on Captain Hawkesford, who was advancing towards him. He kept his countenance, wondering whether he should be recognised; but it was evident from the captain’s manner that he did not suspect into whose presence he had been admitted. Speaking Hindostanee with tolerable fluency, he did not require an interpreter; and having gone through the usual ceremony, he delivered his dispatches, which Reginald eagerly read. The captain then gave a verbal message he had been directed to deliver. It was to the effect that the resident hoped to be allowed, in the course of a day or two, to pay his respects to his highness, to congratulate him on his accession to the dignity of Rajah of Allahapoor, and to express his sympathy at the loss he had sustained by the death of his father, of which he had only just heard. The resident had been led to suppose that the ranee would have succeeded; and he was rejoiced at the thought that the government of the country was in the hands of one who, he doubted not, would be well able to rule the people, while he begged to assure him of the cordial support of the British Government.

Reginald—who had his reasons for not wishing Captain Hawkesford to discover who he was—naturally fearing that his pronunciation might betray him, answered with due caution, and kept his eyes fixed on the captain’s countenance. The result of his scrutiny convinced him that his guest was still under the impression that he was in the presence of a native prince. He was still further assured of this when Captain Hawkesford asked if his highness could inform him what had become of the young Englishman who was said to have been at the court of the rajah, and to have accompanied him in his disastrous expedition against the hill tribes. It was his duty, he observed, to warn his highness against that young man, whose objects were open to suspicion; for although he was accompanied by an English officer, he had come up the country without any authority from the Government at Calcutta. It was considered more than probable that he was a Russian spy, whose aim was to create a disturbance, and either to set the people against their rulers, or, by instigating the rulers to conspire against the English, to allow the easy access of a Russian army into the country.

“Does the British resident send this as a message to me?” asked Reginald, restraining his indignation.

“I was not directed to deliver it,” answered Captain Hawkesford; “but I considered that it would be advisable to warn your highness,—and I mentioned the subject merely, as it were, in the course of conversation.”

“I will follow your advice, and watch the proceedings of the young man—who is, I have every reason to believe, still in the city,” answered Reginald. “The late rajah held him in high esteem, and from what I know of him I should not have supposed that he was a Russian spy, or a person likely to be engaged in plots against the English Government.”

“Your highness should be aware that conspirators find it necessary to assume all sorts of characters and disguises, and that, plausible as the person in question may have appeared, he is not the less likely to be an arrant rogue.”

“We will suppose him, then, to be a rogue, till he has been proved to be an honest man, and narrowly watch his proceedings,” said Reginald in a tone which made Captain Hawkesford start, and look earnestly at Reginald. The latter, however, kept his countenance, and after some further conversation directed that the English officer should be conducted to the guest-room, where he might rest till the time appointed for a banquet, at which several nobles, as well as Captain Burnett, were to be present. Reginald, after having received a few petitions, and transacted some other public business, retired to his room, where he threw off his robes of state, and assumed his light seaman’s dress, which he infinitely preferred to wear. He had an object, however, on this occasion, in doing so. He wished to visit his Christian friend Dhunna Singh privately, whose sons, including Buxsoo, were busily employed in gaining information for him; for he was well aware that he could not trust any of his nobles, or any other person about the court. There might be honest men among them, but he had as yet been unable to discover them. The intelligence he had received from Dhunna Singh was unsatisfactory. There could be no doubt that the plot of which he had before heard for his destruction, and for the overthrow of the British rule, was fast ripening, and he could not but regret that the old rajah had petitioned for the English forces,—which, though they might, under ordinary circumstances, have materially assisted in keeping his own subjects in check, were utterly inadequate for the purpose should the whole country rise in arms, as he was led to fear would be the case. He resolved, in consequence of the information he had lately received, to send Captain Hawkesford back with a despatch to Colonel Ross, warning him of the danger, and urging him to be on his guard.

After waiting for some time to see Buxsoo, who had been out in the city picking up fresh information, Reginald returned to the palace accompanied by Faithful, who usually attended him when he went out without a guard. Entering by the rear of the palace, he made his way, as was his custom, up the back steps to his private room. A curtain hung before the doorway, and what was his astonishment and indignation, on drawing it slightly aside, to see Captain Hawkesford seated at the table, pen in hand, and busily employed in making notes from the documents which he had taken out of the casket! He hesitated for some moments as to how he should act towards the captain. He could, however, scarcely restrain his anger when he saw him, after reading the despatch to Colonel Ross, deliberately glance his eye over the letter to Violet. Boiling with rage, he drew from his belt a revolver, without which he never went abroad, and silently walked up to the table, which he reached without being perceived by the intruder. Faithful, entering at his heels, sprang forward and raised her head above the table, on which she placed one of her huge paws, directly facing the captain, who threw himself back in his chair with a look of horror and despair in his countenance.

“What treatment do you expect from the man whom you have maligned, whose private letters you have, contrary to all the laws of honour, ventured to peruse?” exclaimed Reginald. “I am not going to imbrue my hands in your blood; but this tigress would, at a word from me, tear you limb from limb. You have broken through all the laws of hospitality, and in consequence of my carelessness obtained a secret with which I wished no one to be acquainted till the proper time arrived for making it known.”

“I—I—I—I humbly beg your pardon,” exclaimed the captain, his voice trembling with terror. “I had no idea that you and the young rajah of Allahapoor were one and the same person. When I spoke as I did, I merely repeated the reports I had heard. I entreat you to forgive me, and I faithfully promise to keep your secret.”

“I have no choice but to trust you,” answered Reginald sternly. “You see that your father, who would have deprived me of my property and title, has no prospect of success if I live and can produce these documents. What you would have done with them had I not opportunely arrived, I cannot pretend to say. But I am not anxious for further conversation. Retire, sir, to your room. It is my desire that you appear at the public banquet as if nothing had happened, and after that return as soon as you can to the cantonments with the despatches which I will deliver to you for Colonel Ross. The private letter you have had the audacity to read, I will send by another messenger. And now, sir, I say again, go, and meditate on what has happened. That I have spared your life, may induce you to act with some degree of gratitude.”

Hawkesford, obeying the order he had received, rose from his seat. A loud growl uttered by the tigress made him spring rapidly towards the door. She would probably have followed and caught him, had she not been restrained by the voice of her master.

Reginald having closed the door behind the retreating officer, sat down, and thought over the position of affairs and the numerous important matters which pressed on his mind. That he was surrounded by dangers of all sorts, he felt convinced. He knew full well that he had traitors within the walls of his palace; and that his subjects, who had lately received him with shouts of exuberant joy, might at any moment turn again and shout loudly for his destruction; while his troops could not be depended on. He had his stanch friend Burnett by his side, and he could rely on Dhunna Singh and his sons; while Faithful, he felt sure, would defend him with her life. He was not, however, so much concerned about his own personal safety as he was for that of Nuna; and as every supporter was of consequence, he could not help wishing for the return of Dick Thuddichum.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not calculate how the time went by, and he was still sitting at his desk when an attendant appeared to announce that the banquet was prepared. Not forgetting this time to lock up his documents, and to stow away the casket in a place of safety, he hastily donned his Oriental costume, and entered the grand hall, where the guests were already assembled, with as serene a countenance as he could command. Taking the seat hitherto occupied by the old rajah, he summoned Burnett to a place by his side; requesting Captain Hawkesford, who stood with a somewhat downcast look, to take one on the other hand; the nobles and other guests dropping into their places according to their rank, leaving one side of the table, as was usual, unoccupied. Reginald had left the whole arrangements to the “master of the ceremonies,” having forgotten to express any wish on the subject; the customs which had been in vogue during the old rajah’s time were consequently adhered to.

As soon as the more substantial part of the feast had been concluded, a band of dancing-girls and musicians made their appearance; followed by a puppet-show, which might have afforded amusement to a party of children, but which to Reginald’s taste appeared absurd in the extreme. He felt far more disgusted with the performances of the nautch-girls, and he resolved to prohibit their introduction in future.

He expressed his intention to Burnett. “I agree with you,” was the answer; “but I am afraid that your plans, if carried out, will make you unpopular with your courtiers.”

“I would rather be unpopular than sanction so barbarous a custom.”

“There are not a few barbarous customs which you will have to get rid of before you will be satisfied,” said Burnett.

“No English lady would like to see her sex so degraded by being compelled to exhibit themselves as these poor girls are,” said Reginald, thinking of Violet.

“I suspect that the performances at an English opera-house can scarcely claim a higher position than the exhibitions of these nautch-girls,” observed Burnett.

“I never went to an opera in England, but I should not have supposed that a scene like this would have been tolerated in a civilised country,” said Reginald.

“Your highness is very particular,” observed Captain Hawkesford with a scarcely suppressed sneer.

“No man can be too particular in doing what is right,” said Reginald, turning away from his guest, to whom he had hitherto paid just as much attention as etiquette required.

He was glad, however, when the banquet came to a conclusion; when, issuing an order that Captain Hawkesford’s escort should be in readiness to start, he, with studied formality, wished him goodbye; and telling Burnett that he desired his company, he retired to his private apartment.

Burnett in a short time made his appearance.

“I cannot stand this sort of thing much longer,” Reginald exclaimed, as he paced up and down the room. “I will try to carry out the necessary reforms, and I will then beg the British Government to take possession of the country, and to preserve order as best they can. I am sure Violet will never be happy here; and I intend proposing a return to England as soon as her father will consent to our marriage.”

“There is not much probability that the colonel will refuse his permission,” observed Burnett, laughing; “and I trust that you will allow me, at the same time, to become the husband of your sister.”

The next day, Colonel Ross arrived to pay his state visit. Reginald received him with a full display of Oriental magnificence. As soon as etiquette would allow, he begged his presence in his private apartments, where, having briefly narrated his adventures, he gave an account of his birth and prospects. He declared that his sole ambition was to become the husband of Violet, and to devote himself to the delightful task of making her happy.

“You have hitherto known me only as Reginald Hamerton, and such I might have remained had I not visited Allahapoor, where, in an unexpected manner, I was acknowledged by the rajah as the son of his daughter, and by his means succeeded in obtaining possession of certain documents which I had been charged by my father if possible to obtain. Some were title-deeds of large estates in England: the most important, however, being the marriage certificate of my father and mother; the existence of which was denied by those who disputed my claim to the title of Lord Hamerton and the possession of the estates.”

Colonel Ross, as Burnett had shrewdly suspected, did not hesitate to afford Reginald his hearty sanction to his marriage with his daughter. “Indeed,” he added, “after having discovered that my daughter’s heart was truly yours, I had determined to waive any objections I entertained, should I, on further inquiries, have found you as worthy of her as she believed you to be.”

Reginald was warm in his expressions of gratitude. He felt infinitely happier than he had been for many a long day. Indeed, all the difficulties with which he was surrounded appeared to have vanished. Colonel Ross willingly agreed to his proposal that Nuna should take up her residence in the cantonments with Violet, and it was arranged that Reginald should escort his sister there the following day. The colonel was residing in a bungalow which had been repaired for his reception, and which would afford sufficient accommodation for Nuna and the few attendants she wished to accompany her. Reginald would gladly have set off with the colonel, but he was unwilling to leave Nuna in the palace alone; he was compelled, therefore, to restrain his impatience until the following day.

He wisely kept his plan a secret; and when the richly-caparisoned elephants, escorted by a body of horse, were seen moving through the city, it was supposed that the ranee was simply going to pay a visit of state to the daughter of the English resident.

Reginald rode on horseback, with Burnett by his side, and attended by a party of his trusty guards; and he arrived some time before his sister. It need not be said that he was fully satisfied with the way in which Violet received him. When Nuna arrived and dismounted from her elephant, Violet was also ready to give her an affectionate greeting.

As Violet led her to a seat, Nuna gazed round the neat and nicely furnished room. “Oh, this is what I shall enjoy far more than the gorgeous magnificence of a palace, with the pomp and ceremony I have had to undergo,” she exclaimed. “You must teach me English ways and manners, for I want to become quite an English girl, like you.”

Violet promised to do her best; and she and Nuna, greatly to Reginald’s satisfaction, were soon as intimate as if they had been acquainted all their lives.

Chapter Ten.

Chupatties—Unsatisfactory Intelligence—Reginald, on his Way to the Residency, hears the Sound of Firing—A Mutiny in the Cantonments—Colonel Ross and his Party rescued—Escape to a Village among the Hills—The Camp Fortified—Captain Hawkesford’s Enmity continues—Reappearance of Faithful—Important Intelligence brought by her—Preparations for Defence.

For several weeks matters went on quietly at Allahapoor. Aided by Burnett, Reginald was able to carry out many of his projected reforms, though not without opposition from some of the chief men, and often from those who were likely to benefit by them. The indefatigable Buxsoo brought him information of what was going on beneath the seemingly quiet surface of society. It was far from satisfactory. He reported that persons were moving from district to district, distributing “chupatties”,—sacred cakes, which answered the purpose of the “fiery cross” of Scotland. With amazing rapidity these cakes were passed over the length and breadth of the land. It was supposed that they came originally from Barrackpore. The watchman of one village gave the watchman of the next village two cakes, with an injunction to make six fresh ones, and retaining two, to pass the others on in the same way. What the object of the cakes was, most of those who received them were in ignorance; but they fully understood that some matter of importance was to be carried out, and they were bound to obey the orders they might receive from the centre of operations. Reginald charged Buxsoo to ascertain, if possible, the secret object of this distribution of the chupatties. That they meant mischief of some sort or other, there could be no doubt.

Burnett, in the meantime, improved the discipline of his horsemen, and endeavoured to ingratiate himself with them. Reginald also increased the number of his guards, selecting those men most likely to prove faithful. Wuzeer Singh had by this time recovered from his wounds, and had resumed his duties. Reginald offered to promote him; but he begged to remain in the ranks, assuring his master that he could there render better service than he could were he made an officer.

Reginald and Burnett, as may be supposed, paid frequent visits to the cantonments; and they were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of a chaplain, who would unite them to the ladies to whom they were engaged. Reginald, of course, kept Colonel Ross fully informed of all the intelligence he obtained. The colonel, however, was convinced that the British rule was so firmly established in India that nothing could shake it; that whatever the meaning of the chupatties might be, they could not possibly be intended to instigate the people to rebellion. His own regiment, he declared, was stanch to the backbone, and nothing would make them swerve from their duty. Burnett said the same of his cavalry; and declared that to a man they were ready to follow him to the death. Reginald, however, was not convinced; and the very next day Buxsoo brought him intelligence which confirmed his suspicions. The sepoy regiments in the British service had lately been armed with Enfield rifles, and a report had been spread that the cartridges to be used in them—and the ends of which had to be bitten off—had been greased with the fat of pigs and bullocks. This was done, it was said, that every Hindoo soldier might thus become unclean and lose caste, and have no other resource but to turn Christian; the British Government having determined, it was affirmed, to compel all its subjects to embrace Christianity.

“Very miserable Christians they would be, if such were the case,” observed Buxsoo; “but my poor Hindoo countrymen, brought up in gross ignorance, are ready to believe the most childish reports.”

Information arrived, some few days after this, that at Lucknow and other places the sepoy troops had mutinied, but that the mutiny had been put down by a strong hand, and it was believed that order had been restored. Day after day, however, unsatisfactory intelligence came in from all quarters; and even in the British provinces bands of the marauders suddenly sprang up, and commenced plundering and burning villages. Burnett was accordingly directed to scour the country round Allahapoor, in order to put a stop to such proceedings.

Buxsoo having informed Reginald that the Mohammedan part of the population were about to rise and create a riot, the result of which might probably be the plundering and burning of the city, he immediately summoned the most influential Mohammedan nobles and others to meet him in council. They arrived fully armed, many of them assuming a bold and insolent air, and evidently ready to dispute his authority. As soon as they were seated, he addressed them in gracious tones; reminding them that he had not sought the position he now held, and that his sole aim since assuming the reins of government had been to promote the welfare of all classes, and to advance the happiness and prosperity of the country. While he was speaking, he observed Wuzeer Singh glide in and place himself, with a revolver in each hand, behind his chair of state, but so excited were the persons assembled that his entrance was not remarked. Reginald continued his address, inviting one after another to speak in return. His determined demeanour had its due effect, and he managed to keep the attention of his assembly till the day was nearly ended, and the time fixed upon for the outbreak had passed.

The following morning, at an early hour, Reginald, full of anxiety as to what might next occur, rode out to the cantonments, accompanied by a few of his officers and a small company of his guards—some being on horseback, but most of them on foot. He had expected the return of Burnett with his cavalry that very morning, but he had not yet appeared. As Reginald approached the cantonments, he was startled by the sound of continued and rapid firing. Ordering the foot-guards to follow as fast as they could, he dashed forward with his horsemen, among whom was Wuzeer Singh, towards the scene of action. He saw clouds of smoke and flames ascending in several places, evidently from buildings on fire; while the sound of musketry, though more desultory than at first, was still heard. He urged on his horse to its utmost speed, feeling painfully anxious for the safety of Colonel Ross and those dear to him; and in another minute he beheld a spectacle which filled him with dismay and alarm. A small body of English troops who had their quarters in the part of the cantonments nearest the city, had, it was evident, been attacked, and after bravely defending themselves, had been cut down or put to flight; for he now met several men endeavouring to make their escape from an overwhelming body of cavalry, who were savagely sabring all who attempted to withstand them, while numbers lay on the ground, brought down by the bullets of their foes. As he called on them to rally, they obeyed him, thinking that they were about to be supported, and presented a bold face to the advance of the horsemen. The latter on this—observing, as they must have done, Reginald’s guards rapidly advancing to meet them—wheeled round and galloped off to a distance. He, to his dismay, remarked that the horsemen had the appearance of Burnett’s troopers, and he could not help dreading that the men had mutinied and murdered their commander. He asked Wuzeer Singh his opinion. “It is too likely to be the case,” was the answer. “Captain Burnett placed more confidence in them than they deserved; for though some were faithful, there were many traitors among them.”

Reginald’s chief anxiety at present, however, was about the safety of Violet and Nuna, and the other ladies, as well as that of Colonel Ross and the officers under him. He learned from a British soldier that the sepoy regiment had mutinied, and having killed several of their officers who had remained with them and attempted to bring them back to their duty, had marched off with their arms, after setting fire to several bungalows; that the Europeans had been surprised when on the point of pursuing them by the rebel cavalry, who had dashed suddenly into the cantonments, cutting off all connection with their officers and any of the natives who might have remained faithful. Having for some time gallantly defended themselves, they had been compelled to retreat, and would undoubtedly have been destroyed had it not been for the arrival of Reginald and his party.

No one could inform him whether the house occupied by Colonel Ross had been attacked; therefore, anxious to ascertain the truth, he ordered his men to advance. He was about to push forward with his small body of horsemen, when Wuzeer Singh pointed out the rebel cavalry in considerable force in the distance, ready to pounce down upon him. He had therefore to restrain his eagerness, in order to allow his guards on foot to come up with him. At length he came in sight of the building which contained those so dear to him; and on seeing how totally unfitted it was to offer any effectual resistance, he trusted that the mutineers had not attempted to attack it. He hastened on, his heart beating with anxiety. As he and his party were seen from the windows, Colonel Ross, and several officers who had taken refuge there, came out to meet him. They greeted him warmly, and expressed their thankfulness that he had come so opportunely to their rescue, as every minute they were expecting to be attacked by the rebels; while they were convinced that they had but little chance of successfully defending the house. When they first saw the rebel cavalry, they supposed that they were coming to their assistance; but this hope vanished when they saw the horsemen dashing forward towards that part of the cantonments where the company of British soldiers was quartered. Their fear was that the latter would be surprised before they could have time to make any preparations for defence. Their hopes had risen and fallen as the sound of musketry continued; but they at length began to fear, when the firing ceased, that the party had been cut to pieces. Their satisfaction therefore was great, when they found so considerable a number of English soldiers with Reginald. But even counting the force he had brought with him, they could not hope to defend the residency should any regular attack be made by the rebels, who had carried off several guns, which many of them were well able to serve.

“Your only resource then, Colonel Ross, is to allow me to escort you to the city; within the walls of which you and your party will, I trust, find protection,” said Reginald.

Colonel Ross, after a short consultation with his officers, accepted the offer, and preparations were at once made for moving. Reginald enjoyed a few minutes’ conversation with Violet and Nuna. The latter, poor girl, was in a state of great anxiety at not hearing from Captain Burnett. The horsemen had been recognised from the residency as belonging to his regiment, and fears had been expressed in her presence that he had fallen. Violet did her best to console her, by suggesting that they had been detached for some separate duty, when they might have been tempted to join the mutineers; or perhaps that they had deserted while encamped, without injuring him or those who remained faithful to their colours.

Some elephants had been procured to carry the ladies and the articles of chief value; and most of the officers had their horses, though some had been carried off by the rebels. Scouts had been sent out in all directions to ascertain the movements of the mutineers; and two of them now came back with the intelligence that the men of the sepoy regiment having been joined by another which had marched across the border, as well as by the cavalry and native gunners with their guns, they were advancing on the cantonments. No time, therefore, was to be lost. The ladies, including Mrs Molony, were immediately placed on the elephants—two of which animals were also employed in dragging the remaining field-guns; the baggage was secured, and the order to advance was given.

Just at that moment a sowar was seen rapidly coming up from the direction of the city; whom, as he approached, Reginald recognised as his faithful ally, Buxsoo.

“Alas, O Rajah! Alas!” he exclaimed, “I bring sad tidings. Scarcely had you left the gates of the city when a tumult arose, and the houses of many persons supposed to be favourable to you were attacked. Several people were killed, and others narrowly escaped with their lives. The whole population are up in arms. Loud cries are raised against the English and those who support them. ‘Down with the foreign rajah!’ is the cry of every one; while they swear that should you return they will destroy you and all your friends. The armed men broke into the prison, and liberated all the prisoners. Among these were Khan Cochût and the slave Bikoo, who did their utmost to increase the tumult. The khan declared that the old rajah had made him his successor; and he began to address the people, promising them freedom from all taxes, and universal liberty. A considerable number sided with him, and he was marching in triumph to take possession of the palace, when a strong party of chiefs and others who knew he spoke falsely attacked him, whereupon his followers were put to flight, and he himself cut to pieces. Seeing how things were going on, and fearing that you might return unprepared, I disguised myself as you see me, and galloped off to bring you the intelligence.”

After Reginald had held a consultation with Colonel Ross, it was agreed that any attempt to enter the city would be madness; while it would be impossible to defend themselves in the residency, or in any part of the cantonments. The colonel inquired whether there was not some strong building in the neighbourhood, of which they might take possession and fortify it; where, if provisions could be obtained, they might hold out till relieved by a British force.

“There are several towards the south,” replied Buxsoo; “but the rebels swarm in that direction, the whole population being up in arms.”

There was, however, a hilly district a few miles to the north, he said, inhabited by a tribe who were neither Mohammedans nor Hindoos, and to whom consequently the chupatties had not been sent. They had always remained faithful to the rajah of Allahapoor, and would certainly receive the young rajah with open arms. If they could reach that district, they would there be able to throw up fortifications, and defend themselves for any length of time against such a force as the enemy were likely to assemble in that quarter.

The plan proposed was their only alternative, and Colonel Ross at once agreed to it.

Guided by Buxsoo, the party immediately directed their course northward. Burnett’s insurgent cavalry had disappeared, and none of the mutinous sepoys were in sight, so they advanced as rapidly as the slow-stepping elephants could move. The native troops were in the van, the few horsemen on either flank, while the British brought up the rear. They were thus prepared, as well as circumstances would allow, for any attack which might be made upon them. They were not, however, unobserved. The officers, through their field-glasses, made out in the far distance a number of armed men on foot, evidently watching their movements; and directly afterwards these were joined by a body of horse, which advanced much nearer. Colonel Ross on this immediately called a halt, and ordered the guns to be prepared for action; while Reginald, drawing up his small body of cavalry, made ready to charge directly the guns had delivered their fire. The bold front thus shown by the little party awed the mutineers, however, who wheeled round and galloped off to a safe distance. So again the party advanced, and made such progress that before evening the hills they hoped to reach appeared in sight.

Buxsoo now dashed forward to prepare the natives for the arrival of the young rajah. He went with every hope of success, but Reginald had his doubts on the subject; indeed, he had seldom before felt so cast down. He had contemplated giving up his government with becoming dignity, amid the tears and regrets of a faithful people; but now he found himself suddenly discarded by those he was so anxious to serve. He recollected too that he had left the precious documents which, after so much labour, he had succeeded in obtaining in the rebel city. Should the palace be burned, as was but too likely to be the case, they would be irretrievably lost. All his bright hopes might thus vanish; for although Colonel Ross would be convinced that they had existed, and would not suppose that he had deceived him, yet, after all, he might be unable without them to prove his claim to his title and estates, and would be reduced again to the position of a needy adventurer. Thus the colonel might be unwilling to trust his daughter’s happiness to his keeping. Inclined to look at everything from a gloomy point of view, then, he was prepared for a cold, if not for a hostile, reception from the villagers.

He was anxious too, though certainly in a much less degree, about Faithful. He had left the tigress shut up in her usual abode in the palace, under charge of her keeper; but the man might be killed, or he might neglect her, and she would be starved to death; or should the rebels break into the palace, they would undoubtedly kill her. He had therefore little hope of again seeing his favourite.

The day was now drawing to a close, and Buxsoo had not returned. Perhaps the people had fled; and if so, they must just pitch their camp in the strongest position to be found, and make such preparations for defence as time would allow. His spirits, however, revived when he saw a large concourse of somewhat savage-looking fellows come rushing forward, with Buxsoo at their head. As soon as they caught sight of the young rajah, they began leaping, and shouting, and firing off their matchlocks; and as he rode up to them they uttered their hearty welcomes, kissing his hands, and exhibiting every mark of affection. As no time was to be lost, at his desire they led the way back to their village; near which Colonel Ross, with a soldier’s eye, quickly selected a spot for the encampment. By throwing up entrenchments round it, he considered that they might fortify themselves sufficiently to offer an effectual resistance to an enemy. It contained also a spring of water, an important consideration. The villagers, besides, were charged to collect all the provisions possible from far and near for the use of the garrison.

Colonel Ross and his officers, before lying down, designed a plan of the fortifications, which Buxsoo and Wuzeer Singh undertook, with the aid of the natives, to commence immediately. The latter showed themselves willing labourers, and immediately assembled with their muskets slung over their shoulders and pickaxes in their belts. All night long they were heard working away, one party relieving the other; Colonel Ross and his officers taking it in turns to superintend them. Before daylight the two guns were in position, and considerable progress had been made in the work. While some of the villagers were labouring on the entrenchments, others were employed in collecting provisions; and thus the hopes of the party that they should be able to make an effectual resistance rose considerably.

Major Molony and Captain Hawkesford now undertook to drill a number of the people, who would, it was believed, make very efficient soldiers, although their firearms were mostly of a wretched description. Colonel Ross and Reginald, however, were both excessively anxious, as they knew—what others did not—that they had but a limited amount of ammunition, and should they be subjected to a prolonged attack the whole might be exhausted; and the powder possessed by the natives was of too coarse a description to be employed in their firearms.

Still no tidings had come of Burnett, and Reginald’s fears for his friend’s safety increased. The fate of the casket, too, was continually in his mind. He blamed himself for not having either sent it to Colonel Ross for safe keeping, or despatched it by a trusty messenger to Calcutta. But the risk of the latter proceeding was, he had considered, too great in the present disturbed state of the country. Had it been left with Colonel Ross, he would now have had it. He told Violet of his anxiety, and she endeavoured to console him with the hope that the papers might escape destruction.

“If they are lost, my dear Reginald, and you are deprived of your rightful inheritance, it will be my pride and joy to try and make amends to you for your loss of fortune; and I am very sure that my father would not retract his promise under any circumstances which may occur.” What lover could desire more?

Reginald—as well as every man in the camp—being fully employed during the day, he had but few opportunities of seeing Violet. She, on her part, had the task of endeavouring to comfort poor Nuna, who was almost in despair about Burnett.

Reginald endeavoured to obtain information of what was going forward by means of sending out scouts in all directions. The intelligence they brought back was more and more alarming. Every day the news was that the sepoys had risen in fresh directions. Fearful massacres had taken place at Cawnpore, Delhi, and numerous other cities. A small body of Europeans was closely beset at Lucknow; and the generally expressed opinion was that British rule in India was for ever at an end.

“The natives have yet to learn of what stuff the English are made,” observed Colonel Ross. “When the European regiments advance to the rescue, they will form a different opinion.”

His calm temper and the good spirits he maintained encouraged his countrymen, and contributed much towards inducing the natives to remain faithful. At present they had but little fear of being attacked, as the scouts reported that the larger number of the rebels either occupied Delhi, or were concentrating round Cawnpore and Lucknow. Still there were sufficient numbers in other places to prove formidable, should they design to attack the fort.

In the meantime, all was not peace within the small circle of their community. Reginald had told no one of Captain Hawkesford’s conduct, but that officer scarcely attempted to conceal his hatred of him, and took every opportunity of making unpleasant remarks, especially in the presence of Violet and Colonel Ross,—though they were of such a character that Reginald could not well notice them. He knew Violet’s opinion of Captain Hawkesford, however; and he believed that her father did not hold him in much higher estimation.

The fact was that Captain Hawkesford felt almost confident that Reginald had left the casket, with its valuable contents, behind at Allahapoor; and he calculated, not without reason, that they would never be recovered. He scarcely concealed his satisfaction, therefore, when intelligence was brought that the palace, after being ransacked by the populace, had been completely burned to the ground. Reginald heard the news with a quivering lip, though he endeavoured to hide his feelings.

“It is as I feared,” he said to Violet. “My only hope now is that I may have an opportunity of winning fame and fortune by my sword; and for your sake I will strive to do so, or perish in the attempt. For myself, I confess that, after the brief experience I have had of the little satisfaction wealth and splendour can afford, I would rather live in a quiet home in England, devoting myself to doing all the good in my power to my humbler neighbours, than be compelled again to play the part of an Oriental ruler.”

“Believe me, Reginald, I would far rather share that humble home with you than become the bride of the most wealthy noble in the land,” said Violet, gazing affectionately at him.

What more could Reginald wish?

“I trust, dearest, that our wishes may be accomplished, and that it may be the will of Heaven that we shall return in safety to Old England,” he replied.

The thought of poor Faithful came into Reginald’s mind. That unfortunate animal, confined in her den, must have perished miserably in the flames. He truly grieved less for the loss of all his treasures than he did for his strange pet—so gentle with him in spite of her savage nature, so attached, and who had rendered him such essential service. “Her sad fate will go wellnigh to break honest Dick’s tender heart, when he hears of it,” he said to himself. “I wish, too, that I had Dick back. I fear, however, that he will find great difficulty in getting up the country; and I almost hope that he will not make the attempt.”

Captain Hawkesford after this became still more overbearing, and almost insulting in his conduct, yet he so far kept within bounds that Reginald could not, even had he wished it, under the circumstances in which they were placed, have found a valid reason for quarrelling with him.

Though Reginald, of necessity, assumed the character of a chief among the natives, he did duty with the English officers,—visiting the outposts and sentries whenever his turn came. The strictest watch was kept, for their position was well known at Allahapoor, and it was more than probable that an expedition from that city would set out to attack them.

Reginald was one night going his rounds, the moon shining brightly, when he approached one of the English sentries at an outpost. He stopped for a moment to observe the soldierlike appearance of the man, who stood, musket in hand, silent and rigid as a statue. He was about to speak, when his eye fell on a crouching form stealing along amid the tall grass, which completely concealed it from the soldier. It was a tiger; and the creature seemed about to spring on the sentinel. Reginald drew a pistol from his belt, and was on the point of cocking it, at the same time shouting out to the sentry to be on his guard,—when the animal, instead of springing at the man, came bounding towards himself, uttering a purring sound very unlike the usual roar of a tiger. The next instant he recognised Faithful, who had only just then discovered him. He had just time to shout to the sentry—who was bringing his piece to his shoulder—to stop him from firing, or in another instant Faithful would probably have been shot through the body. She purred and fawned on her master, and took every means of showing her delight at having again met him, though he could not help suspecting that she had approached the sentry with no very peaceful intentions. As he stroked her head and neck, his hand came in contact with a thin chain, and, to his surprise and infinite satisfaction, he found secured to it the casket he had given up as lost.

Having finished his rounds, accompanied by Faithful, he returned to the fort to examine his prize, and to ascertain that all was safe within. By the light of a lamp which burned in his hut he now perceived that poor Faithful looked very thin and wretched; and knowing that, pressed by hunger, she might prove dangerous to some of his companions, he immediately despatched a native to bring in a portion of a sheep to satisfy her craving appetite. In the meantime he eagerly opened the casket, the key of which he had about his person. The papers were safe; and he found another document secured to the bottom of the case. It was in Hindostanee, and charged any one who found it to carry the casket to Reginald, with the promise of a handsome reward for doing so.

Besides this, there was a long account of the way in which the casket had been rescued by the writer at the burning of the palace. He expressed an evident regard for him, and assured him that there were many who entertained the same feeling; warning him, at the same time, that it would be dangerous for him to return to the city. Though the paper was not signed, Reginald at once knew that it must have come from his Christian friend, Dhunna Singh. In smaller characters—so as, if possible, to escape the observation of an ordinary reader—was a further piece of intelligence. The writer had also rescued Faithful from the palace, and had kept her, he said, at his house, till it was important to send her off. He had great difficulty, however, in feeding her; notwithstanding which she had remained as gentle as usual, apparently understanding the object he had in view. “And now the time has arrived,” he added. “It is well known where you are; and an expedition, consisting of horse and foot, with several guns, is about to set out to attack you. Knowing the bravery of your companions, however, I do not despair of your being able to defend yourselves; and if I can hear of any of your friends in the neighbourhood, I will send them word of your situation, and urge them to come to your relief.”

Although Reginald would have waited till the next morning to announce to Colonel Ross his extraordinary recovery of the casket, the warning he had received of the intended attack he considered to be too important to be neglected for a moment. Leaving the casket in the hut, therefore, under the charge of Faithful, being very sure that no one would enter to carry it off,—he hastened to Colonel Ross’s quarters. In a few words he narrated what had occurred, and gave the important information he had received. The colonel having congratulated him warmly on the recovery of his papers, next turned to the consideration of the best mode of receiving the expected attack.

“Did we but possess an ample supply of powder, we might hold out as long as the enemy are likely to besiege the fort: and, depend on it, if they meet with a stout resistance, they will soon lose patience, and move off to attack some other less well defended place. But if they persevere for any length of time, our want of ammunition may prove fatal to us. Our only resource then will be to make a desperate sally, and to capture their guns and tumbrils.”

At any moment the fort might be attacked, for as the paper brought by Faithful was not dated, it was difficult to say how long it had been on its journey. From the tigress’ starved appearance, Reginald thought it likely that she might have been delayed; and that, to a certainty, she must have come by the cantonments, where, after escaping from the city, she would search for him. It was therefore settled that a strong force should at once be stationed on the lines, and the advance-guard pushed still more forward.

The necessary orders having been given, and Reginald being relieved, he returned to his hut to sleep, with a lighter heart than he had possessed for many a day.

Chapter Eleven.

Desperate State of Affairs—The Fort attacked—News of Burnett—The Sortie—Captain Hawkesford’s Treachery—Faithful defends her Master—Burnett and his Troopers come to the Rescue—Guns captured—The Foe put to Flight—Fate of Captain Hawkesford—A Lull—Better News—The Fort again attacked—Awful Suspense—Enemy take to Flight—Fort evacuated—The March—Pursued—A Fierce Engagement—Reginald left wounded on the Battle-field—Relieving Force appears—Faithful again protects her Master—Dick discovers her—British victorious—Reginald recovered—Return to Calcutta—Death of Faithful—Voyage Home—Conclusion.

The colonel’s bungalow, though rudely constructed, had been made as comfortable as circumstances would allow. Reginald, as may be supposed, proceeded to it at an early hour, and was welcomed by Violet in the breakfast-room. Her father had not told her of what had occurred, and Reginald was thus the first to give her the satisfactory intelligence.

“I am indeed thankful, for your sake,” she answered, as she took his hand; “and the recovery of the casket will encourage us to trust that we may yet be carried through all the dangers and difficulties which surround us. I have never despaired, and have placed full confidence in the love and mercy of God. Whatever he orders is for the best, I know, though I cannot tell why he has allowed so many of our unfortunate countrymen and countrywomen to perish miserably. It may be that he intends to give an important lesson to the survivors, and to remind us that our Government has not ruled this country as a Christian people ought to have done, or taken effectual means to spread his Word among the benighted inhabitants.”

“That idea has occurred to me more than once,” said Reginald. “I have been ready enough to support and trust to the Christians, but I have done nothing to spread the gospel among them; but if I ever again have the power, I will try to do so.”

“We may have the power some day,” exclaimed Violet. “If we cannot do so in person, we may afford support to the missionaries who are ready to venture their lives among the heathen for the sake of carrying to them the blessed gospel. I am sure that we shall be bound to do our utmost with the means which may be placed at our disposal.”

Neither Reginald nor Violet forgot this conversation.

Day after day went by without any news of the approach of the rebels. At length many in the fort began to hope that the enemy would not appear. Some even proposed that they should abandon the fort, and, making their way to the Ganges, descend the river to the nearest post occupied by the British. To this, however, Colonel Ross was strongly opposed. From the information he received, he knew that the whole country swarmed with rebels; and these would certainly attack them in the open country, even if they were not followed by the insurgents in boats from the city. The idea, therefore, was abandoned, and every effort was made to strengthen the fortifications.

Captain Hawkesford still exhibited his ill-feeling towards Reginald. Whether or not he knew anything of the recovery of the casket, it was impossible to say; but, unabashed by Violet’s indifference, if not disgust, he continued to pay her attention whenever he got an opportunity, as if he still entertained some hope of displacing Reginald in her affections. She could not feel otherwise than offended; but she knew it was important, at that time, not to create any ill-feeling among the few officers who surrounded her father, and she therefore did not complain to him, as she might otherwise have done.

At length, one day one of the scouts, who had gone out in disguise in the direction of the city, came hurrying in with the intelligence that a large force was marching northward, probably with the intention of attacking the fort. They might be expected to appear before noon on the following day. The loyal natives, who had by this time been organised and well drilled, were therefore summoned in, with their wives and children, as were also all the people whose dwellings were situated in exposed situations, and were likely to be destroyed by the enemy. An ample supply of provisions had been stored for such an emergency, so that there was no fear of starvation. The scarcity of ammunition was their chief cause of anxiety, and orders were issued not to throw a shot away.

The day passed away without the appearance of the enemy. At night, however, every one was on the alert, as it was thought probable that the rebels, unaware that their approach was known, might attempt to surprise them.

Dawn broke, and still all was quiet; but as the sun rose, an officer, who had climbed to a lookout station on a neighbouring height, with his field-glass observed the glittering weapons of a large body in the far distance. He hurried down with the intelligence; and in a short time the advancing host, composed of a body of cavalry, several pieces of artillery, and a large number of foot, could be seen from the fort itself. It was evident that the enemy were aware of the strength of the place, but expected quickly to capture it with this overwhelming force. The garrison, however, undaunted, prepared for its defence. The ladies were placed in the rear of the fort, situated behind some rocks, where they would be protected from the shot. The horses were also picketed in a situation as much as possible out of harm’s way.

The enemy, trusting to their numbers, came on boldly, halting at a little distance to reform their ranks, and immediately opened a hot fire on the fort. The garrison replied to it with spirit, the two guns being worked by the artillerymen with great rapidity. It appeared as if the enemy were about to take the place by storm, when the hot reception they met with induced them to abandon their design; and so great was the execution made by the two guns of the fort, that they at length retreated beyond their range, and firing on both sides ceased.

Gladly would Colonel Ross have husbanded his ammunition, but had a feeble fire been kept up at first, it would have encouraged the enemy to come on with greater determination. Several of the garrison had been killed or wounded, but none of the officers had fallen. As soon as possible, therefore, Reginald hastened to assure Violet of his own and her father’s safety. On hearing that several men had been wounded, however, she and two or three other ladies entreated to be allowed to assist Dr Graham in attending to them; but he replied that as yet he could do without their assistance. He was glad, however, ere long to accept their offer, when he and his assistant-surgeon found their strength almost exhausted by the number of wounded brought to them.

The following day the enemy recommenced firing as before, and again retreated towards evening. This sort of work continued for many days in succession, every day unhappily increasing the number of the killed and wounded in the garrison. Colonel Ross and Reginald happily remained unhurt, as did Major Molony and Captain Hawkesford. Several officers, however, had been more or less hurt; and two had been shot dead, as had been three European soldiers, while working the guns. The natives behaved with courage and fidelity, notwithstanding the many among them who fell. Still every day was reducing their store of ammunition; and the colonel knew that ere long, if the same fire as heretofore was kept up, it must altogether fail. The Allahapoor gunners could be seen working their guns,—tall fellows with bare shoulders and arms, and richly-ornamented turbans on their heads; wearing loose trousers, and with long tulwars hanging at their sides. Their shot, however, made but little impression on the well-constructed earthworks. Their fire was returned by the guns from the fort; while the Enfield rifles, never silent, seldom failed to bring down a foe. Several gallant sorties were made; one of the enemy’s guns was spiked, and another nearly brought in, when it stuck fast in the rough ground, and had to be abandoned. Their own two guns, however, from being so constantly fired, had become almost worn out, and would no longer carry shot or ordinary canister. The contents of the canisters were therefore emptied into stockings, which were rammed home with greater ease, and fired with much effect.

The enemy had come on one day even more determined than before, it seemed, to succeed, when a report louder than usual was heard. One of the two guns in the fort had burst, killing three artillerymen and wounding others.

“We must get possession of their guns and ammunition instead,” exclaimed Colonel Ross, on hearing of it.

“I will attempt to do so,” said Reginald. “Are any ready to follow me?”

There was no lack of volunteers.

“Stay,” said the colonel; “we must consider the plan of operation most likely to succeed.”

Notwithstanding the presence of the enemy before the fort, the scouts were still able to make, during the dark hours of night, and sometimes even in the day, their way in with intelligence. During the discussion a faithful sowar approached, holding a small strip of paper in his hand, which he had brought carefully concealed about his person. It contained but a few words:—

“I am at hand, and know how you are situated. I purpose making a dash at the foe at sunrise on the 5th of July. Do you be prepared to cooperate; and if you have a sufficient force, make a bold sortie, and the day will be ours. Delhi is invested. Lucknow still holds out—Burnett.”

The news thus unexpectedly received inspired fresh courage into the hearts of all those to whom it was thought wise to communicate it. Of course Burnett’s projected attack and the sortie were kept profoundly secret. The news that his friend was alive and well, and still at the head of a faithful band, afforded unmitigated joy and satisfaction to Reginald, giving him fresh hope. He longed to communicate the welcome information to Nuna and Violet; but no time could be spared, and he could only send a line on a slip of paper to bid them be of good cheer, and to tell them that Burnett was safe.

A brief time only was required to settle what was best to be done. Reginald undertook to lead the whole force of cavalry, which was to make a circuit from the rear of the fort, so that they might be concealed till they were ready to dash at the guns. A party of infantry were at the same time to be prepared to rush forward to spike some of the guns, and to drag the others within the lines. A dozen Europeans, with two of their officers, were to lead the party of infantry, composed of the most determined and best disciplined natives. These were to follow when the cavalry, having accomplished their first task,—united, as they hoped would be the case, with Burnett’s force,—were to cover the foot as they returned to the fort with the captured guns, or pursue the enemy should they be put to flight. The undertaking was a hazardous one, considering the large force to be attacked; but all knew that daring deeds generally succeed when timid proceedings fail.

Reginald hurried off with his gallant companions, to prepare their horses for the meditated sortie. On passing the women’s quarters on his way to the rear of the fort, as it wanted but a short time to sunrise, he saw Violet, with Nuna and Mrs Molony, who had already risen and were on their way to the hospital huts, and he could not resist stopping for one moment to bid her and his young sister farewell,—it might be for ever. Should he and his brave followers perish, what a terrible fate might be theirs! He instantly, however, banished the thought.

“Heaven will preserve us, dear ones,” he said, as he embraced his sister and Violet. “I have good news for all of us. He on whose account your heart has long been cast down has escaped all dangers, and is near at hand, and I hope ere long to see him and to return with him in triumph to the fort. The cowardly rebels will not dare to face us. When we attack them in the open ground, they will fly like chaff before the wind. Though Burnett does not tell us the amount of the force with him, I trust that it will be sufficient to enable us to follow up our victory and prevent the enemy from rallying.”

A few more words only were spoken, and Reginald hurried on to the spot where the horses were picketed. The men were busily engaged in saddling their steeds; which done, every one carefully examined his arms, and felt that his sabre was loose in its scabbard.

Among the officers who had volunteered to accompany him, Reginald was surprised to find Captain Hawkesford.

“I was not aware that you were to accompany us,” Reginald could not help observing.

“I have the colonel’s leave; and I wish to have an opportunity this morning of proving which of us is the best swordsman,” answered Captain Hawkesford in a peculiar tone. “We have long been rivals, and I intend to settle the matter one way or another before the close of day,” he muttered.

“I have confidence in your gallantry, and believe you to be a good swordsman,” answered Reginald, not hearing his latter remark.

In a few minutes all were ready; and the order to march being given, each man sprang into his saddle and fixed himself firmly in his seat. In perfect silence the gallant troop of horse rode out of the fort, led by Reginald; while the infantry, who were destined to attack the guns, stood ready for the signal he was to give,—a wave of his sabre,—when they were to jump from the entrenchments and rush onward to attack the foe. The enemy’s guns had already been fired, and were replied to as usual by the fort, though many well knew that but a few rounds of ammunition remained.

Many an anxious eye watched the progress of the cavalry. They halted behind the last point by which they were concealed from the enemy. From this Reginald could glance over the plain. He waited till, a ruddy glow appearing in the east, the upper limb of the sun was seen slowly ascending above the horizon. Passing the word to the rear, he struck his spurs into his horse’s flanks. Then turning his face to the fort, he waved his bright scimitar in the air and dashed forward, his followers pressing close behind him,—while, at the signal, the infantry marched from the fort in compact order. Dashing rapidly forward for a few seconds, they halted to deliver their fire at the gunners, who were already dispirited by the appearance of Reginald’s horsemen close upon them. He did not fail, as he urged forward his steed, to cast a look over the plain—where, to his intense satisfaction, he saw a body of cavalry galloping out from behind a wood, with an officer at their head, whom he at once recognised as Burnett. On they came, fleet as the wind, towards the foe. Shouting to his men that reinforcements were at hand, Reginald dashed forward. Numbers of the native artillerymen were cut down at their guns, others fled towards the infantry, who were hastening to their rescue. So unexpected had been the sortie, that the enemy were completely taken by surprise; the arms of the infantry being piled and the horses of the cavalry picketed, while the men were at some distance from them. The time occupied in the attack on the guns enabled them to mount; by which time Reginald and Burnett’s troops having united, they found a strong force drawn up to encounter them.

“We must go at them, notwithstanding their numbers,” cried Burnett; and he and Reginald leading, and leaving the guns to be carried into the fort by the infantry, they and their horsemen galloped forward to encounter the rebel cavalry, who, having made a circuit, were endeavouring to recapture the guns. The party who had been first in the saddle succeeded in cutting down some brave fellows who were spiking the guns, when they were met by Reginald and Burnett’s horse. Fierce was the conflict; sabres were clashing, the men on both sides shrieking like demons. It seemed as if neither party would give way. Still by slow degrees the rebel horsemen were driven back. Reginald had seen Captain Hawkesford fiercely engaged with a native officer, as he himself dashed on to attack another whom he had just cut down, when he heard a loud cry behind him: turning his head, he caught sight of his rival with his sword uplifted, to all appearance about to cut him down. To defend himself was impossible, as another foe was advancing towards him. The next moment he saw Faithful—who, unknown to him, had been following at his heels—spring at Captain Hawkesford’s throat. It was but a glance, for the next minute he was compelled to engage in mortal combat with a powerful chief whom he well knew, and who was noted as being one of the best swordsmen in the country. In the heat of the fight he had got somewhat separated from his men, and he had to depend on his own skill and courage. Neither failed him; and for several seconds he kept his enemy at bay. Still, an imperfect guard would prove fatal; when again Faithful came to his assistance, and springing on the chief dragged him to the ground.

The fall of one of their principal leaders disheartened those who witnessed it; and hard pressed by Burnett’s well-disciplined horsemen, the whole of the rebel cavalry at length wheeled round and galloped off, hotly pursued by the former. It would have been prudent had Burnett and Reginald not pursued the flying enemy so far, for in the meantime the infantry, rallying, made a furious attack on the party which had captured their guns; and, although repulsed, they succeeded in carrying off two of them, besides those which had been spiked. Their ammunition and tumbrils were, however, captured by the British.

At length Burnett and Reginald, desisting from the pursuit, turned their horses’ heads towards the fort, when, succeeding in getting between it and the foe, they captured another gun. The infantry, though rapidly retreating, presented too formidable a front to allow them the hope of successfully breaking through their ranks and putting them completely to the rout; they therefore contented themselves by hovering round the retreating force, and keeping them in check till the guns and ammunition were secure within the fort.

Some time had been occupied by the events which have been described, and the pursuit had carried Reginald and Burnett to a considerable distance from the fort. Several of their men had fallen, and others had been so badly wounded as to be scarcely able to sit their horses. The leaders were therefore compelled to restrain their eagerness, to assure those who, they knew, were anxiously waiting for them of their safety; and they returned at a slow pace, having to keep watch on the movements of the enemy, in case, regaining their courage, they might again advance to the attack. The beaten foe, however, showed no inclination to do this, and were seen continuing their retreat to Allahapoor. Probably the news of the successes already achieved by the British forces had reached them, and they had by this time abandoned the high hopes they had entertained of driving the Feringhees from the country.

As Reginald and Burnett arrived at the spot where the hardest fighting had taken place, they were grieved to see that so many of their party had fallen. Reginald dismounted from his horse, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any of those who lay scattered about on the field still breathed. At that moment Faithful came trotting up to him, and looked up in his face, as if to receive his approval of her conduct during the day. Not till then did he recollect the momentary glimpse he had obtained of Captain Hawkesford’s uplifted sword and the tigress flying at his throat. Could the unhappy man, influenced by disappointment and rage, have really intended to take his life? If so, he had paid dearly. Advancing a few steps, Reginald caught sight of his body. Near it lay his head, severed by a sharp tulwar. Several other bodies lay about treated in the same manner, so that it was impossible to say whether the tigress had killed him. Probably some of the enemy, who had passed backwards and forwards over the spot, had committed the act of barbarity. Of all those who had fallen, none were found alive.

Again mounting, Reginald rejoined Burnett, who had been similarly engaged, and together they rode back to the fort.

It is scarcely necessary to describe the joyful welcome they met with. Poor Nuna quickly recovered her spirits; and their success gave new life to all in the fort. A strong party of natives was sent out to bury the dead, and foes as well as friends were placed in one common grave.

The garrison had still many weeks of anxiety to endure. The only roads by which they could hope to reach either of the English provinces were blocked up by the enemy; who also occupied numerous posts on the Ganges, which would effectually prevent them from descending that river. Sometimes they were without information for many days together. Then news would come of fresh disasters; the truthfulness of which, however, they had reason to doubt. Soon a too authentic account of the frightful massacre at Cawnpore, like all other bad news, which flies apace, reached them. Then came the succour of Lucknow by Sir Henry Havelock and Sir James Outram. Still week after week went by, and they remained shut up in the fort. Some time in November they heard of the storming of Delhi, and the rescue of the women and children from Lucknow. Notwithstanding these successes of the British, the rebels still continued in arms. Again the fort was besieged; the enemy being instigated, it was understood, by one of the chiefs at Allahapoor, whose object was to destroy the young rajah; but the garrison were as ready as before to defend it stoutly, notwithstanding the threats of the enemy to put them all to the sword should they offer any resistance.

With so many mouths to feed, provisions were, however, growing scarce, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that their stores could be replenished. The small quantity of gunpowder captured from the foe would enable them to hold out for some time yet; but should the enemy persevere, they would be reduced to the greatest straits, and be compelled either to cut their way through the enemy or capitulate—which last alternative was not for a moment to be entertained. News of varying import reached them, brought in by the scouts. One thing was certain, that although great success had been achieved by the British, the enemy still held together in large numbers. Consequently, encumbered as they would be with sick and wounded, it would be hazardous in the extreme were they to attempt to make their way through the country towards any of the cities already in the power of the English. Another consideration weighed greatly with Reginald: he would not desert the villagers who had remained so faithful to him,—knowing as he did, that the rebels of Allahapoor would certainly wreak vengeance on their heads.

For several days the garrison had enjoyed perfect tranquillity. The colonel kept up the spirits of all the party by assuring them that relief would come, and urging them to bear patiently the hardships they were now called on to endure. Violet showed herself a true heroine, by ever wearing a cheerful countenance, by her constant attention to the sick and wounded, and by trying to keep up the spirits of the other ladies. Nuna imitated her example.

Their trials, however, were not over. Intelligence sufficient to alarm the most stout-hearted came in: that a force of upwards of twenty thousand men was marching on Allahapoor, with the intention of occupying that city, and that they threatened to take the fort and destroy its garrison before doing so.

Colonel Ross did not conceal the information he had received. “We must hold out, as before, as long as our ammunition lasts; and that failing, we must place the ladies and wounded in our midst, and cut our way through the foe.”

All swore to fight as long as they had arms to wield their swords.

Two days passed away, when about noon, as the hot air quivered over the plain, the blue and red uniforms of the enemy’s cavalry appeared in sight. They approached, a vast horde thronging up in the distance. Column after column of infantry appeared following the cavalry, with numerous pieces of artillery. The rebels were evidently intent on the utter destruction of the fort. The lesson given by the mutineers at Delhi, Cawnpore, and many other places, warned the English and their allies against any attempt at negotiation. As the fort had before resisted with so small a garrison as it then possessed, now, when they had several pieces of artillery and were reinforced with Burnett’s horse, they had good reason to hope that they should be able to resist the fiercest attack the mutineers were likely to make. At length came the awful question, Will the powder hold out? Colonel Ross had calculated the hours it would do so. It would encourage the enemy were he not to return their fire with vigour, and dishearten the natives of his own party should they discover the short time they would have the means of resisting their sanguinary foes.

The enemy’s guns at length drawing near, opened fire, without any attempt at throwing up breastworks, their only shelter being such as the ground afforded. Had they not been supported by so large a body of cavalry and foot, Burnett declared that nothing would have been easier than to capture them; as it was, he waited for an opportunity which he thought might occur. Most of the shot, as before, struck the earthworks; for the Enfield rifles prevented the guns from being brought near enough to do much damage. The rear of the fort, it must be remembered, was protected by rugged heights, to the summit of which no native engineers were capable of carrying up even the smallest guns; indeed, they were inaccessible to the most nimble mountaineers. Thus there were only two sides of the fort to be protected; the valley which ran down on the left being so completely commanded by the fort, that a hostile party attempting to enter it would have been instantly destroyed.

Night on this occasion brought no cessation of firing, and it soon became apparent that the enemy intended to storm the fort. Two guns were moved so as to command the valley, up which, during the darkness of night, they might possibly attempt to steal. Every man was at his post. After the firing had continued for some time it suddenly ceased. Many thought the enemy were retiring; but it was like the lull before the storm. A few seconds only had passed away, when three dark columns were discerned by the garrison creeping up towards them. On they came in overwhelming numbers, the artillerymen in the plain firing over their heads, while the British guns began blazing away with canister, sending destruction amid their ranks. Column after column had advanced, but were driven back in confusion; not a man ever reached the lines. Sometimes the cavalry galloped up, but they were quickly forced to retire.

All night long the battle raged, but the dauntless courage of Colonel Ross and his band of heroes prevailed, and when morning dawned the enemy were seen retiring with their guns. Had they gone altogether, or would they return? was the question. It was too probable that, instigated by the mutineers in Allahapoor, they would renew the attack.

Two more days passed by, allowing the garrison to repair their fortifications. Once more, as day was declining, the enemy was seen approaching; with the intention, probably, of making an assault during the night. Still hour after hour went by; every man remained at his post, and yet no enemy came near them. The campfires, however, burning in the distance, showed that they were still there; and as morning approached, Colonel Ross, who was ever on his guard, warned the officers to be as watchful as at first, and ready at any moment to repel an attack.

He was right. It was still dark when the heads of several columns were seen emerging from the gloom, and already close upon the fort. On came the rebels, as soon as they were aware that they must be seen, giving utterance to the most savage shouts and cries. At the same moment they opened a heavy fire. They were met, as before, with showers of grape and well-directed volleys of musketry, which quickly drove back those who had not fallen,—with the exception of a party of desperate fanatics, who attempted to force their way over the entrenchments. Some succeeded and were cut down, others were shot in the ditch, and not one escaped. The garrison had scarcely breathing time before another similar attack was made, which was repulsed in the same way.

“How much longer can we stand out?” asked Reginald of Colonel Ross.

“Another attack like the last will exhaust the whole of our powder, when our only resource will be to abandon the fort—for to hold it will then be impossible,” was the answer.

The day passed by. Anxiously was the arrival of the scouts who came over the hills looked for with the expected intelligence of the movements of the British. Flying columns of the avenging army were sweeping the enemy before them; but they were, it was supposed, yet a long way off. Still the colonel endeavoured to keep up the courage of those he commanded; and the officers, following his example, did their utmost to encourage the men to prepare for another assault. The strictest watch was kept, for it was thought that should the enemy again venture to attack the fort, it would be by night.

The garrison were not mistaken. Two days more had passed, when again the columns were espied by the watchful sentinels. The troops flew to their arms, the artillerymen to their guns.

Reginald and Burnett, when relieved from their duty in the evening, had snatched a few minutes from the rest they so much required to pay a visit to Violet and Nuna. They talked hopefully of the future, and both expressed a wish, as soon as the rebellion was quelled, to leave India and reside in England.

“Oh, that must be a happy country,” cried Nuna, “where there are no wars or disputes, where the rich do not oppress the poor, and the latter are happy and contented, and everybody lives in friendship with each other!”

Burnett smiled. “I am afraid only a part of your picture is true. England has numberless advantages over this country, and I hope ere long to take you there; but I am sorry to say that the English people quarrel and dispute with each other as much as the natives of other lands, though they do not fly to arms on all occasions. You must not expect to find a paradise in England, or in any other part of the world.”

Unwillingly, the two friends had at length to bid the ladies goodnight and return to their posts at the batteries. Just as they reached them, the signal was made that the enemy was approaching, and the silence which had hitherto reigned in the fort was suddenly broken by the loud report of the guns as they sent forth their doses of canister, scattering death amid the advancing columns. The musketry opened at the same time; and now the rebels, finding that they were again disappointed in their expectation of surprising the fort, began firing away in return. As gun after gun was discharged, Colonel Ross knew that their slender store of powder was becoming more nearly exhausted. It might hold out till the enemy took to flight; but they might persevere longer than usual—and if so, finding that the guns no longer thundered forth, they would in all probability storm the fort.

He at length sent for Burnett and Reginald. “My friends,” he said, speaking quite calmly, “if in half an hour more the enemy are not beaten, we must fight our way out through their midst, unless we can hope to defend our position with our swords and bayonets.”

Burnett proposed making a sortie with his cavalry, in the hope of creating a panic by the suddenness of his attack. But from this Colonel Ross dissuaded him. He could scarcely hope to produce any material effect, and would only weaken his strength by the loss of several of his men.

Rapidly that half-hour went by; when, just as it was found that the last charge of powder had been expended, the cry arose, “They run! They run!” On this Burnett ordered his bugler to sound the call “to horse;” and in less than two minutes every man of his troop was mounted, and, following their leader, had dashed out in pursuit of the retreating foe. Immediately he had gone, Colonel Ross ordered every animal in the camp to be prepared for carrying the sick and wounded. Horses had been kept for the use of the ladies,—who, having been warned of the possible emergency, were quickly ready. Not a word of alarm or anxiety was expressed. The whole force was quickly drawn up in close column: Reginald’s cavalry, with the ladies in the centre, leading; the trained villagers following, guarding the wounded; the British soldiers and Reginald’s guards on either flank; while the other native troops brought up the rear.

The instant the scouts returned with the satisfactory report that they had seen the enemy moving off, the order was given to advance, and the little army, after spiking all the guns in the fort, commenced their perilous march. Silently they moved, to avoid being discovered by any of the enemy’s scouts, or the report of their march being carried to the rebels by the inhabitants of the villages near which they might pass. Happily the enemy had made their attack early in the night, and the retreating party had thus an advantage of several hours, which would enable them to get to a considerable distance before they were likely to be discovered. For the remainder of the night, therefore, they moved on; and not till the sun had already risen was a halt called, that they might take that rest which was absolutely necessary to enable them to continue their flight. The scouts sent out now reported that no enemy was near, and they were thus able to remain encamped for several hours; after which, greatly refreshed, they again moved on. Colonel Ross was sensible that his force could not successfully engage with any large body, but he hoped that, by avoiding all places where any rebels were likely to be collected, and by advancing chiefly at night, to prevent any information of his movements from reaching the enemy.

Violet, who was a good horsewoman, bore the fatigue of the march well, and even Nuna and the other ladies kept up their spirits and did not complain. The poor wounded men were the greatest sufferers; though they preferred the shaking to which they were exposed, to being left behind to the tender mercies of the natives.

Before another night’s march had been accomplished, a sowar who had been sent out as a scout overtook them with the intelligence that the enemy had heard of their retreat, and were following with a large force, threatening their complete destruction. Colonel Ross, on hearing this, resolved—as there was no place at hand into which they could throw themselves and defend it against the enemy—to continue the march, for the purpose of keeping ahead of their pursuers as much as possible, and only to halt and fight where a strong position could be taken up with some hope of offering an effectual resistance. On they marched; but in vain did the colonel look out for ground of the kind he desired. Their scouts came hurrying in from the rear with the announcement that the enemy were close upon them. There could be little doubt that the rebels, burning with revenge at the defeats they had suffered, would immediately commence an attack. The country was level for miles on every side; the colonel was therefore glad to find a spot where he could halt, with a deep and broad stream on one side, and a thick jungle in the rear, which neither the enemy’s infantry nor artillery could penetrate. He accordingly halted here: the infantry drawn up in the centre, and the cavalry on either flank, ready to charge the guns of the enemy, should they have brought any with them.

In silence the little force waited the expected attack. The rebels at length appeared. Colonel Ross ordered the infantry to fire as they came within range; and then, at a preconcerted signal, Reginald and Burnett, leading on their troopers, desperately charged the rebel forces. Many on both sides went down, but the rebels, relying on their numbers, and knowing the weakness of the force opposed to them, refused to give way. The moon afforded sufficient light to enable the combatants to continue the fight, and Reginald could not help fearing that, after all the efforts of his party, they might be defeated. Again and again he led his men to the charge—when the sound of English bugles reached his ears. Just at that moment a bullet struck him and he fell to the ground, his steed galloping off unperceived by his followers. He lay amid a heap of slain, unable to move, while his horsemen followed up the charge. The fight continued raging around him for some time. Then he heard the heavy tramp of cavalry, and the rattling sound of artillery, followed closely by the roar of the guns as they opened fire. Lifting up his head, he saw a dark red line, with bayonets glittering in the moonlight, emerging from behind the wood. The enemy also saw them, and poured in on them as they approached a round of musketry; but not a moment did they stop to receive the charge made by the British regiment, which, advancing at the double, drove them like chaff before the wind. Reginald saw no more; his head sank back, and he lay like the clods of the earth around him.

The British troops had had a hard day’s march, for, receiving intelligence of the near vicinity of a large rebel force, they had pushed on to attack them before they could escape. The remainder of the English column coming up, tents were pitched, while the cavalry pursued the flying foe, cutting down all they overtook, no quarter being asked or offered.

Dawn was breaking, when a sentinel at his post caught sight, at some distance, of a large animal lying on the ground, which after some little scrutiny he discovered to be a tiger. “The horrid brute is feeding on the dead,” he exclaimed. “If it was not against orders to fire, I’d quickly teach it better manners.” Just then a man, who, from his nautical appearance, might have been called a “horse-marine,” rode up on a small country pony. He had a long sabre by his side, a haversack on his back, and a brace of pistols in his belt; and while huge boots encased his legs, he wore a seaman’s broad-brimmed hat and loose jacket,—making him look altogether not a little peculiar.

“What’s that you say, mate?” he asked.

The sentry pointed to the animal he had seen. “Though I mayn’t fire, do you put a bullet though that brute’s head.”

“That’s more than I’ll do,” answered the seaman, who was no other than our friend Dick Thuddichum. “That animal has more sense than many a human being; and it’s my belief that my honoured master, whom she’s followed faithfully for many a day, and whose life she has saved more than once, is not far off. Just you hold my horse, while I go ahead and have a look round. If I’m right, I’ll shout to some one to come and help me.”

Saying this, Dick tumbled off his steed, and hastily stalked over the ground, carefully avoiding the corpses with which it was strewed. He was right Faithful, in spite of his strange costume, uttered a cry of welcome, and sprang forward to meet him. There, as he expected, lay his beloved master. “O Master Reginald! O my lord, do speak to me, and tell me if you are alive!” exclaimed Dick, as he threw himself on the ground by Reginald’s side. “Yes, yes; he’s still got life in him!” he cried out; and shouting to the sentinel to send help, he lifted his master in his arms and bore him towards the tents. Reginald was speedily carried into one of the nearest, set aside as an hospital, where his wound was examined by a surgeon,—Dick standing anxiously by to hear his opinion.

“It’s pretty severe, but is not likely to prove fatal,” said the surgeon. “He has fainted from loss of blood, but a stimulant will soon restore him.”

“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Dick. “I should have wellnigh died, and so, to my mind, would Faithful, and another person I know of, if he’d been killed. But do your best to bring him about, sir, and I will bless you all the days of my life.”

Reginald, as the doctor had hoped, soon recovered sufficiently to speak. He warmly greeted Dick, and expressed his delight at seeing him—having greatly feared that he had been murdered by the rebels. He then immediately ordered a messenger to go to Colonel Ross and inform him and Miss Ross of his safety. And before long Burnett, whose horsemen were bivouacked not far off, made his appearance. Happy indeed was the meeting between the two friends. A palanquin was quickly procured for Reginald’s conveyance, as his wound was not so severe as to prevent his being moved. It was arranged that he, with the ladies of Colonel Ross’s party, should be escorted to the banks of the Ganges, from whence they could proceed down the river to Calcutta. Dick having had enough of campaigning, begged that he might accompany his master, and look after Faithful, who was not likely to obey any one else. Reginald, with much regret, bade farewell to his faithful Indian friends, whom he strongly recommended to the authorities for the fidelity they had shown to the English; but he intended to reward them still further as soon as he had the power.

Colonel Ross, whose health was giving way, owing to the anxiety he had so long endured, accompanied his daughter and Nuna to Calcutta, where they remained till the mutiny was effectually quelled, and Burnett was able to join them. The two marriages shortly afterwards took place, and the young couple at once carried out their intention of leaving for England. Of course Dick Thuddichum embarked with them, with Faithful in charge.

Violet, before leaving Calcutta, begged to have a portrait of the noble creature which had so often saved her husband’s life, and persuaded Reginald to have his own likeness taken at the same time in the nautical costume which he wore on being first introduced to her; he himself confessing that he infinitely preferred it to the magnificent dresses he had been compelled to wear during his short reign in Allahapoor. That city had been quickly captured by the English, and, much to Reginald’s satisfaction, had become, with its surrounding territory, an integral part of British India.

It is sad to have to relate that poor Faithful never reached the free shores of Old England. Whether it was, as Dick Thuddichum thought, that the sea-air did not agree with her constitution, or that she was deprived of her usual allowance of half a sheep a day, she sickened, and gradually grew worse and worse; her last fond gaze being at the face of her beloved master. She attempted to lick his hand, but the effort was vain. Her head sank on the deck—the tigress was dead.

Her skin was preserved; and Faithful, with an almost lifelike look, ornaments the entrance hall in Hamerton Castle.

Reginald had no difficulty, with the documents he had recovered, in obtaining possession of his hereditary title and estates. While attending to his English tenantry he did not forget his faithful Indian friends, or the benighted inhabitants of that country, and has ever been among the most zealous and munificent supporters of those true soldiers of Christ who go forth to spread the Gospel of Peace in the dark places of the world.

The End.